The Legend of Bobby Charles

(As this was authored around 2002 sometime in the spring, I had previously been talking with a girl in a local small town outside of Knoxville called Harriman in the closing months of 2001. The girl, unfortunately, proved to be little more than a charlatan, as every time we were set to meet up on a date, she conveniently had an excuse for why she could not appear. I was 20 years old and in my sophomore year of college at the time of these talks. It was during our conversations both online and via the telephone that she mentioned a fellow by the name of Bobby Charles living nearby who was a bit aloof and had suffered some terrible and very peculiar circumstances in his life. Upon hearing this, and having not yet suffered my first nervous breakdown but had been languishing through more than a year long's worth of severe depression, the first literary character of whom I was reminded was that of Harper Lee's Boo Radley from To Kill a Mockingbird. This was a novel required of my English I Honors class (high school freshman English) for reading during the summer months, and of the two novels that were assigned - the other being Olive Ann Burn's Cold Sassy Tree, I fancied the former far better. As I have just retrieved the original poem from another website I last used over 11 years ago, I noticed that it was wanton of a few revisions as I was not yet the polished writer I would become in subsequent years due to the acquisitions of age and experience which are appropriated with time. Hence, you see the following as the finished product, and what I hope that when I finally begin publishing my volumes of poetry dating back to 13 years ago this month, it will strike true in the litmus test that encompasses the eyes of the editors

As with many of my oldest poems, "The Legend of Bobby Charles" was heavily influenced by classic rock 'n roll. In the case of this piece, I had owned, as I do to this day, former Beatles lead guitarist George Harrison's first smash-hit album in its 30th anniversary re-release called "All Things Must Pass." The particular song to which I listened and inspired me to author this piece following my ill-fated conversations with the girl hailing from Harriman was "The Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let It Roll)," which as you see, the opening lyrics are heavily-imbued with the essences of both the song's title as well as the actual song's lyrics. Aside from that, there are very few similarities between the lyrics for the song's entirety and the poem itself, as I seem to recall that the song from whence it originated was actually about the history behind Harrison's mansion along Henley-on-Thames in terms of its previous owner, hence the name "Sir Frankie Crisp." My sole purpose of this piece was to describe in agonizing detail the plight of the figure whom had become somewhat of an urban legend in my mind as well as a mystery, while also relating my recent diagnoses with both severe bipolar disorder and OCD with his a fore-mentioned struggles; in essence, I wanted to convince myself to break out of the shell which my mind had constructed, and I did so by living vicariously through a person who in all likelihood is fictitious. In former President Ronald Reagan's rhetoric at the Brandenberg Gate in West Berlin in West Germany in his famous speech delivered on June 12, 1987, he is noted for having challenged Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev to "... tear down this wall!" This was my way of opening my gate, to tear down my wall, and to release the inner demons haunting me at the time that will continue doing so until the final sunset of my earthly days.)

The Legend of Bobby Charles                   Written in 2001 (Edited on September 29, 2013)

Let it roll across the floor! 
Hear it scream and listen at its roar!
Dear old Bobby Charles is in the universe, 
Here with us; maybe able to converse! 

'Tis often how old Bobby is locked in a dark room, 
In a place the sunniest delights dare not loom. 
He permits the darkness of shadows to metastasize

Like a cancer through his wounded soul, 
Wrapped in false white attire like the ball he doth roll, 
And sits ensconced in that soundproof dungeon

Without so much as a lull, just as Edmond Dantès languished:

A prisoner of an odyssey Homeric in lyrics and prose. 

Dear Bobby Charles! Where have you been? 
You've been away since I was a tyke aged ten, 
And all the little children play outside, flashing a grin,
As you sit in your rocking chair, ruminating in vain,  
And O'! How you always are sipping upon your flask of gin! 

It's been a long, long time, o' this I know well, 
Since the day of that repugnant crime sent your mind to Hell!
So open your mind and come hither with me, please?
And Esmeralda and Willie Joe, and let us sail the Seven Seas! 
Let us run and jump or climb a redwood tree, 
Or partake on English biscuits and a warm cup of tea! 
O' Bobby, my friend, there is just so much for you to view! 
So much beauty, 'tis all so abundantly true! 
And you? Yes, I do mean you, my friend,
Could fancy a slew of good times, or at least a few!

Let us never waste another second of Precious Time

Consorting with the known feloness: les amours des misérables!

God hath spoken from his pulpit 
And rolled his ball as you so fancy. 
'Tis all well, Bobby Charles! Just construe it, 
For life rolls on, like a ball, white and spherical; 
You, of all people, should know all too well!

Let us climb the steps and emerge from Hell!

Let us be Johnny Rebels with our Confederate yells!

O' Bobby Charles! Never should you doubt nor deny

The Creator's amours for you and your precious life!

He shall see to it that your life shines brightly through

This opaque film which Misery blindly blackened dark blue!

The nightmare is over, Bobby Charles, my dear old friend!

Let us seize the day where it once was always night!

The cold winter's bite and Jack Frost shall abscond

If only you see it past that faux cell sans bars.

The only prison is that manifestation of your ill mind!

Carpe diem! May we seize each day one at a time!

The Jubilee of Liberation!:
You are free! My heavens, and yes! 
My! How you are now free!

'Tis the Seventh Sign, the tablet broken! 

The Lord is so benevolent in His See!
The Wall of Jericho hath tumbled to the ground
As the serpent has been slain!

Let the Garden of Eden be restored

As my friend, Bobby Charles, marches forth,

Along the confines of the quadratum.

Let the horses and chariots commence forth

Along the parade honor our cerebral hero;

And do not delay, for it is his day,

As he is now Emperor of his domain!