cricket poems for funerals

And then I thought, Everythingis a miracle, even the toadthat lives under the lilac bush,even the nasty-tempered robinthat steals the food from the other birds,even the little lump of claythat I, in my clumsy way,will shape into a potto hold some wildflowers,even the windthat scatters the leaves and the seedsand the tiny pebbles, eventhe rain that falls, even the sunthat makes everything grow. Hes asked me if I would care to danceCant refuse, so Ill take the chanceTrembling as he takes me into his armsGliding together as the music starts. So as we lay them down to restWell watch one final filmIn honour of their memoryAnd the love they had for them. Anyone have any other suggestions? Poems for those who had a love and appreciation for art during their life. I feel you driftingLike a traveller in timefrom my heart, from my lovefrom my arms. Poems for those who had a love of candles and incense, or poems that evoke candles and candlelight. Then as the leaves tumbleRemember me as a crimson jewelAs we allcarryon, humble,Until the cows come home. I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done. A troublemaker, a teacher, a friend. You make me creative which makes me fun!You made me realise that you are not fun sometimes.You are tuff and mean when I step on you.You make me happy to see you new and cool in the store or online.You are colourful and small but together you are majestically massive.Sometimes I misplace you, but when Im focused I find you soon.You are fun when you are together, but not when you are done.My dog thinks you are food crunch! And so we meet again today,To toast your bodys end.For it was true and faithful,Until right at the end. Land of the rainbow gold,For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold.Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days,The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze. His labourers name was Dodger who would work now and then, most of the time was spent at The Bookies placing bets for other men. I cannot speak, but I can listen. Tiny Angel, look at me,I want this image clearThat I will forget your precious faceIs my biggest fear. Dont judge me for I am just like you.I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too. A bonnet, a jacket, and bootees tooWill they need to be made in blue or in pink?Perhaps lemon is safe, she could do them there and thenInstead of having to guess or even to think. My Old Fishing Boat by Isaac McLellan. Do not lose your patience with me,Do not scold or curse or cry.I cant help the way Im acting,Cant be different, though I try. Now both of us have been to school though many years ago we both have passed our English gradesbut still we do not know! When a job was finished his tools had to be clean, because he was the boss of a slap-happy working team. Ring out old shapes of foul disease;Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of old,Ring in the thousand years of peace. 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. 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. While working for Birmingham 2022 Commonwealth Games, I wrote a series of quintets - something of an ode for each sport at the Games. For years, the riverbank was whereYour soul felt most at peaceYour heart was most content when thereWith the fish and the geese. Sunday morning early comesThis sweltering summers day;One more rider, Heaven bound,Roars through the Pearly Gates. anon A humorous poem about the desire to be buried in a way befitting a cyclist.O Magic Wheel N. P. Tyler A poem from 1879 with wonderful rhythm and rhyme perfect for a cyclist.Passion For Cycling Sidney Beck A poem about the sights and smells of a coast-to-coast cycle. Unknown They existed.We can be. Time flies like an arrow .. fruit flies like a banana. The time you won your town the raceWe chaired you through the market-place.Man and boy stood cheering by,And home we brought you shoulder-high. Go after your dreams.Be bold. Rejoice now in the knowledgeReturned to you this dayYouve always had the powerTo simply fly away. Its everything you sacrificedand choices you made.Its all the problems that you solved,your lessons from mistakes. The Road goes ever on and onOut from the door where it began.Now far ahead the Road has gone,Let others follow it who can!Let them a journey new begin,But I at last with weary feetWill turn towards the lighted inn,My evening-rest and sleep to meet. I was just an average batsman, and a less than average fielder. