cricket poems for funerals

1. The poet laureate, Simon Armitage, has released a poem to mark the death of Queen Elizabeth II. The place was very quiet,But not too quiet. March Madness is the great excitement right now (apart from American Idol), and there is a strange assumption that this madness is internationalthat the world is somehow involved with this madness. I may not even be who you think I am,or even who you want me to be.You wish for me to be more like you,Why cant you be more like me? Alzheimers Dick Underwood A touching poem about how Alzheimers often takes away the mind before the body.I Am At Peace Jennifer Alderton A short verse accepting the peace and freedom that comes with death after illness.The Long Goodbye Ellen Miller A verse reminding us that the person we have lost was not defined by their disease.Those Hands That Once Held Mine Dean Harrison A beautiful verse for a son about his mother and her Alzheimers.Two Mothers Remembered Joann Snow Duncanson Remembering a mother who changed due to illness. But take heed, becauseShes still keeping an eye on all of us,So lets make sureShe will like what she sees. 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. Card & Paper Stock Finished size is A5 (A4 folded in half) and it is printed on 350gsm silk. Coast to coast across England in one day;A hundred miles in one trip. Excludes Gift Memberships, Discount applies to first year. Haiku I wrote whilst out at some live jazz back in October, when it was warm enough for crickets. Life is fleeting,And now, like those tendrils of steam,I, too, must rise, and float awayTo some distant, better place. I guess he wrote a lot more in a similar vein. We have a lot to be thankful for,The memories through the years.The many times together,Full of laughter, full of tears. Tolkien A wonderful verse about sailing off to the West; perfect for a Lord of the Rings fan.Crossing The Bar Alfred Lord Tennyson Another of Tennysons famous verses about mans final journey.Gone From My Sight (What Is Dying?) Think of me as one at rest,for me you should not weepI have no pain no troubled thoughtsfor I am just asleepThe living thinking me that was,is now forever stillAnd life goes on without me now,as time forever will. It's been mixed up week here at STW Towers, mostly thanks to everyone suddenly realising they haven't used up their annual leave so they'd better take some time off. It pictures death as an old friend, rather than something to be feared, which might be of some comfort to those in mourning. Youve got to know when to hold emKnow when to fold emKnow when to walk awayAnd know when to runYou never count your moneyWhen youre sittin at the tableTherell be time enough for countinWhen the dealins done. Your love of Gods soil has passed on to your kin; the stories flow like fine wine,Wash off your work boots in the puddle left by blessed rain one final time. Youve made me laugh,when I wanted to cry.Youve made me stronger,when I felt so weak I could die. Though I see the branches swaying.And watch their dancing leavesThe echoes carried on the windDont sound the same to meAs I listen to the morning birdsSing softly from afar It seems to be a mournful tuneThat echoes in my heart. The city . These poems are brief and express your feelings in few but powerful words. Repshire: FW Harvey, Cricket, and Nostalgia. Here is the funeral poem: Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, And then I thought, I am a partof all this, and I felta great happiness,and I opened the book againand began to read. Another day has come again,As time moved surely on But nothing now seems quite the same,To know that he is gone.The days and weeks and months aheadWill never be the same Because a treasure beyond wordsCan never be replaced. Unknown Life is simply a cricket match, with temptation as the bowler. Are you more alive?Cause here on earth it feels likeEverything good is missing since you leftAnd here on earth everythings differentTheres an emptiness. He has achieved successwho has lived well,laughed often, and loved much;who has enjoyed the trust ofpure women,the respect of intelligent men andthe love of little children;who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;who has left the world better than he found itwhether by an improved poppy,a perfect poem or a rescued soul;who has never lacked appreciation of Earths beautyor failed to express it;who has always looked for the best in others andgiven them the best he had;whose life was an inspiration;whose memory a benediction. Each one was pieced with tender care,With threads of love and light,A labour of love taking time and skill,For each quilt that lay in sight. Stepping into his workshop to start the day,Different pieces of wood laid in array,The scent of cedar filling the air,A piece of furniture he works to prepare,Handcrafted with love and the finest precision,A work came to life with what he could envision,Measuring the wood for the perfect size,Tape measure at hand from his supplies,Reaching for a saw lying on a shelf,He whistles a familiar tune to himself,Cutting the wood with the utmost care,A type of craftsmanship no other can compare,Skilled at working with his hands,He strives to use them