What soap opera?
what circus?
No....its Goggle-bore
yes....you heard right, goggle-bore
We watch them as they entertain us with their soaps fixation
we laugh at their obvious obsessions
there's pathos in their escapism
we see the mediocre in distraction from their insignificance
we see how they crave relevance and loose themselves in fantasies
we see their various takes on characters in their imagined world
we get glimpses of their inner selves from their interpretations of
scenes and characters
we see how they fill voids in their mundane lives
we see how their untutored imaginations run wild
and how they become totally immersed in their fantasies
that it becomes interactive to them
the lines between reality and fantasy disappear
they do not know the difference between truth and false-hood
they have suspended disbelief to the hilt
and therein is the pathos  to the watchers of this sad spectacle
there a millions of vacuous minds
millions of unfulfilled lives
millions of sad pathetic insignificant mob
millions of psychologically unbalanced people
all looking for help and answers
for fulfillment and some sort of recognition
and only finding succour in their addictions to soap
We watch them as they are in the real soap
that shows so much about the human condition
What a soap, what a circus......

When you are deemed wild
because you stood up to common thieves
and refused to be preyed on
and bullied by scums and extortionist
you know you are now
in the Wild West of simpletons and the
deaf and blind
its that black and white in the one sided
story of lawlessness
remember the 'injuns' are always the baddies
and pale-faces never lie

Beware
in the world of little minds
compliments are held
as invitation to treat

Oh Great Downers
send forth the blandness of Qpaques'
in all their doomed glory
so they can shine the sagacity of their torments
and plant their seeds of sorrows and discontents

Ye transparencies of clouds
In swirling mists of disengagements
gulping sour rancid milk
your banes of inner strife simmers and bubbles
come hither to spew the fetid bile of crated foams

Oh spooks of Lilies
rain down your spoons and paddles
hark the whispering oracles
let thin lips chew the innards of dishonour and spite
and blanched forecasts are grilled in wasted fantasies

They were trading places
to find the nirvana of the poor houses
but they traded themselves by batter
for promised alchemy's gold
garlanded on the bee's knee as they wait
to hitch a ride on the red flying elephant

it is the time of absurdities
when the brain dead earn their keep
and line down to jump over the moon
and harvest cheese from cheese trees

ask me not to explain
I was never part of their moon dance
but do remember
they are trading places to find their nirvana
but they all lost their heads
under the red rising sun

Amazing passions
comes from amazing mind

pales linger in vituperative holes
cold and webs stricken

hawk their rancour for a sweep
the venom bleeds

what price for a deep long dig
the ecstasies of a flood

and in their driven vistas all seen
stunted limp oiks and hicks

barely enough for a squirm and a lick
to leave hot annoyance

behead he that finds the spotted mark
and does ravish the honey

besmirch the cavalier and his trusted dagger
he sickens us by absence

thou knowest amazing trysts
comes from amazing mind and amazing passions

To cut into my mind
and bleed my blue blood
you will need a tungsten dagger
hilt orbed and jewelled
expertly and intricately crafted
by none other but me
Alas, to your pain and chagrin
your wounds and woes
and the irresistible hot flutters
inflaming thine fixations
That scared anointed bejeweled
tungsten dagger
be told and inspired by Olodumare
and made regally by me
is ordained by the Host of the Highest
never to cut wound or maim
its illustrious and deserving maker
there is none other
like me