Can you not sense the undercurrent
an anger mutating over the nation.
That period before costs do excel
a deep dissatisfaction vented.
Massive job cuts told to restain
with warnings of future pain.

That inability to have any input
manipulated and being controlled.
Vote them in with their big promises
as politicians do what they want.
Despair as your finances disappear
truth a word you never hear.



This is a tale not only of one country
ever the widening divide.
The few continue reaping the rewards
the majority paying the cost.
The average guy is always bled dry
the wealthy staying that way being sly.

The undercurrent is beginning to vibrate
the population has had enough.
Those with plenty taking toomuch
from those with little to give.
The burden of debt has to be shared
or frustrations will be aired.
The Foureyed Poet.

Behind the glamour and blinding light
of the vast entertainment industry.
With these so called beautiful happy folk
is there a sordid and bleak underworld?
As each one thinks they are certainly the best
surely time is the true quality test.

Vast sums spent to create the perfect image
the creators shown as almost godly figures.
All trying to grab the money and true fame
how many fall by the wayside in this quest?
In hard times the public have so little cash
to splash out on an even bigger bash.

Television pushing the seekers of their fortune
while the mentors strive for their own goals.
A false image is created for these large audiences
who need a focas and images to contemplate.
Performances that for some take a high cost
as the hopefuls fail the dreams lost.

There are of course winners and losers.
but as you watch and read the news.
Filled with the exploits of these artists
spending and living lavish lives.
That most of us can only ever visualize
what really lays behind the lies?

The Foureyed Poet.

Dark clouds continue to thicken above
as man hovers on the brink of war.
No more sparodic and endless tribal conflicts
simmering just under the surface.
Corruption and super power *******
inevitable will draw in every nation.

Over sixty years since the last world war
though never a time of total peace.
Power oil dictatorships and simple pure hate
engulfs the news twenty four seven.
From clubs and axes to weapons of destruction
millions killed and boundless reconstruction.

There are countries with vast deadly arsenals
who would take the risk to attack.
Other countries they felt were aggessors
making uncertainty of fututre actions.
Always feeling the aggrieved and ready to fight
a powder keg it would take little to ignite.


The plot could well thicken very soon I sense
tension  constantly on high alert.
These leaders not shy to use their lethat potency
with the underlying resentment boiling.
The consequences to us not in their equation.
if they wanted a solution an invasion.

A delicate balance hangs over civilisation
as countries develop the nuclear card.
Thinking this is the way to boost their ranking
with others who have these lethal devises.
Making the future a more precarious place
possibly annihilation a more likely case!

Will the building pressure erupt soon or not?
  
The Foureyed Poet.

In our short lives how often do we wish it away
waiting for hours to get out of our daily work.
Or for each weekend to come to go out to play
some do not have or want jobs so just shirk.
Still getting ready to get out for some fun
others lounging about soaking up the sun.

No matter what pace we head to our demize
ruled by the never ending clock we just wait.
When one is young we wait to get to adult size
wishing years to pass to get out the school gate.
Onto university or staring those first jobs
hanging about causing trouble destined to be slobs.

There is no end to wishing away our allotted space
those marriage vows hoping it would last and work.
To the dreaded divorces too many now face
that can go on for years and hidden problems lurk.
Letting minutes fly by then wonder where it has gone
for some lifes far too short and others too long.
    The Foureyed Poet.

How cold and dark the chapel looked that day
from the narrow dirt track.
The overgrown graves adding to the gloom
no longer did anyone pray.
In this neglected forgotton medieval place
here a friend disappeared without trace.

This brought me to view this strange dwelling
a despair came over me that second.
That gut wrenching feeling consumed my being
standing afraid I started to yelling.
A spontaneous reaction that I could not stop
around were fields filled with natures crop.

Always the sceptic yet I felt I was not alone
a light breeze began to blow.
Why had I ventured to this solitary spot
had I seen from inside a glow?
Compulsion made me open the rusty gate
what had happened to my mate

A heavy atmosphere it was hard to breath
was that footsteps I heard?
Stopping to glance around nobody was there
two horse riders came passed waving.
Turning back I was at the solid wooden door
on it marks as if made by a claw!

Foreboding  I wanted to get myself away
something stopped my urge for flight.
The answers I seeked must be inside I prayed
the summer light turned into night.
Dread within my soul was rising to it's height
and the outcome of my plight.

Pushing with hidden strength on the oak door
it swung open in the blackness I stared.
As my vision became more use to the dark
two red eyes looked back and glared.
A growling rasp echoed acoustically clear
something was gnawing far too near.

In my jacket pocket I had put a small torch
taking it out I turned on the beam.
There before me a wolf like creature stood
neither moved then it shot by.
Knowing this was the friend I'd been seeking
running out I saw the full moon peaking.

What I had seen was beyond my lifes beliefs
distant howls filled me with terror.
All I could do was just sit in the chapel
until the new dawn once more arose.
Never again did I see my life long friend
as now my life has drawn to an end.
    The Foureyed Poet.

The House is quiet as everyone sleeps
a normal night in a happy home.
On an estate that has seen no trouble
dogs bark cats screech foxes whine.
In the dark faint footsteps approach
up their path a figure does approach.
    Inside the central heating pipes creak
their pet labrador snores contently.
roused by movement of the door flap
then the pungent odour of petrol.
A lit piece of rag ignites the first flame
the arsonist runs away who was to blame.
    Acrid smoke quickly sets off the alarm
but not before it permeates upstairs.
Silently like a winter fog becoming dense
the children awake coughing and crying.
Mum choking opens her eyes and tries to rise
the roar of the fire a total surprise.
    Realising they were all in one bedroom
the kids had crept into bed once more.
Her husband groaned he was not easy to wake
luckily the fire brigade were near by.
Each one safely rescued as the fire was quelled
onto each other they tightly held.
    Seconds later their dog was brought out safe
but the house was totally gutted.
In the shadows somebody watched the scene
a burning grudge had not been fulfilled.
This was not finished it blended into the scene
shocked each knowing what could have been.
    The danger had not passed what was the truth
in reality this terrifying act happens too often.
Unable to resolve disagreements or pure hate
complexities of the mind create a disturbing state.
    THe Foureyed Poet.