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BARRIE CORDINGLEY
Cheshire, England
The Fastest Gun Alive
I was walking in a graveyard, in a little Texas town,
When the writing on a tombstone caught my eye,
It said, here lies the body, of Benjamin-S-Brown,
A good man, who was far too young to die,
He`d led a blameless life, and kept within the law,
Now, he lies beneath this stone, aged Thirty Five,
Everybody thought he was, what everybody saw,
But in truth, he was the fastest gun alive.
I wandered into town, and called in at the saloon,
I wanted to know more about this man,
So I asked the old bartender, and he said, I finish soon,
And for a drink, I`ll tell you everything I can,
I gave the man a whisky, which vanished in a trice,
Then from the bottle, I filled his glass once more,
He said, what I`m about to tell you, is`nt very nice,
But I was here the day he walked in through that door.
He came into the bar and said, I`m Benjamin-S-Brown,
I`ve opened up a store across the street,
My wife and I are proud, to be living in this town,
And with that, the introductions were complete,
Then a stranger at the bar, thought he`d have a bit of fun,
He said, hey storeman, have a little drink with me,
I never take a drink, said Ben, and I never wear a gun,
And would like it best if people leave me be.
As the weeks passed by, people grew to like young Ben,
And helped to make his store a great success,
Some of the local lads, would tease him now and then,
But it was only done in fun, well, more or less,
But they often wondered why, some days he`d go away,
And be missing till the setting of the sun,
Then he`d ride back into town, and not a word he`d say,
No one must know he practiced with a gun.
One day some guys were sitting outside the old saloon,
Bragging who was quickest on the draw,
Perhaps it was the heat, on that fateful day in June,
That made Ben begin to rage at what he saw,
He shouted at the gang, you all think your very good,
But in a gunfight, no man here would survive,
They laughed at him and said, and I suppose you would,
And Ben said, yes, `cause I`m the fastest gun alive.Nobody would believe him, so to prove he had`nt lied,
He ran back to the store to fetch his gun,
And as he crossed the street, it was hanging at his side,
He said, the time has come to have a bit of fun,
Two dimes went in the air, Ben fired, and both were hit,
And then he shot a spur off someone's boot,
He said, shooting bits of metal, well that's the easy bit,
But it`s different when it`s men you have to shoot.
Then he told the group his story, of a life ruled by the gun,
And how he`d had to kill some fifteen men,
How each one of them refused, the chance to turn and run,
Because they all thought they were faster than young Ben,
The townsfolk took an oath, that no one would ever know,
That the fastest gun alive lived in their town,
And life returned to normal, well, for several weeks or so,
Until the day a fast gun finally tracked Ben down.
At first the people lied, when asked the whereabouts of Ben,
They said he`d upped and left some weeks before,
Then the gunman said his gang, would shoot some other men,
And, as one, the townsfolk pointed at Bens door,
Come out, you no good coward, Ben heard the gunman shout,
I aim to prove to you, that I`m the fastest gun,
Ben had seen it all before, and he knew there was no doubt,
Here was another man, who`d die, before he`d run.
The two men faced each other, there on the dusty street,
Ben gave the man the chance to walk away,
He replied, I`m going nowhere, till my business is complete,
One of us, must die, this very day,
The stranger made his move, and his hand went for his gun,
But before it left it`s holster he was dead,
There was only Ben left standing, beneath the blazing sun,
Now everyone believed what he had said.
I asked the old bartender, how young Ben had lost his life,
He looked at me and gave a knowing wink,
He said, Bens not really dead, he still lives here with his wife,
And that grave does`nt hold what you may think,
All we buried were Bens guns, and his fastgun reputation,
We wanted him to live his life in peace,
He hated killing men who tried to live above their station,
So we decided that Bens life would have to cease.
The old timer finished talking, and we both had another drink,
Then I realised it was time for me to leave,
And as I shook his hand, he smiled and gave another wink,
And I knew he still had something up his sleeve,
I said, for me it`s been a pleasure, and I hope you feel the same,
Now the time has come for me to leave this town,
And though we`ve shared a drink, I don`t even know your name,
He said, Hi, I`m Benjamin-S-Brown.© 2003, Barrie Cordingley
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
How the West Was Won
"Go west young man" was the cry, when life in the east became tough,
Load up the wagons, hitch up the team, 'cause us folk, we just had enough,
They say there's gold in them thar hills, and land a-plenty, for every man,
And if it takes us years, we'll reach our goal, any which way that we can,
Over snow capped mountains, and waterless plains, danger at every turn,
Nothing will stop us in our quest, and what we don't know now, we'll learn,
Through searing heat that charred the skin, or with fingers froze to the rein,
The settlers drove on relentlessly, heading west, on that first wagon train,
Though life was hard, and very cruel, and they lived by the law of the gun,
They vowed that nothing would stop them, that's how the west was won.
