What about the victims in violent crimes
gone forever as life is taken away.
Murdered never to be with the families
their suffering rarely remembered.
What of the partners and children's grief
who at this awful time need belief.

If their perpetrator does get caught
what punishment do they receive.
No sentence can compensate the loss
yet too often it seems far too short.
A life sentence for the families to bear
the guilty often a few years is this fair?

How many heart wrenching stories
of cold blooded assualts or ******.
Merciless violence and shocking brutality
attacks on unsuspecting people.
Trying to help or quietly walking out
alone and in terror nobody about.

I cannot imaging how much they suffer
what justice can repay the horror.
Thugs who simply do not give a ****
not botherd at the misery caused.
Thinking it is fun a laugh often drunk
maybe on drugs or smoking skunk.

No excuse or lame reason that is given
can give those left behind any comfort.
watching them go free with no remorse
able to inflict more cruel misery.
Loved ones only have memories to keep
empty nights and lonely sleep.

Life never forget how pressures and fragile
think of those suffering for a while.

    The Foureyed Poet.

Was that a knock on the bedroomj door
in fact two he was sure.
A chill ran through his body instantly
sitting up in bed instinctively.
Not a believer in spirits or any god.
thinking he was a silly old sod.

Staring at his own white painted door
he placed bare feet on floor.
Putting dressing gown on feeling cold
moving forward rather bold.
In the dim light did the handle turn
the stomach acid began to burn.

This was daft for the first time afraid
wishing in his bed he had stayed.
With a deep breath ****** open the door
in the dark a shadow he saw.
It vanished with no sound being heard
then noises in the kitchen stirred.

Turning every light on he could reach
there came a high pitched screech.
Yet still nothing was at all visible to him
now the mood was getting grim.
As he stood shocked in the well lit room
in the roof space came a boom.

At this point he could take no more
and ran out the front door.
The night was warm as he looked inside
a figure stared out he cried.
It was himself a dark shadow came behind
then he was gone phasing his mind.

Shouting out he awoke shaking in bed
staring at the door was he dead?
Soon it was obvious he was definately not
as up in his bed he shot.
On the painted door there was a knock
frozen in a state of shock.

What will happen next?

The Foureyed Poet.

As she sat in his favourite worn chair
the expectant mother became aware.
Of a soft touch on her pale cheeck
reading a letter sent that week.
Crying their baby born without a dad
what was the point of being mad.
    Lonely now she felt an unseen force
on her aching shoulders easing remorse.
Standing up aware of an uninvited guest
though not afraid she had been blessed.
Since her husband had died he was near
this gave her strength there was no fear.
    How their baby kicked keen to be born
her senses even now frayed and torn.
Happy they had created their first child
though in her mind her spirit still wild.
Part of her almost died answering the door bell
two soldiers said they had bad news to tell.
    Andy had been shot while on duty abroad
any help and support was assured.
The early weeks just one long depressing blur
then everything changed for her.
His after shave and essence wafted in the air
and now Tess had become aware.
    Dad would be there at the baby's birth
even though not alive on the earth.
    Was this just a desperate wifes vivid imagination
or actually a new form of creation?
    The Foureyed Poet.

Love has passed me by a moment that never was
an emptiness that has not been filled.
Valentines day has no meaning for me
indifference without emotions felt.
To some companionship is their wealth
others money or having good health.
    Not all of us can find that special individual
to share our daily lives together.
For some that is a life that willl never be
a single path is what has been marked.
Love is hard to define what does it mean
somehow I slipped around the scene.
    I envy nobody if they have found it good luck
life is a journey with many turns.
Negotiating them can be a challenge for many
does destiny exist are our lives planned?
It would have been nice to be close to someone
but we cannot all say our battles were won.
    On Valentines day I hope your love is real
and your futures the real deal.
  
  The Foureyed Poet.

The second I broke into that house
hearing the cries of despair.
That vicious dog snarling at my heels
as the rest of my police unit.
Handcuffed the vicious man shouting abuse
pleading for mercy and a truce.

His poor wife just sitting and crying
fear etched upon her damaged face.
Comforted by a female colleague so calm
as a stillness began to fill the place.
It was not easy being focused on this case
she passed me at a slow pace.

The years of abuse were clear to see
two children cowered so scared.
Whimpering in their filthy bedroom
that sense of sadness was strong.
How glad I was to leave that awful scene
a home where love should have been.