for all of lifes demands,Hands that could craft his hearts desires,Creating a lifetime of work to be forever admired,The ability to turn something simple into grand,The only tools he needed were his left and right hand,Each piece of work embodies his spirit and love,A talent he was blessed with from the Lord above,The carpenter lives on through his creations,His heart the framework to all his foundations, Why, Oh why, didnt I build my own coffin?Now that the chips are downThen I wouldnt have a splinter in my bumWith me unable to protest in sound, My lifes jigsaw is dovetailed awayAnd its my turn now to walk the plankBut my coffin maker also made the boatAnd fortunately for me, it sank, Ashes to ashes, sawdust to sawdustMy preservative has whittled awayFarewell to the woods, farewell to the treesA master craftsman now lies at ease. Clean your rims, my friend! Chris Gayle Cricket is a team game. Please know how many lives you touch.These words are my present. Mother, you were just a girl, So many years ago. Three weeks after her death,a stranger entered the salonand settled in the chair.She had the colour and shapeof his mothers hair,and when he sunk his hands in it,the texture, even cowlicks,individual as frecklessame.Twice he had to leave the room,and twice, he returnedstill,when he touched her hair, it blurred.Hold still, he said, hold still. And rumble off to clubhouse forA changing of the brew;Black vests in formationfastand tighta loud tribute. And so now to me, what does it all meanfor me not the fashion, or the high social scenebut the thundering hooves pounding down on the earthThe grace and the power of these kings of the turf. You were a blessing to us allyou were a special child.And were so glad God sent youto be with us awhile. And a digital membership where you can read all the digital magazines is normally 25, and now 12.50 with the code. Its not the square footage of your houseor what you keep inside.Theres no material you possessthat proves success in life. We put out every kind of seedTo watch small birds come flitter-feed.Blue JaysRobinsChickadeesFlutter in from nearby trees. The fourth candle we light for our love. 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. 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.. 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. I imagine you greetingThe others that I loveThat sadly left this earthFor a home with you above. I watched them tearing a building down,A gang of men in a busy town.With a ho-heave-ho and lusty yell,They swung a beam and a sidewall fell.I asked the foreman, Are these men skilled,As the men youd hire if you had to build?He gave me a laugh and said No indeed!Just common labour is all I need.I can easily wreck in a day or twoWhat builders have taken a year to do.And I thought to myself as I went my way,Which of these two roles have I tried to play?Am I a builder who works with care,Measuring life by the rule and square?Am I shaping my deeds by a well-made plan,Patiently doing the best I can?Or am I a wrecker who walks the town,Content with the labour of tearing down? Dear God, please take care of my little girl,The one with big eyes and soft brown curls.She was special, as you should know.I really didnt want to let her go. 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. When my bowling ball reaches the end of the alleyI hope for a strike.And when my life culminates in a dramatic finale,Heres what Id like: Id like to look back and not to feel blue;But to know that I rumbled through life straight and true.Id like to laugh at all the times I made your sides split,With moments of hilarity, of humour and of wit. This wretched pain inside of meMy throat, my heart, my now. Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here, Warm southern wind, Blow softly here. And if theres an occasionTo mention who you knewSpeak kindly of that personAs one day it will be you. You were the jewel in our heartsYou were loved in every way.Now youre gone, youre truly missedeach and every day. Sir Henry Newbolt's "Vitai Lampada" ("Play up! Her pitiless blue sky,When, sick at heart, around us we see the cattle die But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless againThe drumming of an army, the steady soaking rain. The feet of dancersShine with mirth,Their hearts are vibrant as bells: The air flows by themDivided like waterCut by a gleaming ship. A trip to the Ring, its all part of the gameto lay down a tenner on the horse with the namethat sounds like a winner, a worthwhile betbut tarry no longer, well miss the jet set. For forty years Ive lived with God,Oft from the haunts of men.Ive thought upon His wondrous wordAnd scenes beyond our ken. Each angel was a fishermanWho had traded his poleFor golden wings and a game planAt Heavens Fishing Hole. The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes,Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins.Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies-I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise. The parents in the middle though,cant share this special caring,Its just for us, my Gran and I,adventures we are sharing,And even if my situations bad,my Gran is not deterred,What is it about a Grandmother?I think Love must be the word! My cards are all rotten and I have forgottenWhos played and whats trumps and whats gone on my right!So for now its all over Im off to the back woodIm bidding good-bye to Gerber and Blackwood. And those tear-arse young drivers who must overtakeThen go at speeds lower than I want to make.No tail-gating for me, and I dont use my horn,But I heartily wish that theyd never been bornAnd I see Hades open to eat car or van;That did it, because Im a grumpy old man. Their love for film was boundlessAnd theyd watch them one by oneFrom the classics to the newest hitsTheir passion was second to none. Old Father Time, I pray to youThat clouds give it a rest,And that I get a game today,And that I play my best. It is right that she is loved: her courage shinesin all the maxims that she does not drawfrom sixty years to warn our present joy.In all her tales, her husband and three sonsquietly keep the graves she bought for them. Brothers and sisters came next,With that, an instant friend.Someone to look up to,Someone on whom to depend. Now Grandmas gone to heaven,But her quilts will long remain,Their beauty and their warmth live on,A comforting, loving refrain. May they prosper, love and grow, Come to learn all that we know, And hopefully succeed through Lifes great test, May we leave this mortal coil, Free of grief, relieved of toil, And know that for our kids, we did our best. The first verse of Sir Henry Newbolt's 'Play the Game'? Ive got the bowling ball blues.Now all I want is a spare.But all I get is bad news.Im always off by a hair.Come on now, roll like thunder,Drop those pins asunder:Cure my bowling ball blues. I imagine you watchingThe many things I doProudly standing beside meAs I remember and honour you. The present only is our own,So live, love, toil with a will,Place no faith in Tomorrow,For the Clock may then be still. Unknown Sure, luck means a lot in cricket. My Old Fishing Boat by Isaac McLellan. My father-in-law was cricket barmy. When the bell rings for last ordersPlease dont panic or get vexedIts simply time to sup this worlds last drinkBefore ordering your first in the next. Although I cannot see you,I feel your presence near.I will hold you close in memory,Till I drop my very last tear. Board Games Lou Szymkow An atmospheric poem detailing the memories we all have of family board gaming days.A Game Of Life Frank Preston Stearns A old-fashioned yet moving sonnet comparing chess to life. Daughter, life is not the samenow youre no longer here,but our love for you is still strongand will remain year after year. Just remember that I need you,That the best of me is gone,Please dont fail to stand beside me,Love me til my life is done. Sunday morning early comesThis sweltering summers day;Chrome and coffee polished offAs bike and rider wake. Her knitting needles are now silentNot a sound more will they makeBut what a wonderful lesson [name] has left usTo give always more than you take. I can still hear you calling my name,then reality sets in and Im reminded my life will never be the same. 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. the christ hospital human resources. Beyond anon A short verse signalling the hope that beyond the bad emotions there is peace and forgiveness.Dont Judge Me Kathleen Wilson A lament on behalf of someone who may have felt outcast or unaccepted.If I Had A Voice Caroline Wilkes A verse apologising for not always being the best person one could be.Time Will Ease The Hurt Bruce B Wilmer A verse suggesting that time helps painful memories fade away.When I Come To The End Mrs Lyman Hancock A verse urging mourners to remember the deceased at their best. Main Menu. Aunt Mabel Don Geiger A poem written for a specific aunt, but which many nieces and nephews can relate to.My Aunt Megan Stokes A poem written for an aunt but can be used for a generic female role model.What My Aunt Meant To Me anon A beautiful poem indicating the place in our hearts that our aunt held. 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! Im giving up bridge Tonights my last nightIts amen to Staymen, I give up the fight.The insults and muddles are giving me troublesAnd I cant sleep at night for thinking of doubles. Listen to the storiesthe old trees tell in hushing voices,the rushing sounds of ocean waves . I know of the good and the bad,The happy and the sad.I am a man of emotions. Well, it isn't. For everything we do,there is a dance to get us through.For every day,we dance our life away. 