cricket poems for funerals10 marca 2023
No more a watch to stand, Old Sailor.For you are drifting on an ebbing tide.Eight Bells has rung. Now you will not swell the routOf lads that wore their honours out,Runners whom renown outranAnd the name died before the man. A flame of great power starts within ones heart and soul and mind,That pushes every man to a breaking point so that improvement he will find,Martial arts is more than the art of combat or disarming a gun or knife,Martial arts is food for the mind body and soul, martial arts is a way of life! The worst berets you have ever seen(pics appreciated)? Some love it for mingling with their upstanding crowdThe drinking, the laughter, the gossip so loudThey arrive at the track wearing yesterdays shoppingFor racing you say, more a spot of Box hopping. O precious, tiny, sweet little oneYou will always be to me.So perfect, pure, and innocentJust as you were meant to be. The silence hung suspended:It was the last bowl of the day,And everything dependedOn our skipper yet to play.He gazed upon the verdant green His eyes were focused tightOn a sphere that could just be seen:The Kitty shining white. Patti Masterman A poem about being grateful that your body lasted as long as it did. And I hate all those worthies who avert their eyesBecause Ive forgotten to zip up my flies.I excuse myself saying Its quite plain to seeIll have far less bother the next time I pee!In the human race maybe Im just also ranBut I dont give a toss Im a grumpy old man! I have spent the night in the watchhouse My head was the size of three So I went and asked the chemistTo fix up a drink for me;And he brewed it from various bottlesWith soda and plenty of ice,With something that smelt like lemon,And something that seemed like spice. I dont give a jot!Ive railed and Ive raved since my dotage beganIts my privilege, cos Im a grumpy old man. She loves to sing all kinds of songs.Please tell her that she did no wrong.Would you comfort her and hold her in your arms tight?And tell her she is missed every day and night. At the moment of birth, I held you closeI looked into those eyes I saw myself, I saw your soulA bond that never dies. Dont look to right or left at all,For that is how the mighty fall! I read of a man who stood to speakAt the funeral of a friendHe referred to the dates on the tombstoneFrom the beginning to the end. who will be next?want to face me?come on dont be shy! A Legacy of Stitches is what we leave behind;the imprint of our very soul that lasts beyond our time.The heart that quilts knows, oh, so well the peace that can be found,as needle meets with fabric, for there is no sweeter sound.Whether quiet piecing done by hand or on our sewing machine,theres rhythm to our stitches as we sew along each seam.Those stitches tell the story of our lives as they unfoldas we think of quilts that Grandma made with stories left untold.The humdrum of our daily lives grows elegant and grand,when we start to cut the pieces, then stitch the fabric in our hands.And whatever is the reason for the quilts we piece and sew,and whoever is the maker, there is one thing that we know.Each quilt is full of memories and is a treasured thing.If quilts could talk, imagine how some quilts would surely sing!For some quilts are sewn in happy times and others when were sad,and some are sewn in laughter and others when were mad.Some are sewn to warm us, and some sewn just for fun,and some are works in progress that never quite get done!Some quilts are sewn for beauty, a quilt made just for show,but the heart of the true quilter is the one who really knows That no matter how the quilt is stitched, we leave our mark in time.This Legacy of Stitches is what we leave behind. I always begin With the first clue across, Continuing on Until Im at a loss. Soft whistlingBats perched on the ceilingTears of the cavesDripping and echoingGentle lapping waterAcross rocking shoresGlowing mushrooms andGlowing wormsStalactites and stalagmitesShuddering in placeWarm, soft breathsOf bears who hibernateThe cave is sleepingBut very aliveAnd it is singingA mournful goodbye. Grampa anon A short poem about a caring, loving, and very dear grandfather.Granddad Fiona Bourke A poem letting our grandad know that we will never stop loving them.A Grumpy Old Man Tony Jennett An amusing poem discussing all the traits of a typical grumpy old man.Goodbye, Grandad Sarah Harrison A goodbye to a grandfather who gave so much to his descendants.A Poem For My Granddad Dennis Taylor A sweet poem from a grandchild to a beloved grandfather. As we say goodbye, and bid them adieu,We remember the flag, and all it stands for true.A symbol of liberty, for all to see,We honour their memory, and now set it free. Time just keeps moving onMany years have come and goneBut I grow older without regretMy hopes are in what may come yet.On the farm I work each dayThis is where I wish to stayI watch the seeds each season sproutFrom the soil as the plants rise out.I study Nature and I learnTo know the earth and feel her turnI love her dearly and all the seasonsFor I have learned her secret reasons.All that will live is in the bosom of EarthShe is the loving mother of all birthBut all