I will always remember you, brother of mine.In my heart I will keep you, so I will be fine. Mother wore an ample apronTo cover her clean dress.Shed tell you thats what it was forIf you asked her, I would guess. As you touched our livesWith your generosity and careYour laughter and love always shone through. We rubbed our chins and scratched our heads just what did it mean?Try menacing, or angry,or something in between? The Dash Linda Ellis A verse pondering on making the most of the years between birth and death.If Rudyard Kipling Kiplings famous poem about what it means to be a man.A Life Well Lived anon A poem for someone who lived life to its fullest.Man In The Mirror Dale Wimbrow A reflective piece suggesting the most important opinion of you is your own.A Song Of Living Amelia Josephine Burr A verse which suggests loving life and living it fully leads to no regrets.Success Bessie Anderson Stanley A reflection upon what it means to be successful in life.Successful Life Eugene Grinman A poem pondering over what it means to have lived a successful life.The Time Is Now Bettina Van Vaerenbergh A poem encouraging us all to live well, and live in the now.When Great Trees Fall Maya Angelou A poem in free verse about how we feel when great people die. My grandfather said that of those he could hire,Not a servant so faithful he found,For it wasted no time, and had but one desire At the close of each week to be wound.And it kept in its place not a frown upon its face,And its hands never hung by its side,But it stopped short never to go again When the old man died. So let us ride to help make others aware.That the roads that we ride are for all to share. 3. "An honest man here lies at rest, The friend of man, the friend of truth, Might be some themed words in that that could be used? Clean your rims, my friend! Her Boilers with full head of steam.Cargo stowed and alley stored.Just waiting to get underway.When the last Hand comes aboard. Fly, fly little wingFly beyond imaginingThe softest cloud, the whitest doveUpon the wind of heavens lovePast the planets and the starsLeave this lonely world of oursEscape the sorrow and the painAnd fly again. Wine comes in at the mouthAnd love comes in at the eye;Thats all we shall know for truthBefore we grow old and die.I lift the glass to my mouth,I look at you, and I sigh. And so, when we remember,Well think of all the rest.Well concentrate on earlier,And remember all the best. On a fair day by accident, afterThe bargains are all made and we can walkTogether through the shops and stalls and marketsFree in the oriental streets of thought. We put out every kind of seedTo watch small birds come flitter-feed.Blue JaysRobinsChickadeesFlutter in from nearby trees. The beauty and peace it brings my wayIs difficult to describeFor we who bike for pleasureBelong to a different tribe. "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" by Mary Frye. The earth provides the musicTo set your spirit freeYou only need to trust yourselfFly! "Death Is Nothing At All" by Robert Scott Holland. If you want fame for yourself, go play an individual game. cricket poems for funerals. When I feel overwhelmed by destruction,Let me go down to the sea.Let me sit by the immeasurable oceanAnd watch the surfBeating in and running out all day and all nightLet me sit by the seaAnd have the bitter sea windsSlap my cheeks with their cold, damp handsUntil I am sensible again.Let me look at the sky at nightAnd let the stars tell meOf limitless horizons and unknown universesUntil I am grown calm and strong once more. We pull out the chairs for whomever dares,The drinks and munchies set to spare,We argue over who will sit and where,And who will interpret the rules in despair. Nothing can erase the painfulImprints on your mindBut there are softer memoriesThat time will let you find. William Shakespeare. It was a joy to watch him, for he movedAs if he were the embodiment of joy,As if the energy that animated himWere a spirit that he couldnt destroy,A force that he had learned to channelInto the grace of his somersaults and cartwheels,The beauty of his handstands. give me the flavourof butterscotch and vanillawith a little chocolateplease and thank you. Sunset and evening star,And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the bar,When I put out to sea. Ring out the want, the care, the sin,The faithless coldness of the times;Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymesBut ring the fuller minstrel in. 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. To all of those that think of me,Be happy as I go out to sea.If others wonder why Im missinJust tell em Ive gone fishin.