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. For the cricket ball writ with a noble name, A team of ten, which had once been eleven, Since this wicket had fallen some days ago, And as the bowler delivered to the lone batsman, The cricketer crossing the last boundary, To a third innings that would forever last. Its any time that youve been proudof others or yourself.Its every song you turned up loud,and every friend you helped. You ran with grace and strength all game,Your footwork swift and sure,Scored goals with ease and utmost grace,Brought joy to all who saw. A Drinking Song - W. B. Yeats - a short verse pondering over the role of wine and love in life. Farewell my friend, youre leaving.Its time for you to go.Your friendship was a blessing,And I will miss you so.We shared so many secrets.You brightened up my days.You brought me so much happinessWith your kind and loving ways.You lifted up my spiritsWhen I was feeling blue.No matter what was happening,You knew just what to do.We ran between the raindropsAnd walked beneath the sun,Ran barefoot in the summertime,And oh, we had such fun.Through all the ups and downs of lifeThe good times and the sad,From high school days to golden years,The best friend I ever had.God is here to take you home.Now you and I must part.I love you, and foreverYou will live within my heart. OUR AUDIOBOOK IS NOW AVAILABLE THROUGH AUDIBLE &. " 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. You always brought the sunshineand you brightened up our world,spreading happiness and kindnesssince you were a little girl. A Legacy Of Stitches Sandra E. Andersen A poem highlighting what is left behind when a skilled knitter dies.Clickety Clack Robyn OConnell A poem lauding the knitted creations that the deceased made.Rows Of Stitches Ilene Bauer A short and humorous poem about the excitement of watching someone knit.Silent Needles Jacqui Alexander A lovely rhythmic poem about the creations of a knitter.With Tender Loving Care Pam Braden A touching poem about the comfort a knitted item brings. I suppose, one day, I will be dead and go to meet my maker,So have this note set in my hand, there for the undertaker,Dont dress me in a shroud of white or rouge my cheeks all red,It is not right, to look a fright, een though youre stone cold dead.Give me a brand new five pound note and a Visa credit card,I want to buy a proper plot in old St Peters yard,And as I sit upon my cloud and look down at the earth,Ill watch you use my worldly goods for festival and mirth,And that will make me smile a smile, and have a laugh quite hearty,To hear you say, the buggers dead, lets have ourselves a party. "You live longer once you realize that any time spent being unhappy is wasted." The magical sound of leather on willowThe sweet smell of freshly cut grassThecricketer crossing the last boundaryTo a third innings that would forever last. All the worlds a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances;And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. Its all about expectingAnd then throwing inIts all about the winningBut not whining not giving-inThe square, the short and long ballThe pals, solid as a rockThe unexpected tackleSudden shock, You felt the roarAnd saw the lucky chipThe crossbar stopped the goalThat you were willing in, And in the endAt injury timeWhen you went deep and deeperYou didnt find the goalOr spot the sweeper. O Magic wheel of burnished steelHow part of myself thou art.As we roll alongMid the hurrying throngThat peoples the busy mart. See more ideas about grief quotes, grieving quotes, cowboy prayer. His bricks though were not just forged in fire,His family were his foundation and his desireThe mortar was his love, his caring, his skillHe loved you all dearly, and loves you all still. Idyll Siegfried Sassoon A peaceful poem about meeting again in the calmness and idyll of the afterlife.Overwhelmed Marjorie Pizer A verse about sitting by the sea to seek calmness when everything gets too much.Their Quiet Heart Mark Gregory A verse for someone who brought calmness and serenity to any situation. William Shakespeare. If you can leave a warm and cosy fireside,When winter winds, nigh chill you to the bone,To feed and scrape at morning, night or noontide,Yet utter not a grumble or a groan.If you can stand for hours with teeth a chatter,When parted hens decide that they will roam.And smiling, say, It doesnt really matter,I only hope that they will all come home. On the ashes of our Baseball Ground. I want to say, that I love you,I feel an emptiness inside, I want to say, I miss youI just want to hide, I want to say, so much to youI just dont know how. Death is Not the End Which organisations allow you to scatter? Bartenders Prayer anon A lovely little poem about the wishes of a bartender every evening before the bar opens.The Last Barman Poet Tom Cruise The poem from the 1988 film Cocktail.My Shift Is Over Mark Gregory A poem about the varied role that a bartender takes on while entertaining his punters. My trusty pencil helps me out At crossword puzzle time. I will watch over you from heaven aboveForever you will be a dear and true loveHold on to your dreams and all of your wishesSending you hugs and butterfly kisses. 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. As the flag is lowered to half mast,We mourn the loss of one who has passed.A lover of flags, they stood so proud,A symbol of freedom, they did avow. A wife, a mother, a grandmother too,This is the legacy we have from you.You taught us love and how to fight,You gave us strength, you gave us might.A stronger person would be hard to find,And in your heart, you were always kind.You fought for us all in one way or another,Not just as a wife not just as a mother.For all of us you gave your best,Now the time has come for you to rest.So go in peace, youve earned your sleep,Your love in our hearts, well eternally keep. 