that lives must pass awayAnd go back again to her someday.My life too will pass from EarthBut do not grieve, I say, there will be other birthWhen my body is old and all spentAnd my soul to Heaven has went.Please compost and spread me on this plainSo my body Mother Earth can claimThat is where I wish to beThen Nature can nourish new life with me.So do not for me grieve and weepI did not leave, I only sleepI am with the soil here belowWhere I can nourish life of beauty and glow.Here I can help the falling rainGrow golden fields of ripening grainFrom here I can join the winds that blowAnd meet the softly falling snow.Here I can help the suns warming lightGrow food for birds of gliding flightI can be in the beautiful flowers of springAnd in every other lovely thing.So do not for me weep and cryI am here, I do not die. The ancients etched the wordsfor battle and victory onto their shields and then they went out. The beauty and peace it brings my wayIs difficult to describeFor we who bike for pleasureBelong to a different tribe. Thanks to Roger. "A Meeting" by Edith Wharton. Ill see you next week! O Life! Dear Lord, each time I bowl a frameI thank you for this striking game.Each step I take down the alleys laneIm glad I can play sunshine or rain.When Ive hooked my final Bowling BallPlease spare me a split when I answer your call,And take my mortal soul to beWith you in Heavenly Bowl. After reading it, I sat downin the garden and looked aroundat the green grass and the spikyflowers and the white cloudsriding high, and I thought,Its all a miracle. But now you are gone,and with you the aromaof your favourite roast. They would make good funeral poems for a nature lover who spent a lot of time in their garden. I pray that once Ive donned my padsAnd walked out to the square,That none of my nicks find a palm,And that I score my share. cricket poems for funerals. If I could fly like abird I would fly so very high.I would soar throughthe sky leaving all myworries behind. Ill place a stone of amethyst, He said.For all the times you spent on your knees,when you asked if Id take care of your children,and then for having faith in Me., I have a pearl for every little sacrificethat you made without them knowing.For all the times you went without,to keep them happy, healthy and growing., And last of all I have a diamond,the greatest one of all,for sharing unconditional lovewhether they were big or small., It was you love that helped them growFeeling safe and happy and proudA love so strong and pureIt could shift the darkest cloud., After the Lord placed the last jewel in,He said, Your crown is now complete,Youve earned your place in HeavenWith your children at your feet., by Lewis Haynes (slightly adapted by Mark Gregory). Through our tears we look upwards to see [person] watching over us. Eyes the shady night has shutCannot see the record cut,And silence sounds no worse than cheersAfter earth has stopped the ears. Like every other Yorkshire boy I dreamt of days of skill and joy Bashing centuries for the county White rose cap sufficient bounty Famous for setting new records And stuffing Middlesex at Lords. Ruth E. Renkl. When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings,Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,He was a man who used to notice such things? Please know how many lives you touch.These words are my present. If I had a voice nowIt would be lovingAnd I would say thank you for all of your care.If I had a voice nowId want to tell youIm sorry for not always wanting to be there.My life, it confused you, it did so to me.But I am released now and my heart is free.The heart that was hidden beneath all the pain,It felt so much more than I could explain.And if I had a voice now,Id say out loudI love you, I wish that Id made that clear.And in my lifetimeI need you to knowThat I was much more than I did appear.These are things that Id say through choiceif I had a chance and if I had a voice. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slipperd pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;His youthful hose, well savd, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. When my sailing days are over,And I sail the seas no more,I shall build myself a refugeBy the oceans murmuring shore.As I watch the foaming breakersWhen the tide comes rushing in,I will contemplate my lifetimeWith its virtues and its sins. Do not ask me to remember,Dont try to make me understand,Let me rest and know youre with me,Kiss my cheek and hold my hand. Funeral Poems; Memorial Poems, sayings, quotes, and verses; Celebration of Life Poems; Remembrance Poems The Comfort and Sweetness of Peace After the clouds, the sunshine, after the winter, the spring, after the shower, the rainbow, for life is a changeable thing. Youll be greetedby a nice cup of coffeewhen you get to heavenand strains of angelic harmonyBut wouldnt you be devastatedif they only serve decaffeinatedwhile from the percolators of hellyour soul was assaultedBy Satans fresh espresso smell? A timers ringing in my earThe dish of my lifetime is finally hereLove, family, friendship and cakeIngredients that really helped keep me awakeBut Ive now run out of that