Bowview Manor Poem

 

You were always one for the Rodeo,

a preference that suits a man

such as yourself.

A man I am convinced

was a bull rider in a past life,

a theory that can be proved

by observing the way you have

weathered each of life’s wild bucks

with such sublime boldness.

 

From what I gather,

you were never the type

to feel sorry for yourself.

Instead,

you grabbed on tightly

to the bull rope

and persevered through

every callous, burn, and scar.

You looked straight into

the universe’s palpitating eye

with respectful defiance

and accepted her turbulences

as they collided head-on with destiny–

your destiny.

 

And even when things

got particularly hard,

you stayed grounded,

and when I say “grounded”

I mean you remained present–

you didn’t run away

when things got bad.

Didn’t light up a single smoke

or drink yourself stupid

in an attempt to

suffocate your woes.

 

You are not an escapist.

 

You are a realist.

 

And, for this, I admire you.

 

You might accuse

yourself of not caring enough.

You’d even said

that’s what you appreciated

about your wife–

Marlene,

the quintessence of her smile

immortalized through

the vibrantly embroidered

tapestry that hangs on your wall–

the most–

the fact that she cared

more than you did.

 

But you must also understand

that there is a sort of

blessing in not caring.

Because, while it doesn’t make the

heartaches hurt any less,

it makes you strong enough

to withstand them,

to ride out the chaos

even when the prospect

of falling is terrifying.

 

What I’m saying is

that I wish I were

more like you.

And so I articulate to you

my gratitude through poetry.

 

Now, I also know you’ve

never been a terribly

big fan of poetry.

 

So then,

don’t call this poetry.

 

Think of it as a rodeo,

each new line break

a wild buck

only you–

Jack the Bull Rider–

can bestride.

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I think maybe there was something symbiotic about my encounter with Jack E. What I mean is that he has shared something meaningful with me and, in return, I hope to share something meaningful with him.

What I have learned: 

There is value in not caring. And by “not caring,” I don’t mean apathy because Jack is far from being apathetic. By not caring, I mean holding your ground and believing that good things can still happen in a world where heartache prevails. By not caring, I mean being in control of your emotions to such a extent that you don’t let life’s trials destroy you or scare you into running away. Unfortunately, one of Jack’s own sons cared too much and overdosed; he let sadness destroy him and then he destroyed himself– ran straight into the maws of death. For me, this was a reality check, because, like Jack’s son, I care too much, especially where my own sadness is concerned.

What I Hope to Offer:

Above anything else, Poetry.

Of course, I am not, in any way trying to force Jack E. to like poetry. I respect his preferences. Because poetry is what I do best, I simply want to offer a poetic expression of my gratitude for him and, hopefully, something he can relate to. Because to me, poetry should have to do less with rhythm and rhyme and more to do with relatability and being genuine. And I am genuinely appreciative of both Jack’s character and resiliency.

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Grains swaying in field gif. (n.d.). [image] Available https://giphy.com/gifs/love-cute-WjWfOWiqsogqQ [Accessed 4 Jun. 2018].