Fragments

Our names are our identity,

How we are known in the world.

Family and friends fix us in their minds

With an appellation given at birth.

We are our name whatever we do

Even if we change it through deed poll,

Or become famous under another.

Our name will always say us.

But how are we to be remembered

If we fail to make a mark.

When we die our name lives on

Only in the memories of those who knew us.

Some, who live notable lives

Have names that survive the years,

Filling the pages of history books.

Greater still are those that are carved

In marble or granite, life eternal is theirs.

The heroes and the powerful,

The loved and the loathed

All achieve immortality in stone

While we, the common people

Are lucky to leave a fragment of bone,

We are fragments.

Fragments of a memory.

Colin Beardshall 2014

Bourton on the Water

The sun dappled branches of an old crack willow

Provide coolness and shade on a hot summer’s day.

She lay there using my lap for a pillow,

While I watched the river in a nonchalant way.

We had come to this spot on our Cotswolds break,

Enjoying the sun, the birds and the flowers.

The clear, bright water, a meandering snake.

A scene so serene we could sit here for hours.

Colin Beardshall 2013.

Beach Huts

Beach huts, lined up

Rainbow coloured hues.

How to know

The sun, no show

When is summer due?

Take a chance, a quick glance

ascertain the weather.

stick out hand,

wet or dry?

Forecasting isn’t clever.

Colin Beardshall 2014

At The Gate I Met A Maiden

At the gate I met a maiden, fair as fair could be.

I looked into her bright blue eyes and she smiled back at me.

“Oh maiden fair I love thee so e’en though we have just met.

Ours is an eternity that hasn’t started yet.

Say you’ll be mine and I will show you love as rarely found.

I will give you heaven on earth; your feet won’t touch the ground.”

“Oh good sir but would I could accept your gracious offer,

But alas I am with child, the offspring of another.

yet I love not the baby’s father, for him I have no desire,

For  love was lacking in the union, I was ravaged by the Squire.”

“Well, I will take you from this land.  We’ll build ourselves a home

And we shall live in harmony, the child I will treat as my own.

Then one day I shall return, put the Squire to the sword.

Your child will claim its birthright, of that you have my word."

Colin Beardshall 1314

An Estuary Nocturne

The dying light of another day

Dapples gold upon the water.

The sun, weary of the world

Is resting on the horizon.

Here fresh water meets brine

The birds have fed well on the margins

And now they look only to sleep

Keeping a watchful eye out for hunters

That might stealthily creep in the night.

Tomorrow is never taken for granted.

Night calls fill the marsh scented air

An ethereal echo of the day just passed.

Small creatures emerge from diurnal sleep.

The night is theirs until, taken by surprise

They are sent running from the rising sun.

Colin Beardshall 2014.

A Thankless Task

They worked the mine for 50 years

In the heat and dark, digging for coal.

Every day they confronted their fears

Of ever getting out of this stinking hole.

At age sixty five they fill their last wagon

leaving the pit with a handshake and lamp.

They also take with them lungs full of dust

retirement blighted by bronchitis and cramp.

In their mid seventies, if they are lucky

They’ll need to breath oxygen through a mask.

Most won’t see eighty, pneumoconiosis

The price they pay for a thankless task.