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;For nothing now can ever come to any good. We will see him in the summer rainHe will ride upon the windAnd when our path is beaten downhis memory will pick us up again. I dont give a jot!Ive railed and Ive raved since my dotage beganIts my privilege, cos Im a grumpy old man. If Id met her in a cavein the darkwhere no light ever livedshe would still be the brightest thing Id ever seenfor it aways was the way she wasnever the way she lookedthat made her so beautiful to meand beautiful she wasthough I never let it blind mefor it was only when I closed my eyesand stood in that darkest cavethat she truly blinded mewith beauty. Knit one, purl one, knit two togetherHer woollen creations will last forever.The sound of her needles, clickety clack,Another row on the counter, turn and go back. Walk a little slower Daddy,said a child so small.Im following in your footstepsand I dont want to fall. A mind so patient, waits for it to growAs the pattern appears, row by row.A mind so creative, can picture it completeThe stitches like soldiers, all the same, so neat. Bury me in Lycra!So when I get to heavens gateSt. In my hand I hold a ball.White and dimpled, rather small.Oh, how bland it does appear.This harmless looking little sphere.By its size I could not guess,The awesome strength it does possess.But since I fell beneath its spell,Ive wandered through the fires of hell.My life has not been quite the same,Since i chose to play this stupid game.It rules my mind for hours on end,A fortune it has made me spend.It has made me yell, curse and sigh,I hate myself and want to cry.It promises a thing called par,If i can hit it straight and far.To master such a tiny ball,Should not be very hard at all.But my desires the ball refuses,And does exactly as it chooses.It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies,And even disappears before my eyes.Often it will have a whim,To hit a tree or take a swim.With miles of grass on which to land,It finds a tiny patch of sand.Then has me offering up my soul,If only it would find the hole.Its made me whimper like a pup,And swear that I will give it up.And take to drink to ease my sorrow,But the ball knows: Ill be backTomorrow. Golf tees on my dresserGolf tees in my bedGolf tees on my pillowsWhere they poke me in my head.Golf tees in my closetFalling from my shirts and pantsGolf tees along the baseboardsJust like army ants.Golf tees in the carpetAnd underneath my feetGolf tees lined up on the mantleOh, they look so neat.Golf tees in my couchAnd in my back and thighsWhen I sit and watch TVI feel those little guys.Golf tees in the kitchenIn Jurassic coffee mugsSometimes when I pass themThey look like prehistoric bugs.Golf tees in the bathtubLike sailors on plastic shipsGolf tee in her make upLike little bald q tips.Golf tees in the atticGolf tees in the shedGolf tees, golf tees everywhereI wonder where they bred.Golf tees out the backdoorLike Hansel and Gretels trailsGolf tees in the flowerbedsAmong the mulch and snails.Golf tees in my carAnd underneath the matsGolf tees in the backseatLike little baseball bats.But when I am at the golf courseI ask my partner, like a louseMay I borrow some of your tees?I left mine at the house!, I really am a golfer And let me tell you whyIts only when I swing a club I really feel aliveI really am a golferAnd take my driver outI swing my club and hit the ballAs hard as I have mightI really am a golferMy ball is in the roughI swing my metal 3 real hardTo find the grass is toughI really am a golferMy ball goes 50 feetIts out the rough and in the sandAnd buried very deepI really am a golferI take my sand wedge outI open up the face of itAnd swing it with a cloutI really am a golferMy ball is on the greenI swing the putter in an arcWith boggy on the seenI really am a golferMy put goes 10ft pastIm looking at a doubleBut the green is just too fastI really am a golferThe balls beside the cupI make it in the centreAnd my friends they call it luck, by Criswell Freeman(final verse by Mark Gregory), Life is like a round of golf,with many twists and turnsBut the game is much too sweet and short,to curse the shots youve missed, Sometimes youll hit it straight and far,sometimes the puts run trueBut each round has its wayward shots,and troubles to play through, So always swing with heart and courage,no matter what the lieAnd never let the hazardsdestroy the joy inside. When your own words fail you, a poem can serve as a perfect funeral reading or eulogy. He employed an incompetent plumber who always gave him the pip, Every job he went on he always left a drip.He was a good Brickie I would say he was first class but when it came to his team, they were just total Arse! And if I dieBefore you do,Ill go to heavenAnd wait for you. I cannot say. Her arms both glittered, her legs glistened, Her neck was a twinkle on display, She was a shiny beautiful colourful star, When she walked throughout the day. The position may, inthe eyes of some, appearto be a lowly one; but those who know thework which a firemanhas to do believehis is a noble calling.Our proudest momentis to save Lives.Under the impulseof such thoughtsthe nobility of theoccupation thrills usand stimulates us todeeds of daring,even ofsupreme sacrifice. Save The Scottish Regiments by joining them, The Fleet Air Arm and the War in Europe - 1939-1945 by David Hobbs, A basic guide to model making by Smeggers, Modelling Forum - Military & non military models, Guidance for the public on the mental health and wellbeing aspects of COVID-19, Memorable stuff from your formative years. Profanity : Our optional filter replaced words with *** on this page , What I hear as I type: Crickets Chirping. The Lego builder, with skill and care,Constructed worlds, beyond compare,With towers tall, and cities fair:A legacy, to last and share. Triumphantly their bodies sing,Their eyes are blindWith music. Until we lose. 