But a heaven is easier made of nothing at allThan the earth regained, and still and sole withinThe spin of worlds, with a gesture sure and nobleHe reels that heaven in,Landing it ball by ball,And trades it all for a broom, a plate, a table. Bugs on visor, flatly splattered, Speed limits, completely shattered. The moment I knew about youformed a bond that will never break This tiny life I have insidefrom me no-one could take. When I was knee high, I was immortalBecause my Mum always held my handI knew no harm would come to meIn this, the safest place in the land, Her hands were always there to guide meTo show me where to goHer hands were forever knittingTo keep us warm in Winters snow, They were there to wave me offEach morning when I left for schoolBecause you know she wouldnt let meGrow up to be no fool, As I started to grow olderI would walk of my own accordAnd those hands once there for safetyChanged roles to encourage and applaud, Later when I took a hand in marriageWith new little hands to hold in mineShe was always there when neededTo take their hands and give us time, For many years they still held strongWrapping presents as each birthday came alongGiving out big hugs at ChristmasIn the growing family throng, But then they started to become unsureNot remembering what to doSo I knew that it was my timeTo hold her hand and help her through, We walked so many milesIn corridors hand in handI just hope that in her own mindWe were walking in the sand.
cricket poems for funerals He selects the wood very carefullyThe grain and the colour so beautifullyLooking along the edge its straightAnd feeling it, it has a good weight, Remember to measure twice and cut onceIs the rule of thumb before you pounceHe knows the work and the craftsmans toolsAs he saws, planes and sands to carpenters rules, The joints are a woodworkers art and a pleasure to seeWhen glued together strong and straight it will beThe last piece of the carpenters work is at handTo finish is to wax the wood for a look thats grand. With each step, each strike and block,The martial artists soul is free,Finding peace in every rock,And calm in every sea. My father-in-law was cricket barmy. MORE THYME! Id like to encourage you all to remember my game,And maybe keep my photo or my top score in a frame.And when your own ball reaches the end of the lane,Id like to hope Id see you in the afterlife again. Do not standatmy grave and weep,I am not there, I do not sleep.I amathousand winds that blow;I am the diamond glintson thesnow.I am the sunlight on ripened grain;I am the gentleautumnsrain.Whenyouawaken in themornings hush,I am the swiftupliftingrushOf quiet birds incircledflight.I am thesoft star that shines atnight.Do not standatmy grave and cry.I am not there; I did not die. It made me laugh, it made me cry.Im unable to explain Ive never known such happinessI did not foresee the pain. But oh! I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me! Our LeatherWhich we hit with willowBoundaries be thy aimThy googly comesThy may be out as it isAccording to the Umpires fingerGive us this day our daily inningsAnd forgive us our LBWsAs we forgive them that stump usLead us not back to the pavilionBut deliver us from a duckFor thine is a silly mid offWith a deep backward short legAnd cover pointFor over and overOwzat! The four-inch beam has filled the best with fear.They leap and land, then totter and some fall.The lines around the floor seem oft so near,That tiny step outside can lose it all. Coffee In Heaven John Agard A poem wondering whether the coffee in heaven is actually any good.Fuelled By Coffee Mark Gregory A poem for someone whose daily life revolved around coffee.The Warmth Of Your Love Mark Gregory A poem for a warm-hearted soul who loved sharing a coffee. 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. But such a tide as moving seems asleep,Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deepTurns again home! Ill walk, Ill talk,And go through the motionsBut every step will be my love,for you,my daily devotions. Its all about the journeyIts the part that countsEven when he gets thereHe may just turn around. Sun will warm the daylight hours;The lighthouse illume the night.Waves provide rhythm and gulls give voice Music to ease my flight. Amazed, I watch the tiny gymnasts all,While praying, as they flip, that none will fall. We are connected, my child and I,by an invisible cord not seen by the eye.Its not like the cord that connects us at birththis cord cant be seen by any on earth. Poems for those who had a love for the beach, seashore, sand, and tides. A Boy and His Dad by Edgar A. Bowling Ball Blues L.M. You watched us make the same mistakes, That you had made before, But that just made you hold us tight, And love us all the more.
Village Cricket | Down At Third Man Little rattle of dry seeds in pods, As kids, we lived togetherWe fought, we laughed, we cried.We did not always show the love,that we both had inside.We shared our dreams and plans,and some secrets too.All the memories we share,Is what bonds me now to you.We grew to find we have a lovethat is very strong today.Its a love shared by our family,that will never fade away.You are my brother not by choice,but by the nature of our birthI could not have chosen a better oneyou were the best on earth. So heres to you, from all your fans,A legend of the game;We thank you for the memories Football will never be the same. Images of smoke and the haunting sound of siren screamswere the memory companions that filled all his nightly dreamsand they became his lifeblood as well as passions fireto faithfully yield to the duty they so overwhelmingly did inspire. Until we lose. As long as they hold true,the night cannot win.
