Vauxhall (Victorian Pleasure Garden) (1819)

Ramo Sami

Was quite the figure

To behold

As he surveyed the grounds

Of the great park.

His dark brown skin

Swathed in the purest of white

Flowing robes

With a matching turban.

Several 

Simple gold rings

Adorned both his 

Fingers and toes.

He set up for his performance

Just outside of a cafe

Where they served a strong punch

Charcuterie, fresh bread, olives and cheese.

He marked his stage area 

With a colorful thin wool carpet

That he brought from back home.

Ramo Sami looked past 

The shadows

Of some wire walkers

Performing

In one of the gardens

Focusing on the details

Of an ornate

Hot air balloon

As it ascended

Into the early evening sky

With pleasure seekers and lovers

Intent on 

Having an exciting view

Of the South Bank

Of the River Thames.

A grand Turkish tent

Was to his immediate right

As he faced out from the cafe.

Resplendent

With immense tapestries

Rugs and pillows.

It was an inviting refuge

For the amorous

And the prostitutes

That frequented the park.

This was an ideal location

For him to set up

Because of the continual 

Parade of pedestrian traffic

That meandered

Along the paved promenade.

It turned out to be

Quite the pleasant autumn day

After all.

The whispery gossamers

In the surrounding

Well-maintained 

Shrubbery

Or perhaps

Floating in the air.

The scenery tonight

Reminded him

Of when he performed

On the veranda

Of the Shepeard’s Hotel

In Cairo, Egypt.

His profession 

Was regarded as noble

In his native India

Dating back hundreds

Of years.

He performed 

For many crowned heads

Throughout Europe.

Here

Most regarded his trade

As simple entertainment

Or

As to a few elitists

As some shameful kind of pandering.

But it was a living

In England

And the establishment

Paid him well.

He was a conjuror.

A manualist.

Instead of deceiving the eye

He thought of his art

As pleasing to the eye.

Ramo Sami was one of the world’s

Greatest jugglers

Orbiting

Four hollow brass balls

The size of oranges

Between his hands

Then 

Pausing

Them on the top of his bare feet

Or resting them 

In the crook of his neck.

He could volley 

The balls 

Behind his back

As well as in front.

He looked around

At the formal gardens

And exhibit halls.

The roof of the conservatory

In the distance.

Dusk was falling.

The flickering glow

From gas lanterns

Streetlamps

And candles

Warming the park’s interior.

He put on display

His tall wicker basket

Of swords

Of varying lengths

And widths.

For inbetween juggling

He would swallow

Swords

To the audience’s excitement.

He laid out his card tricks

On the carpet.

Mere distractions.

He set up his dinner.

A plate of dry tow

A pepper box 

With ground sulpher and rosin.

Of which he’d light the tow

And with a knife and fork 

Proceed to eat

An inflamed dinner.

Ramo Sami

Prepared

One of the simplest

And one of the most elusive tricks

Right there on the carpet

In front of everybody.

The East Indian Needle Trick.

A feat that showed him

Putting a handful of needles

And a circle of thread 

In his mouth

Only to pull the needles out of his mouth

Entwined every

Several inches

Or so 

Like a clothesline.

He could feel it.

The time was now.

It was perfect.

There was energy in the air.

The mystery of reality
Meets night magic.

He began 

His performance.

He had an hour

Until the fireworks

Began.

He was a master.

It began with four
Hollow brass balls.