most important of allIve scoured the kitchen and even searched the hallIf only Id been more sage with my thymeAnd possibly quaffed alittleless wineSo please stand and shout with me, if you dont mindMORE THYME! Guided by the Lonely Star,beyond the utmost harbour-bar,Ill find the heavens fair and free,and beaches of the Starlit Sea.Ship, my ship! The members sat in their strong deckchairs, "Dead" by Winifred Mary Letts. Also the late, great Peter Tinniswood wrote a fantastic pair of books called "tales from the long room" and "more tales from the long room". I juggle through the years, and watch them come and go,With all their hopes and fears, their joys and tears and woe,I catch them as they fall and fling them to the sky,And catch them as they come back down, and so I juggle by. Unknown Sure, luck means a lot in cricket. I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done. I Am A Martial Artist Karen Eden A poem about the pride and courage needed for various forms of martial art.Karate Is A Quiet Art Mark Gregory A reflection upon karate as a journey of self-discipline.Martial Arts Is So Much More Than Just A Fighting Art Daya Nandan A poem about the richness of martial arts.The Warriors Spirit Mark Gregory A poem about the strong, bold spirit of a fighter and warrior. cricket poems for funerals. Bury Me In Lycra! We sit a whileWe guess bird namesWe look them upWe watch bird games. Butterflies From Heaven anon A poem about what it might mean when a butterfly comes to you.Butterfly Kisses John F. Connor A poem which equates the butterfly to the spirit of those who have left us behind.Little Butterfly Amy Farquhar A poem for a person who lived their life cocooned within the love of their friends.On A Butterflys Wings Jim Howard A short, slightly religious poem about the journey to the next life.While Waiting For Thee anon A beautiful, brief verse about the soul of the departed dancing in the air around us. we missThe joy that liesIn labour, and in thisGrow old before our time.The gardeners artIs Natures own,And he who tends a partTends the whole.The noblest work of manIs to add beauty to the world. Rest now my fallen brotherLay soft your suffering backRest well and foreverYour memory shall not lackRest your tired handsWipe clean your weary browRest with St. FlorianYour spirit now endowedRest here your breaking heartWe know you gave your allRest easy, youve done your partYouve answered your last callRest knowing that in god we soughtOh lord, watch over another who just fellRest assured your troubled thoughtAs we ring the final bell. "Mark Twain. He was my North, my South, my East and West,My working week and my Sunday rest,My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. A family is a placeTo cry, and laugh and vent frustrationsTo ask for help, to tease and yellTo be touched and hugged and smiled at.A family is people who care when you are sadWho love you no matter whatWho share your triumphs and dont expect you to be perfectJust growing with honesty in your own direction.A family is a circle where we learn to like ourselvesWhere we learn to make good decisionsWhere we learn to think before we doWhere we learn patience and table mannersAnd respect for other peopleA family is a place where we share ideasWhere we listen and are listened to Where we learn the rules of life to prepare us for the world.The world is a place where anything can happenAnd if we grow up in a loving family We are ready for the world. The fire tone rang. Its not only just the silks, and the colour and the flair, Or all the many kindred folk that I find gathered there, Sharing the excitement of the journey jockeys facing, That whips me to action, for another day of racing. And we must play on. Hegot into competition,but didnt really trust it,and the main games of life allseemed rigged, one wayor another. of the questions of these recurring,Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filld with the foolish,Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless? I am a man who works with God,I cannot succeed without his help,For you see,Im just a farmerPlain and simple. Your life has purpose.God sent you on a mission.To live, to love, to learn Is His commission. Ive grown up with your values,And Im very glad I did;So heres to you, dear father,From your forever grateful kid. Afterwards Thomas Hardy A beautiful poem with many delicately described images of the English countryside.In Memory Of My Mother Patrick Kavanagh A poem written for an Irish mother who loved the countryside.Margarets Moon Jackie Kay A poem about the death of a lady, whose soul is released into the Scottish highlands.My Country Dorothea MacKellar An ode to the wondrous countryside of the authors home. Not quite a reading, but maybe verses from "when an old cricketer leaves the crease", a song by Roy Harper. Search the forum using the power of Google, Lost my Dad recently and my son is hoping to do a reading at the memorial service at church. That our caravanning days togetherHave now ended that is trueBut travel on my darlingAnd think of me as you do. He picked up bricks, mortar and trowel to craftBarbies and walls, buildings and homes that lastAn arch or a curve, all his work set apart,Because each brick he placed, was a work of art. Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. They are too far away for us to touch, just as [s]he has gone somewhere we cannot follow until our own star-time comes.The stars cannot be held close for comfort, just as we can no longer hold him/her close but the stars will burn forever.One day, our own star-time will come, and our spirit will soar into the sky to burn with all those lovely family and friends who have gone before us.On the inky cloth of space, we will be reunited in constellations of joy.Until then, our own flame burns low and dim and cold without you. Do with us what you will,they faintly sigh, as you close the door on them.He is gone and no one can tell us where. The ball swung, swerved and darted, Bury Me In LycraWith a bike-shaped brooch above my heartTake me not by motor-hearseBut pulled by trike, upon a cart. O Magic wheel of burnished steelHow part of myself thou art.As we roll alongMid the hurrying throngThat peoples the busy mart. 11 min read. Im old and Im bitter, with nothing to fearSo I hope I offend you by bending your ear.Its my one joy in life you can like it or not No answer in edgeways? So, if youre searching for a poem for a grandmother, scroll down to G or hit Ctrl+F to find grandmother on this page; this can be done for someone who loved cricket, someone who suffered from Alzheimers, someone who brought laughter into everyones lives, or any other topic you can think of. Poems for those who loved exploring the darkest depths of the oceans. As I Look Up To The Skies Above anon A sorrowful poem about how the world is a shade darker after losing someone.Requiem Robert Louis Stevenson A beautiful poem about acceptance, and being laid to rest under the night sky.The Sombre Astronomer Michael Humphries A short poem of longing to be with our lost loved ones again.There Is A New Star Shining In The Sky Tonight Sarah Hartwell Some prose reflecting upon the stars in the night sky. My heart often pounding; Im going to burstCome on legs, keep going!I want to come first. Through the curves, around the ton, Down the last hill, over-run, City lights below are glowing, Common sense, bike is slowing, Reality, once more it bites, To draw me back from dizzy heights, Down the driveway, to home I glide, Wish my mate was by my side! Little rattle of dry seeds in pods, The warm crowd . Feel no guilt in laughter, theyd know how much you care.Feel no sorrow in a smile that they are not here to share.You cannot grieve forever; they would not want you to.Theyd hope that you could live your life the way you always do.So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared,the days you spent together, all the happiness you shared.Let memories surround you, a word someone may saywill suddenly recapture a time, an hour or a day,that brings them back as clearly as though they were still here,and fills you with the feeling that they are always near.For if you keep those moments, you will never be apartand they will live forever locked safely within your heart. adapted from the original by Rudyard Kipling. Its fun and its laughterIts planning and strategyBut most of all, its you and me.We laugh, we cheer, we argue a few,but this is a memory made anew. The poems on this page are suitable for any loved one. MORE THYME! It broke our hearts to lose you,You did not go alone,For part of us went with you,the day God called you home. Life Is Chess anon A thoughtful poem about how chess reflects life but its only a game, right?Not Much For Games Hans Ostrom An anti-board game poem for someone who preferred fairness and solitude.Rest In Peace, Chess Master Mark Gregory A poem for a skilled and passionate chess player.The Scrabble King Spencer Stoddard A poem highlighting someones total domination of the game of Scrabble. And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread. The sadness of the present daysIs locked and set in time.And moving to the futureIs a slow and painful climb. Aunts have no wands or wings,So they work with wisdom, love, and things.Having taken on this role,You loved me right down to my soul. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. I thought I saw her face todayIn the sparkle of the morning sun.And then I heard the angel say,Her work on earth is done., I thought I heard her voice todayThen laugh her hearty laugh.And then I heard the angel say,Theres peace, little one, at last., I thought I felt her touch todayIn the breeze that rustled by.And then I heard the angel say,The spirit never dies., I thought that she had left meFor the stars so far above.And then I heard the angel say,She left you with her love., I thought that I would miss herAnd never find my way.And then I heard the angel say,Shes with you every day.. The Archers Bow Shelbie Hale An ode to the oneness between archer and bow that has now come to an end.The Arrow And The Song Henry Longfellow Wadsworth A verse touching upon the impact people have on our lives.An Arrow Chosen From A Quiver anon A slightly religious poem comparing someones life to the release of an arrow.
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