Cricket poems : Wilson, George Francis - Internet Archive Front-wheel down now, still Im flying, Through the gearbox, deftly plying, Speedo reads two hundred plus, Got up there without a fuss, Hard on brakes, back through the box, For an instant, rear wheel locks, Round the bend, my weight Im shifting, As the rear wheel, neatly drifting. Stretching my limbsChoreographing on a whimAlways aiming to be strongerTo hold my arabesque longer. Alone on my tin pony,to the heavens Ive been called,but fret not my dear loved ones,Im not lonely here at all. And keep a song within your heart,give thanks that you can playFor the round is far too short and sweet,to let it slip away. When beauty, grace and strength are all combinedIn vault, uneven bars and floor and beam,Young girls, petite, yet strong and well defined,Then dance and jump and swing, each with a dream. Character matters;Be your own person,Your own original self,Not someone elses version. The free bird thinks of another breezeand the trade winds soft through the sighing treesand the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawnand he names the sky his own. If the juggler is tired now, if the broom standsIn the dust again, if the table starts to dropThrough the daily dark again, and though the plateLies flat on the table top,For him we batter our handsWho has won for once over the worlds weight. From stretcher to oar with drive and draw,He speeds the boat along.All whalebone and steel and a willowy feel,That is the oarsmans song. I dont know how to make it through this,when all I want is to call it quits. The Song of the Reel by W. E. Hutchinson. It took you as my mother,A girl you did become.Searching for the answersAnd looking for your mum. Oh dear, if youre reading this right now,I must have given up the ghost.I hope you can forgive me for beingSuch a stiff and unwelcoming host. If someone had to describe you, so many words come to mind.Beauty and grace, a heart so kind. Ive learned so much throughout my lifebut theres much I dont recall.I know its in there somewhereBut its hard to find it all.Its not that Ive forgotten you,or the things I said Id do;I remember everythingBut its hidden somewhere I cant seejust beyond my view. In life, they loved their family, With a love that knew no bounds, Their heart was filled with joy and pride, When their loved ones were around. To one who bears the sweetest nameand adds a luster to the same,who shares my joy, who cheers when sad,the greatest friend Ive ever had. Thou life giving wheelWhose sinews are steelMy veins imbibe life from thine ownAnd I sink to my restWith true loyal zestWhile my dreams are my cycles alone. Bird feels the enchantment of his wingand in ten fine notes dispels twenty cares.Bells in the town alight with springWarble the praise of time, for he can bringthis season: chimes the merry heaven bearsmake clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing. We never had the chance to play,To laugh, to rock, to wiggle.We long to hold you, touch you nowAnd listen to you giggle. One popular poem, Dylan Thomas' " Do not go gentle into that good night ," talks about the unstoppable nature of death and how we can challenge the way we face death. I juggle for my friends, and keep them all aglow,With love and trust and faith that nothing can oerthrow,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. We pushed them and we shoved them, Tolerated, and loved them, Glad we had them, at times we dont know why, Pray they do stay out of strife, Make the best of their sweet life, Cant bear the thought that one day they may die. Therell be many destinationsSome are happy, some are sadEach one a brief reminderOf the great times that weve had. A Boy And His Dad Edgar Guest A beautiful poem ideal for a son to read at his fathers funeral.The Fishermans Prayer anon A slightly humorous adaptation of the Lords Prayer for a fisherman.Fish Tales anon A short, slightly religious poem about the lasting memory a family will have of their lost loved one.Gone Fishin Delmar Pepper A poem about accepting lifes end as simply going fishing for longer than usual.Heavens Fishing Hole anon A beautiful, slightly religious poem describing the deceased new fishing place. Capitulation anon A poem about the highs and lows of bridge, and always being on the verge of quitting.The Gambler Kenny Rogers The lyrics to Rogers infamous song about the train ride with the gambler.A Keen Bridge Player Simon Lucas A humorous limerick about forgetting to remove the jokers! You were the jewel in our heartsYou were loved in every way.Now youre gone, youre truly missedeach and every day. Poems for those who enjoyed the ebb and flow of angling. How to Seal your Memorial Charm Jewellery, Biodegradable Urns for the Sea, Lake or River.