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. You can shed tears that he is goneOr you can smile because he has lived, You can close your eyes and pray that he will come backOr you can open your eyes and see all that he has left, Your heart can be empty because you cant see himOr you can be full of the love that you shared, You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterdayOr you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday, You can remember him and only that he is goneOr you can cherish his memory and let it live on. This bond that even death cant breakwill keep you here close by But I feel such pain and miss youmy Tiny Butterfly. When my bowling ball reaches the end of the alleyI hope for a strike.And when my life culminates in a dramatic finale,Thats what Id like. Bowling Ball Blues L.M. She is a gymnast, a true athlete,Her talent and grace on display,She inspires us all with strength and skill,In this, her chosen way. Few things are as fleetingAs footprints in the sand;Sometimes we walk aloneAnd sometimes hand in hand. A ball will bounce; but less and less. Poems for watchmakers, clock collectors, or anyone who had a passion for timekeeping. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress eyebrow. 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. There is a train at the stationWith a seat reserved just for meIm excited about its destinationAs Ive heard it sets you free. The stars glisten in the night skyShining like diamonds;The fire burns a hot blazing redWarming even the coldest of nights.Fireflies lighting the dark skyLike lanterns drifting in the night;The ooey gooey mallowsChocolate melting in your mouth.Belting campfire songsSerenading the animals into a blissful sleep;Reciting spooky stories of things that lurk in the darkKnowing no one will sleep tonight.The simplicity and beauty of the night;Making memories that last forever. Their love for film was boundlessAnd theyd watch them one by oneFrom the classics to the newest hitsTheir passion was second to none. You light up a room when you walk in.If someone feels sad, you can make them grin. Author Unknown; adapted from the original by Lord Byron. Your life was fueled by coffee,That much we know is true.It was more than just a drink,But a way of life for you. We travelled the path of our lives side by sideBut this path you walked on your ownTo a world where no pain and no suffering resideWhile I stay in this world alone. Obtainingperfection is my keyIts what I strive for, its all that defines mePushing harder and harder to reach my goalIts what I live for, ballet is my soul. 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. Always with that memory of failure.Always with the possibility of more. Time for us to part now, we wont say goodbye;Look for me in rainbows, shining in the sky.Every waking moment, and all your whole life throughJust look for me and love me, as you know I loved you. There is an old belief that the stars shining in the night sky are the spirits of those who have died.They have shed their earthly bodies and exchanged them for bodies made of light;thousands upon thousands of our dear departed friends all promoted to glory in the night sky.There is another saying that the brightest flame burns the shortest. Poems for those who loved nothing better than riding on two wheels. 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. Where I have goneI am not so small.My soul is as wideAs the world is tall.I have gone to answerThis call, the callOf the one who takesCare of us all.Wherever you look,You will find me there,In the heart of a rose,In the heart of a prayer.On butterflies wings,On wings of my own,To you, Im gone,But Im never alone.Im over the moonI am home. So Im off for a golfing holiday,Far away fromThe cares of town.And Ill strive each dayBetter golf to playtill my handicap comes down. I am a man who works with God,I cannot succeed without his help,For you see,Im just a farmerPlain and simple. Goodbye, to you, with whom Ive shared,This wondrous gift of life.Enjoy the dance, lifes sweet refrain,For love is timeless as the stars,And I will dance with you again. I was here, I used it all,and now I am at peace. Like the car he drives,He will pass you in the fast lane of life,Like the blaring music from his car,He loves life and a good joke,Like the roaring engine of his car,His temper will take off like a racer to the finish line,With his fast car he ran straight through everyones heart,When his engine went he went along with his fast car to heaven,Going fast as he could down the road of eternal sleep,While he lies in his eternal sleep never to wake his fast car lies with him! The Road goes ever on and on,Down from the door where it began.Now far ahead