Bonzo's Montreaux

‘Sanctuaries’ 

Inspired by a line in TS Eliot’s “The Hippopotamus”

I.

The BROAD-BACKED hippopotamus 

Rests on his belly in the mud

and there are no golden reeds, flailing and

floating in dry winds. Nor the anomaly of such a 

beast silently stalking Nile waters. Only

the sounds of a man with shovel and pail, scooping his dung away. 

Tarka: the show pony ‘potamus. He tromps, stomps, dances,

stares, growls and grins.  Because it’s all

he ever knew. 

Wallowing the rust bucket current

like concrete pillars driving through

slush.  The elephants take note of

his graceful water waltz.  Tarka rumbles, bellows, spits,

smiles, trots and takes a bow. 

But all as it seems is not, some how.

In a 20 X 12 pen, no place to escape,

a chrome barred sanctuary for those

with no hope.  

II.

and there are no people in the stands, cheering

on tomorrow’s big leaguers.  Nor little boys

in left field making daisy chains. Only

clip-on ties and stained khaki slacks.

Impatient little hands pick their noses, ears and gum

from underneath the pews.  One 6 year old boy

on bended knees joins his hands, imitating his father.

He asks the Ceiling to forgive him for breaking 

a bathroom window with a baseball,

wondering if Jesus is listening now.

But all as it seems is not, some how.

On a long cushioned kneeler, he stares up above,

a stained glass sanctuary for those

with no hope.

  'Sanctuaries' was a poem I wrote in one of those spurts of voyage, where I felt I was caught somewhere, like Ms. Spears, between a boy and a man.  I could not make myself realize the importance of having the great Ceiling in my life.  I chose to post this work today, because I felt quite the opposite.  As I took the jeep on a 4 hour spin through backroads and unknown streets, I felt the smiley faces in my head take over.  With a heart of relentless loving and a stomach full of Ferttita's deli, it would have taken everything I had to restrain the grin on my face.  No particular reason, it just felt like a great day to be alive.

  So in this sanctuary of the hopeless, I cracked a beer and brushed off the notion that I was lost.  Maybe not found, but certainly not lost.

© blake jackson

the rediscovery of charted waters

  And at some point in time, it was just me, and the dirty red...  

  dirty red folded in 1/16ths, strapped tight to my forehead.  A bandana that has made voyage after voyage.  Revolving rainbows strobing in the glare of my half drunken eyes.  Somewhere in the experience, I just couldn't help but think, that in these Oxford streets, I was a King.  I had my friends, my health, my laughter, my half empty and luke warm brew. I stood on top of a falling mountain but if for only one second, I was a King.  

  Look in to the face of any man or any woman and find out who they are and then find out who they were or maybe who they want to become and if you fall in love then turn and walk away.  A pretty shitty philosophy but one I always find myself following.  Because I don't want to love and not be loved.  Probably the abyss of any ship is a long voyage that ends in nothing.  No treasure.  No amazing discovery. Just sand and palm trees and a parrot who is better off eaten than running his mouth.  (Not to glorify pirates, Somalians.)  But to take the voyage and find nothing is absolutely the worst.

  So i sailed off in a different direction.  One where I don't know if the treasure lies, but it would be better to stumble upon the 'X' than search and never find it.  And who knows, maybe a treasure once-found will find its way back to me.

dirty red was not retired, but is taking a hiatus.  saving energy for the next exploration.  

© blake jackson

it came from the sky...

     And I looked up, and I'll be damned if it didn't hit me square in the lightly flattened bridge of my nose.  

     I had kept the Big Man busy with a whole lot of request and He picked one, ran with it, and dropped the news on me just a few days ago.  The job market woe was put on pause for a bit of good news.  Problem is, I'm just comfortable.  I came back with intentions of leaving as soon as I could, but came to a point where I was comfortable.  I was comfortable surrounding myself with my family, even if it meant taking on the problems.  I was comfortable being with two old high school friends, years later, trying to find ourselves in the happy medium dividing reckless and responsible.  But trading my comfort in for a pair of walking boots is somehow exactly what I need.

     Life has proved to be a search for security.  I want the blanket.  And I will move ANYWHERE to find it.  But now that I've found it, I have to let it go.  

     So if you are reading, Big Guy, thanks.  You know how I like to keep it interesting.

© blake jackson