These pioneers were a rugged band, who let nothing stand in their way,
Facing death from deadly diseases, snakes and insects, day after day,
Then there were the Indians, who said, "White man will not take our land"
We won't live on the reservation, all the tribes must unite in their stand,
So they fought through the Indian wars, on their journey, way out west,
They knew their rewards would be great, if they could stand up to the test,
The wagon trains traveled on westward, leaping every hurdle they met,
A promised land opened before them, it was a journey they'd never forget,
So these settlers so tired and weary, knelt and prayed in the noon day sun,
Then they began building their homesteads, that's how the west was won.
The towns soon started to flourish, as more and more settlers arrived,
But prosperity also brought lawlessness, and only the strong survived,
The gun was the answer to poverty, life wasn't worth a plugged Dime,
When two men argued in the street, the gunman would win every time,
A solution had to be found, to make the streets safe to walk, day and night,
So each town elected a lawman, someone willing to stand up and fight,
One such town was "Tombstone" Wyatt Earp was the sheriff they named,
He upheld the law with a lightning draw, and soon the town was tamed,
On the outskirts of town was "boothill," the last home for many fast gun,
Each one laid to rest, by the one that was best, that's how the west was won.
As the years past by, these intrepid settlers, built a land of which, to be proud,
Though the work was hard and days were long, their spirits were never bowed,
They faced heartbreak, death and diseases, many died of starvation and plague,
Although the doctors did their best, their knowledge was meager and vague,
Today its cities stand tall and proud, and its people are happy and free,
And the wondrous things they achieved are there, for all of mankind to see,
As I think of my trips to America, and the great wonders that I have seen,
I recall all those long gone pioneers, the men and women who followed a dream,
The hardships they faced were not for themselves, but for generations yet to come,
Who now reap the harvest the wagon trains sowed, that's how the west was won.
© 2003, Barrie Cordingley
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
Old Blue
It's lonely at night on the prairie, for a cowboy who's ridin' alone,
With only coyotes for company, and fingers, froze to the bone,
The old grey horse he's a ridin', is weary, and ready to drop,
He knows that both of them will die, if he chooses to make a stop,
He thinks about his wife and son, asleep, in their nice warm bed,
He wonders what would become of them, were he to wind up dead,
Come on old pal, keep a movin' think of that barn, snug and warm,
There's water and oats, and lots of hay, a-waitin' for you at the farm,
There's only ten more miles to go, to where my love awaits me,
O.K old Blue, what harm can it do, if we sits a-while, under a tree.
An hour goes by, now it's time to go, the cowboy gets to his feet,
He ambles across to where old Blue lies, shivering, under a sheet,
Come on old son, I know how you feel, but we've still a-ways to go,
There's no way I'm gonna leave you, to perish, here, in the snow,
But old Blue ain't goin' nowhere, his legs have walked their last mile,
The cowboy knows, it's the end of the road, and he begins to smile,
His mind goes back to yester-year, when he and old Blue first met,
The cattle drives, the wagon trains, the good times he'll never forget,
He strokes the brow of his dear old pal, and his eyes fill up with tears
In his heart he knows what he must do, to a friend he's had for years,
He walks to where his saddle lies, and he falls to his knees to pray,
Forgive me for what I must do this night, you know it's the only way,
I ask you lord to steady my hand, so my aim is straight and true,
For a part of me will die t his night, when I say goodbye to old Blue,
He returns to where his horse still lies, his pistol clutched to his chest,
He knew this moment had to come, he knew he'd be put to the test,
As he kneels beside his dying pal, he whispers, I love you old friend,
Then, before he can change his mind, old Blue meets a peaceful end,
Now he sits all alone on the prairie, with no-one to help in his plight,
He knows his hope of survival is futile, then a shot rings out in the night.
© 2004, Barrie Cordingley
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
All the best,
Barrie Cordingley
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