the Road has gone,And I must follow, if I can,Pursuing it with eager feet,Until it joins some larger wayWhere many paths and errands meet.And whither then? The Driver Graeme Cook A gorgeous poem for those who felt at one with their car, rather than merely driving it.Fast Car Jamie Blake A hectic poem ideal for some who drove fast and perhaps passed away in a motoring accident.Racing Car Poem Martin Dejnicki A poem about racing, perhaps Formula 1, and the adrenaline rush it produces.Whos Driving This Car? When at last the harvest comesAs the fields receive the dew,A life well lived leaves legacyThe Masters plan in view. You always believed that the good Lord would provide and He always had somehow,Take off your gloves and put them down, no more sweat and worry for you now. This suffering flesh, And as I grow older its life I suppose But more and more things just get right up my nose!Like young mums with their kids and their stupid wee dolliesWho chat, blocking the aisles with their damned shopping trolleys.I barge my way past, just as rough as I can,So the bitches will know Im a grumpy old man. Published by: Esplanade Publishing Ltd., We all paint our lives.The mountains of challenges,The rivers of tears,The waterfalls of joy. If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the door,Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,He was one who had an eye for such mysteries? Its anyone youve ever lovedwho mourns you in the end. So please bear with us, dear audienceAnd act your part as well:We salute a thespian titanWho had such a good life to tell. O you are not lying in the wet clay,For it is harvest evening now and weAre piling up the ricks against the moonlightAnd you smile up at us eternally. They laugh and have a kick around. He wanted someone strong,A support filled with love,So he created fathers,Sent from heaven up above. Some of the verses have been written by me; others have been used in my ceremonies; yet more are simply verses that I like, and believe can be useful in certain scenarios. She dances on the balance beam,So light, so free, so full of grace,Her body moves with effortless ease,In this, her chosen place. It serves as a mark of respect to all who played in 2010 and as a memorial to the unknown village side, especially to those who may knowingly or unknowingly . I picture you in every placeAmong the trees and waters blueAnd every time it comes to mindIm grateful I had you. Fishing by William Henry Dawson. Poems reflecting upon the importance of the memories we have of others. A place of work where people doAs if about to do: concentratesThe readers face, lift up the lampTo look for something in the book, and turnThe page, and then read on and lift it upAgain. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding. Although I didnt understandI still told everyoneWith a love thats undeniedId say That is my son. As long as they hold true,the night cannot win. Are you more alive?Cause here on earth it feels likeEverything good is missing since you leftAnd here on earth everythings differentTheres an emptiness. Ive seen fire and Ive seen rainIve been through a desert on a horse with no name, Ive gone to Kansas City, I sang in the sunshineIve been on the road again, with Georgia on my mind, Like a rolling stone, Ive given peace a chanceIve put a camel to bed and danced the last dance, Mr Tambourine Man played a song for meIve whispered words of wisdom, let it be, Ive fallen into a burning ring of fire and walked the lineTo all the girls Ive loved before, you were always on my mind, Ive been everywhere, Ive been so lonesome I could cryIve driven my Chevy to the levee when the levee was dry, Ive been to Itchy Coo Park in a yellow submarineIve made the scene in a time machine, Ive done the Hokey Pokey and turned myself aroundIve welcomed baby back to the poor side of town, Ive followed the tracks of my tears down a long and winding roadIve kept on searching for a heart of gold, Ive sought shelter from the storm, Ive sat on the dock of the bayIve rocked around the clock, on a sunshiny day, Ive knocked on Heavens door, while blowing in the windJoy to the world those were the days my friend. Floral Tribute, which has been distributed by Armitage's publisher, Faber, is a double acrostic . Gods Garden D. W. McConway A slightly religious poem about God calling a tired person home.God Saw Him Getting Tired / God Saw Her Getting Tired Frances and Kathleen Coelho A poem similar to the above.I Am At Peace Jennifer Alderton A short poem urging mourners to remember a terminally ill person at their best. Your family had joined a larger family of caregivers,Professionals, friends, and team mates.As the days go by, you are called upon to assistSomeone in need,Leaving your family known to you and love,Knowing someday something may go wrong. Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good. Love is like a game of cards,you win, you pass, you lose.Life is like a poker game,depends which bluff you choose. Camping Kaitlyn DeMatteo A short verse contemplating the wonders of camping out under the stars.I Feel You Drifting Darren White A moving, heartfelt verse written by a partner to their lost lover.This Journey Is Just Beginning Ju D. G. A lament upon having to part, but hopeful of what might be to come. The slapping of my leathersand raging winds on either side,drum a beat of sweet contentmentas I ride this, my last ride. Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him seesThat half a proper gardeners work is done upon his knees,So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and prayFor the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away! I loved to be in the wind. Their quiet heart, a guiding light,That shone in darkness, pure and bright,A gentle voice, a calming breeze,That whispered peace, and brought us ease. Once it was new, best thing on the road,But now its just old; so whos driving this car? The fences have all been mended. 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! Dark depths of the ocean:A world unknown to the human race,Careful of every motionSo as not to disturb this place.Colours you have never seen before;Fish that can fit in the palm of your hand;Plants covering most of the ocean floor;All that is left is sparkling white sand.Staring in awe, as an outsider looking in,This world is perfect it seems Wishing I would never leave this intriguing island;Maybe I will visit it again in my dreams. Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. As you touched our livesWith your generosity and careYour laughter and love always shone through. With my lantern I decide not to go deeperas I stand at the doorwayfeeling much like a gatekeeperwishing it was forever that I could staybut now home is where I must make my way. Analysis,Subject Summarisation And Explanation : 'On Tingling Catch: An interview with cricket poet Nick Whittock, Tingling Catch: Bill OReillys 1946 NZ cricket. When I am gone, release me, let me go.I have so many things to see and do,You mustnt tie yourself to me with too many tears,But be thankful we had so many good years.I gave you my love, and you can only guessHow much youve given me in happiness.I thank you for the love that you have shown,But now it is time I travelled on alone.So grieve for me a while, if grieve you mustThen let your grief be comforted by trustThat it is only for a while that we must part,So treasure the memories within your heart.I wont be far away for life goes on.And if you need me, call and I will come.Though you cant see or touch me, I will be nearAnd if you listen with your heart, youll hearAll my love around you soft and clearAnd then, when you come this way alone,Ill greet you with a smile and a Welcome Home. That man was made of many partsA teacher of lifes skills and artsFull of love and full of careWith much to give, and much to share. Going to second Mass on a summer SundayYou meet me and you say:Dont forget to see about the cattleAmong your earthiest words the angels stray. It knocks down the road toward the next wreckers yard,And it cant get far; whos driving this car? The place where we share our secrets,and it always just makes sense,Where my soul can be wide open,true and free without defence,Split by a generation,simply makes us both so nearer,To words so true from both,whether youre the speaker or the hearer. They kept us warm on winter nights,A sense of peace and calm,They were more than just plain fabric;They were creations of her palm. Let the beer flow steadily and the wine pour right,Make the cider fizz lightly and the cocktails look bright,May the bar remain clean and the floor vomit-free,And please, let there be no trouble for me. So darling please tend to the candle for meAnd nourish the flame lest it diesTill the day when its radiant beauty I seeAnd it guides me at last to your side. I chose a twinkling star in the sky at night ,To say a prayer for you to its bright light.Youre in Gods Heavens now and no longer in pain,In my thoughts, youll always remain. How did you find the energy, MumTo do all the things you did,To be teacher, nurse and counsellorTo me, when I was a kid? One, Two, Three, Four Mark Gregory A poem ideal for the death of a former model and fashion designer.A Photo anon An intimate poem about the feelings that arise upon seeing a beautiful photo of a person. Death is Not the End Pierce a bulls eye if you darethrow a fine dart through the aircenter it upon the dotgive it everything you got. Though we never knowWhere life will take us,I know its just a rideOn the wheel.And we never knowWhen death will shake usAnd we wonder howIt will feel.So Goodbye my friend.I know Ill never see you again.But the time togetherThrough all the years,Will take away these tears.Its OK now Goodbye my friend.I see a lot of thingsThat make me crazy,And I guess I held on to you,You could have run awayAnd left well maybe,But it wasnt timeAnd we both knew.So Goodbye My friend.I know Ill never see you again.But the love you gave meThrough all the yearsWill take away these tears.Im OK now Goodbye my friend.

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