Old man, said a fellow pilgrim near,You are wasting your strength with building here;Your journey will end with the ending day,You never again will pass this way,Youve crossed the chasm deep and wide,Why build you this bridge at evening tide?, The builder lifted his old gray head,Good friend, in the path I have come, he said,There followeth after me todayA youth whose feel must pass this way.This chasm which has been as naught to meTo that fair-haired youth might a pitfall be,He, too, must cross in the twilight dim,Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.. 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. Short Cricket Quotes I'm jealous of my parents; I "ll never have a kid as cool as theirs. Addiction Took Another Soul Natasha Henry A sombre poem reflecting on the harm that addiction can cause.Its Me Jacqueline A. Grieve A poem read on behalf of deceased addict, which asks their loved ones for forgiveness.My Son Marie Antoinette A poem written for a mother as a message to her son, who lost the fight against addiction.Pray, Dont Find Fault Rama Muthukrishnan A poem urging people not to judge those who go through hard times. BINGO! You left us beautiful memories,Your love is still our guideAnd though we cannot see you,You are always by our side. Poems for those who were avid football fans or skilled football players. Last dogwatch done.Now a new berth awaits you on the other side. I Hold The Heights Geoffrey Winthrop Young An abridged version of the original which basks in the glory of hiking.Im Climbing A Mountain Andrew Blakemore An uplifting poem about the sights and sounds of a climb.So Well Go No More A-Climbing anon An adaptation of Lord Byrons original; a lament to a climbing partner. These are examples of the best cricket poems written by PoetrySoup members Home Submit Poems Login Sign Up Member Home My Poems My Quotes My Profile & Settings My Inboxes My Outboxes Soup Mail Contests Poems Poets Famous Poems Famous Poets Dictionary Types of Poems Quotes Short Stories Articles Forum Blogs Poem of the Day New Poems Resources . So tell me nowAnd tell me true.So I can sayIm here for you.. 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. To succeed. adapted from the poem by Sherry L. Williams. I sit right beside you when you are sadAnd you look through the photos of times that we hadI watch you sleeping, I hold you so tightBefore I go, I kiss you goodnight. Dear Lovely Death - Langston Hughes. Drowning or Diving? Maailmankaikkeus. And even though the price of time and consequences of agedenied his body its greatest love of life as wageit never quenched his firefighters soul of its wondrous and noble ragenor that intense need burning so deep in his heartto save each life and shelter from being another victory for a fires page. I pray the wickets well-prepared,And that it doesnt stick,That all my shots find gaps And that the outfields fairly quick. I cant improve you life, thats true,But I am always there to care for you.Years ago you became my wife,Since then you have become my life. Poems for those who enjoyed the tranquillity and competition of Crown Green Bowls. He taught us all so much;his brother how to care,tenderness bonded the family;it grew from our despair. White wings will carry you and you will be flown. 6. Lord I am pleased to see my Wednesday night friends;We gather in your playroom for a friendly game.Give me the strength to endure the smokers;Let the caller call at a pace that is just right.Dont rush those with manyOr let those with few fall asleep waiting,And may the caller call what I need;If not, may someone in the little group around meLeave tonight with more than they began with. There is a train at the stationWith a seat reserved just for meIm excited about its destinationAs Ive heard it sets you free. 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. 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! 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. Hey, you guys, dont feel guilty,It was just my time to go.I can see youre all feeling sad,I can see the tears still flow. Your lines and curves and perfection of shapeTransport my soul and take hold of my gaze.Your lines of your chest oer shoulder and napeTransport my soul to see beauty and praise. cricket poems for funerals. A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip There is a glorious fellowship!Father and son and the open skyAnd the white clouds lazily drifting by,And the laughing stream as it runs alongWith the clicking reel like a martial song,And the father teaching the youngster gayHow to land a fish in the sportsmans way. 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. 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. A Dad is a person, who is loving and kind,And often he knows what you have on your mind.Hes someone who listens, suggests, and defendsA dad can be one of your very best friends!Hes proud of your triumphs, but when things go wrong,A dad can be patient and helpful and strong.In all that you do, a dads love plays a partTheres always a place for him deep in your heartAnd each year that passes, youre even more glad,More grateful and proud just to call him your dad!Thank you Dad, for listening and caring,for giving and sharing, but, especially, for just being you! As you bid me farewell this one last timeSpray me with natures flowers and loveFor I will need those memoriesAs I watched you from above. 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 first verse of Sir Henry Newbolt's 'Play the Game'? Poems for those who discovered a love of dance, either watching or participating, throughout their life. Her flowers still bloom, and the sun it still shines,But the rain is like tear drops for the ones left behind,The weeds lay waiting to take the gardens beauty away,But the beautiful memories of its keeper are in our hearts to stay.She loved every flower, even some that were weeds.So much love she would plant with each little seed,But just like her flowers, she was part of Gods plan.So when it was her time, he reached down his hand.He looked through the garden, searching for the best.Thats when he found her; it was her time to rest.It was hard for those who loved her to just let her go,But God had a spot in his garden that needed a gentle soul,So when you start missing her, remember if you just wait,When God has a spot in his garden, shell meet you at the gate. The gardener is a patient man,He works from dawn as much he can;And when the day is done and hes through,He looks with pride at what he grew. by only me is your doing, my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant. Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws. Its all about the journeyIts the part that countsEven when he gets thereHe may just turn around. Twilight and evening bell,And after that the dark!And may there be no sadness of farewell,When I embark. While most of us are fast asleepAs the moon begins its fall,And drifts its gentle lightAcross the clock upon the wall;Theres others who have left their bedsTheres hoof beats in the dawn,And out upon the training trackThe music of the morn.The frost lays thick upon the groundAnd shines upon the roofs,And all around, the lovely soundA thousand steel shod hoofs,A scraping here, a snorting thereA jockeys curse, a whinny;A trainer feeling tender legsDamn, that colts gone shinny.The flaring nostrils show soft red,A roll, hose, scrape and lead,The rug thrown on, and off back homeTo munch the morning feedAnd as they leave, some more come inWhile the sun turns red at dawnTo the clatter of a thousand hoofs,The music of the morn.So when I die I hope that ICan chat with old Saint Peter,And that dear chap would understandThat nothing could be sweeterFor me, to go where the horses runDown a track thats long and worn,To hear once more, the glorious sound;The music of the morn. Its my special message just for youIts private and from my soulI want you to remember me,Though impossible to console, My words, my love, are meant for youAnd reaches from my heartI just dont know how to live,Now we are apart, And so I whisper to the petalsThe words I want to saySo they will be carried by the angelsFrom my heart, to you, this day, I breath and place this rose,gently upon your tomb.And feel your presence, and your love,in this very room. So fleeting is this thing called life, we journey toward its end,experiencing pieces of a puzzle we dont truly comprehend.The hues of our emotion paint a picture of our past,as we hurtle toward a destiny that is not meant to last.Youth a canvas all in white, not knowing what awaits,feel caresses of a brush that which we know as fate.Love so very true in reds, that beat within our heart,shadows black take form as hate, which tears the soul apart.Greens of joy and happiness, lush grass beyond compare,sadness, shrouded depths of blue, the waters of despair.Yellow screams of agony and pain which we endure.Guilt and shame are shades of grey, a torrential downpour.Earthy brown desires are that for which we lust,the loss of which comes with age, like chrome begins to rust.The image changing constantly as time plods slowly on,taking shape in many forms, as the twilight replaces dawn.We look into a mirror for the answers which we seek,but we find no consolation as our eyes grow dim and weak.The final touches on a painting created with much love,as we realise that the destination is the gallery above. You know Ill always ride hereeven when my ridings doneIn the whisper of the pre-dawnor the final burst of sunAt the corners of transitionwhere the changes are obscuredI will ride and if you see meits because our love has endured. Poems for those who had a calm aura, or poems for those who seek calmness in death. That man taught me to ride a bike,And even how to fly a kite.He taught me to know wrong from right,When to run and when to fight. see also: The Countryside, Flowers, and Gardening. Click on the title to continue reading, or browse a larger collection of funeral verses, including non-religious funeral poems and short verses. You came into this lifetime for a purpose,You may have followed someones footsteps,orMay have followed your dream,Maybe you just joined to drive with lights and sirens,butYou made it your life. 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. 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. Where on Shaftesbury Cres, the kids now play. Poems about people who liked a drink - in a healthy way. I don't mind dying But I want my funeral to be fine: A row of long tall mammas Fainting, Fanning and crying - Langston Hughes. Should you require a celebrant for your ceremony, be it a funeral, a wedding, a naming ceremony or something else, feel free to get in touch. thanks for reminding meTheres just time before I failTo stand on ceremonyTwo rashers of best back, Should keep meSmelling sweet up the smokestackSo, mother, put the kettle on for meIts time, mother, for my long cup of tea. 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. One day you will all forgive meOne day you will understandAnd when your time on earth is doneI will be waiting to take your hand. 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. Then there are the moves;Always limited,restricted by the fear of capture, of failure,there are only so many times we can move sideways,move forwards,before we feel the fear of being too far out, too vulnerable. Tiny Angel, look at me,I want this image clearThat I will forget your precious faceIs my biggest fear. So when you talk of family lifeOr how it used to beThough many had more moneyNone were as rich as me. Above all, Father Time, I prayWhen all is said and done,That we can all look back and sayBy eck, that game was fun!, by the players of East Leeds Cricket Club. 