The 43 Most Touching Funeral Poems for Moms Poems for Funerals and Memorial Services One does not leave a funeral in the same way that he has come. 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. A life well lived is a precious giftOf hope and strength and grace,From someone who has made our worldA brighter, better placeIts filled with moments, sweet and sadWith smiles and sometimes tears,With friendships formed and good times sharedAnd laughter through the years.A life well lived is a legacyOf joy and pride and pleasure,A living, lasting memoryOur grateful hearts will treasure. But now you are gone,and with you the aromaof your favourite roast. anon A poem wondering whether one has done productive or destructive deeds in life. Its always opening time in heavenAnd the alcohol doesnt go to your headIt floats around in ones etherAnd fortifies your spirit instead. The fire tone rang. If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, dont deal in lies,Or being hated, dont give way to hating,And yet dont look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dreamand not make dreams your master;If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth youve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: Hold on!. And be less quick to angerAnd show appreciation moreAnd love the people in our livesLike weve never loved before. Triumphantly their bodies sing,Their eyes are blindWith music. There was once a master carpenter and he lived a good lifefor he loved to work, building things of wood.He was loved by his family,by his sons and his daughter,and especially by his wife.He was loved by everyone who knew him. Crossword Blindness anon A poem about the struggles of figuring out that one clue that has you stumped.My Pencil Is Ready Ilene Bauer A poem about the joys of puzzling, written for National Crossword Puzzle Day.My Trusty Pencil Ilene Bauer Another poem by Bauer about the necessities of a pencil while doing crosswords. You are a breath of fresh air on a hot summers night.When there is darkness, you turn on the light. He noted that first came the date of birthAnd spoke the following date with tears,But he said what mattered most of allWas the dash between those years. 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. Dear God, Please Take Care Of My Little Girl Terry Gouveia A religious poem asking God to take care of a child.Heartfelt Memories anon A poem highlighting the wonder and light that a daughter brought to our lives.My Tiny Butterfly Ann Lundrigan A poem about a mothers bond with her daughter, who has passed.Our Song Jodi M. Kucera A poem to be used for the loss of a daughter who has children of her own.The Twilight Hours Christine Bevington A poem about those late night hours when your thoughts carry you away. You are the picture I paint in my headOf beauty that only exists in thought.You are the picture I dream of in bed.Of beauty that I have forever thought. Remember Me. Pirouette, PirouetteDancers silhouettePracticing at duskDedication is a must. Poems for those who were keen on loosing an arrow from a bow. Im sorry, friends, that I cant be with you here today.If youre gathered reading this, it means Ive passed away.But if I were there, Id tell you not to shed a tear or frown.Id tell you just to simply say, Another Biker has gone down.. Fossils ,storms,eroded coast.The shadow that I miss the most.A lonely voice, lost to the waves.Singing in a hidden cave.A silent humupon the shore,a voice thats never heard,no more.Maybe on some other plain,somewhere lost inside my brain.Words transcending from the grave,somewhere lost inside my brain. Dedicated To Our Fallen Heroes Katharine Blohm A poem written for the Clearview Volunteer Fire Department.Fallen Rick Hoffman Jr. A lament to a fallen firefighter who served his community proudly.Fallen Brother anon A poem dedicated to a firefighter called Chuck that is apt for any fire man or woman.The Firefighters Last Call William Robbins A poem about the final act of a brave firefighter.A Firefighters Last Words Michael Ashby A rousing call to appreciate the lifes work of a firefighter.Heroes Gone anon A poem filled with sadness and pride from a fallen firefighter to his colleagues.To Be A Fireman Edward F. Crocker A short poem about the how being a firefighter is a noble calling. The sounds of all your heartbeatsAre my sweetest melodyAnd at all my heavenly bedtimeThe angels play it back to me. Sometimes your steps are very fast,Sometimes theyre hard to see,So walk a little slower Daddy,For you are leading me. So I praise this car and its wobbly ride And Im gosh darn grateful that Im still inside. Poems about those who suffered from and in some cases, succumbed to addiction. (For darts is not a game of chance!). 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. Im just a little angel but my time was not in vain.As dark clouds that surround you give way unto the sun,My precious parents you will see that any heart will sing,If only for a moment it is brushed by angel wings. Unknown Heaven by Rupert Brooke. If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelids soundless blink,The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alightUpon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,To him this must have been a familiar sight., If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,One may say, He strove that such innocent creatures should come to no harm,But he could do little for them; and now he is gone..
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