I heard the wife had dropped the charges
so common in violent cases.
No doubt the problems would be repeated
and trauma started over again.
Both children removed for their own welfare
to those who would give real care.

Cries of despair can be heard out there
where so many suffer unaware.

The Foureyed Poet.

A kind word or compassionate smile
means so much to a very lonely soul.
Who tries to be genuine and care
always willing to help and listen awhile.
Still trying to assess his life and role
yet always has a positive air.

Those who find it better to give than receive
can feel a deep sense of pride.
Not a saint or a martyr its true
only doing what they alone truly believe.
In thier minds knowing they've nothing to hide
determined to live each day through.

To love with your heart
a sparkle in the way you act.
Towards all that lives on earth
Appreciating each day from the start.
Trying to be kind and good is a fact
that we aim for from the moment of birth.

The Foureyed Poet.

Alone simmering rejected by the system
made to live without supervision.
Changes made to save the money
suppoesed to be on medical guidance.
Though not taken for over a week
somebody's life will soon be bleak.

Roaming the streets bored and confused
lack of medication beginning to tell.
In his pocket a knife he liked so much
no medical staff had made a visit.
Agitation growing he walked in a daze
a girl talking turned him out of phase.

Nobody knew what was about to happen
this young man charged knife in hand.
Slashuing and thrusting people scattered
disbelief screams and cries of pain.
Seconds passed the man overpowered
on the pavement the policeman towered.

Amazing seriously hurt but alive the victims
rushed urgently to the local hospital.
The man hancuffed taken into custody
even now he was fighting so petrified
scared and lacking his medical control
the failing system had taken its toll.

How many more are there with no support
and another avoidable tragedy to report?

The Foureyed Poet.

The young girl walked very slowly
down a crowded and noisy street.
Head bowed feeling alone and lowly
not wanting to talk shuffling her feet.
Dejection showed on her pretty face
looking much older than her years.
Yet another statistic lost without trace
in the dingy streets where evil appears.
Each day filled with such deep despair
forced to be abused just to survive.
Feeling no decent human was out there
not caring whether she was dead or alive.
Sixteen years had passed Elli by
parents had throwing her out at fourteen.
Confused and upset giving up wondering why
learning how life could be so mean.
Met a man she thought was so nice
but he introduced her to drugs.
Which led within a short time to vice
he was a **** one of the many thugs.
Deep in the rut unable to escape
just felt death was her only escape.
Desperately she called a good mate
who unknown to her had joined the police.
Through powerful inner strength and will
she broke away from this bottomless pit.
Now a happy eighteen year old no longer ill
she survived to tell the tale happy and fit.

The Foureyed Poet.

That moment when the enemy met
upon the muddy ****** fields.
In between the trenches of death
when guns fell eerily silent.
German soldiers voices were heard
singing carols fighting deferred.
One story of that incredible times
when enemy stopped killing.
Sanity replaced the madness of war
a mutual reaction of goodwill.
Instigated by the soldiers to each other
they became a father son brother.
Exchanging food cigarettes and much more
realising they were just like them.
German and British troops actually met.
On what was called no mans land.
It started in 1914 on Christmas day
that for a time hate went away.
Historical fact of the search for peace
if only that act could save lives.
In the chaotic theatres of conflict
that blight too many even now.
As it is realised we are all of one birth
on this our one earth.
Where is that Christmas truce?
The Foureyed Poet.

The last year has certainly flown by us all
good for some bad for many more.
Those with money still having a ball
all the rest who know what's install.
Taxes ascend told to tighten the belt
prices going up the pinch is felt.


Charity should begin at our own front door
the government increases overseas aid.
Road duty train prices increasing for sure
make them pay its the big tax raid.
Vultures who thrive when times are hard
not for them the overspent credit card.

Nor are they afraid of a big incoming bill
looking down upon us as poor fools.
As those without get more depreesed and ill
increasing their wealth we are the mules.
Communities full of much violence and hate
politicians take little action just debate.

The usual happy Christmas if you can afford it
but I like to think of those in need.
Brightness in dark places a simple candle lit
to see everybody is able to feed.
True meaning when kindness can be shown
a period none scared of the unknown.

That short span in time when we do realise
each soul is from the same mold
When humans can express kindness be wise
and not everybody is evil and cold
From me I wish the world and people goodwill
and compassion is within us still.

The Foureyed Poet.

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.