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. Heaven by Rupert Brooke. Poems perfect for amateur and professional sailors, or simply someone who loved all things boat. He may look at himself and have a new awareness that his body will not last forever. Bugs on visor, flatly splattered, Speed limits, completely shattered. And to those not with us or by our side, May God be your partner on your final ride. 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. My pencil is ready; The boxes are bare. Words have that kind of poweryou remind the clothes that remain in the drawer, arms stubbornlyfolded across the chest, or slung across the backs of chairs. FIRE!Adrenaline, excitement, the love of the challengeSirens wail, and it comes into sight,Flames and smoke rising into the night.All geared up, ready to save, ready to fight.Hose in hand heads straight for the danger.He kicked the door in knew just what to doThe fire and smoke pouring out He tucked his head down and dove in.They tried so hard to find him,But the fire was just too strong;We lost him in this round the fire had won.He gave his life doing what he loved, But he was way too young to die!Our gentle giant is now at peace;Now to save lives he will use wings!How to go on without him He touched so many lives But we know that only comes in time.Hes up there with his mamma now.Smiling down on us dimples and all!Too young to go we have to let go But we all miss and love him so! Did you know when you posed for that photoThat it would represent my sincerest dreams?Did you know, posing, letting yourself goThat you would represent all of loves themes? I have to goagaineven thoughIve just come backeven ifIm covered in bloodblood all over meeverywherethat no one bothersto wipe offand yet they call mestillthe crowd cheersthe ref is impatientmy opponent awaits meI feel deadenedevery voice is far awayand yet I hearI knowthat this is the momentthat I have to goits my jobat first I liked itI couldnt stopit was my lifenow no longerIm exhaustedworn outIm in pieceshow longcan my body last?how many of those punchescan it take?night is fallingI feel itfalling quicklyon memy powers weakendeath will comeand bethe fatal woundfor methe final defeat. A product of where youve been, What youve done and what theyve seen, Theyve learnt most from the example you have set, So not totally to blame, Not too different, but the same, We all think we tried our very best, and yet? The Boxer Ross Dix-Peek A poem telling the tale of a physicially worn-out boxer whose mind is still sharp and agile.I Am The Greatest Cassius Clay Muhammed Alis famous poem from the 1960s.Poem for a Boxer At Rest Gabrielle Tinti A poem originally in Italian about a boxer who has fought his last fight. Eyes the shady night has shutCannot see the record cut,And silence sounds no worse than cheersAfter earth has stopped the ears. We rowed, my friend and I, out past the swallowing reeds and the water lilies to where the river opened into a world of morning light and the herons voices and the musky scent of redemption and then we dipped our oars in unison and glided silently toward heaven. Martial arts is so much more than just a fighting art:It strengthens one spiritually by connecting the soul and heart,Martial arts does more than strengthening the mind, body and soul,It teaches you discipline, lessons to keep emotions under control. So take this Cat eye, let it shineIn the dark, whereer tis foundAnd fettle not my bottom bracketAfore ye lay me in the ground. And the strong odour of fish in North Shields, stink of cattle feed outside Goole, sickly smell of plastics factory, oil newly-refined, makes you see even if youre blind. 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. The speedometer is just a bluras tears blow from my eyes,the bike and I roll forwardoff into the calling skies. Many friends I know are waitingWho took an earlier trainTo greet and reassure meThat nothing has really changed. Poems for those who had a calm aura, or poems for those who seek calmness in death. There are 2 types of captains in World Cricket. Better Drowned than Duffers.If Not Duffers, Won't Drown. Just wish me to be near you,And Ill be there with you. She puts it to her lips with ease,just hurting deep inside.Tried to hide the pain away,to get that one last high.She sees the lights over head,one by one they pass,going down an empty hall,theyre trying to save her fast.She hears them say, oh no, weve failed,weve lost another one.This addiction took another soul,it started out with fun.Now her friends and family sit above her flower covered grave.She floats above and cries to herself,all I did was crave.Now theres a hand reaching for me.Its time to say goodbye.This disease just got one more.Promise me, dont cry. And now as we gather,To say goodbye to you,Well raise a cup of coffee,And honour all youve been through. I Will Dance With You Again Mike Miller A beautiful poem spoken in the knowledge of seeing our loved ones again.The Tea Dance Beryl Edmonds A poem about the struggles of moving on after losing your dance partner.They Who Dance Marjorie Allen Seiffert A poem about admiration for those whose bodies sing triumphantly.

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