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. I gathered petals in my hand,I felt their velvet, soft and blandI saw the soft colours in my palmLooking not unlike some lucky charmI raised them to my lipsAnd whispered words for you aloneThen placed the petals upon your bed,And stood alone, this moment of dread,I turned and walked awayMy words, my love, are with you I pray. Michael Ashby A humorous play-on-words about death and cooking.Mothers Apron Joyce Johnson A similar piece to the above, but with subtleties that befit a mother.Riches Jeanne D. Rhein A lovely, comforting piece about the cosy, familial comforts of a home-cooked meal. They laugh and have a kick around. A year feeling so lonely and blueSince the unspeakable day I lost youIm here because friends said I must tryLetting go and waving the tears goodbye. Poems about people who liked a drink in a healthy way. Little rattle of dry seeds in pods, The warm crowd . Ill walk, Ill talk,And go through the motionsBut every step will be my love,for you,my daily devotions. A faith few possess led your journey through life, often a jagged and stony way,The sun is setting, the cattle are all bedded, and here now is the end of your day. Deeper down I goso unknown steps belowexploring further than anyones beenthere seems to be no end. Funeral Poems about Flying Free or Letting Go The White Chariot During your journey on your final flight home. 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? Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson This is a beautiful poem for dad's funeral. The Print+ membership where Singletrack magazine drops through your door, plus full digital access, is normally 45, now only 22.50 with the code. 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. Stretching my limbsChoreographing on a whimAlways aiming to be strongerTo hold my arabesque longer. He arrived, not quite finished off,as his brother said one night,and, I bet Gods feeling awfully sadthat he didnt get him right.. Where every day is a day to fish,To fill your heart with every wish.Dont worry, or feel sad for me,Im fishin with the Master of the sea. Are the fire exits clear?Id really like to keep you safeWhile youre all sitting here, I do hope some practical jokerDidnt dress me up in my fireproof gearIf Im at a crematoriumWe might be a long time here, The graveyard would be a safer betWith gods sprinklers shedding a tearNow to end my last shiftI dont want to waste your precious time, My deepest love to dearest familyColleagues and friends of mineSo please send me off in a blaze of gloryA fitting end to a firefighters story. Clean your rims, my friend! I cant say goodbye.I cant acceptYour death.You will live in my heartForeverUntil my last breath. We trust that beyond absence there is a presence.That beyond the pain there can be healing.That beyond the brokenness there can be wholeness.That beyond the anger there may be peace.That beyond the hurting there may be forgiveness.That beyond the silence there may be the word.That beyond the word there may be understanding.That through understanding there is love. I have always been a readerand I will always be oneeven when I am no longer heremy books will live oncarrying me in their heartsjust as I have carried themin mine. Dont look to right or left at all,For that is how the mighty fall! Mighty proud! Never will I be covered in tattoosMy legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.Ill never paint or carry a tuneForever and ever, Ill wear a tutu. "A Meeting" by Edith Wharton. Crickets Poems - Modern Award-winning Crickets Poetry : All Poetry Poems / Crickets Poems - The best poetry on the web Flowermuse Follow Feb 14 Haiga 2-14-23B Feb 14, Stan Rodriguez haiga---haiga---springs color crickets Like ( 2) 2 The Lady of Perelen Follow Feb 2 Natural jazz Saxophone grooving with A twilight metronome I love to learn about them, and share all that I find,With others who love their fossils just as much as I love mine,They know that fossils are far more than simply rocks and debris,They are a vital window into our worlds history. Ill see you next week! Last Journey Timothy Coote A rhythmic poem ideal for someone who loved locomotives. I am a martial artist. Published by: Esplanade Publishing Ltd., cricket poems for funerals. Granddad,We know you can no longer stay with us,you fought long and hard to be with us.We know you now watch over and protect us.Although we cannot hear your voice or see your smiling face,We know deep down in our hearts that you have not left us.Instead every day you surround us with the singing of the birds,the rising of the sun and the falling of night.So many broken hearts are left behind,But in our deepest despair our greatest comfort lies knowingthat you are now at peace with the angels and God.So as times passes our tears will dry,our hearts will mend,but our love for you will never end. To shake our gravity up. Do love that Roy Harper song though. Aroma of Yorks chocolate ten miles away, bread-baking and brewing downwind of Carlislemake me ready for dinner. All The Worlds A Stage William Shakespeare A verse which summarises the whole span of human life in a few lines.The Last Call Michael Ashby A short verse originally dedicated to Richard Briers.Our Revels Now Are Ended William Shakespeare An extract from The Tempest by one of the greats. 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. So go, my loveClimb that mountain in the sunsetI will watch you with a smileand eternal lovein my heart. He was teaching what it meansTo love, honor, and obey.He wanted a strong bondThat we dont see too much today. Yes. I Juggle As I Go Mark Gregory A poem that mimics the rhythmic repetition of juggling, and, indeed, of life.The Juggler Richard Wilbur A poem that uses a juggler as ametaphorfor the kind of change one needs in life. Because your heart was simply gold,What a shame, you werent that old,Gone now for good, not good youve gone,Our memories will linger on. But then, like sunshine, here and goneYou left us in the mournful dark.The time we shared was full of warmthOur flame sustained us through the yearsAnd now it lights the path aheadBetween the silence and the tears. I imagine you greetingThe others that I loveThat sadly left this earthFor a home with you above. But now that you are sleeping,And your mind is finally free:I pray one day, now youre at rest,That youll finally remember me. He had a keen eye, a quick hand and a skillTo work manually with strength and effort and willHis hard work inspired and was in demand,not just near home but across the land. The Cyclist Joyce Elliot A short poem that perfectly describes the atmosphere and internal sensations of a bike ride.Oh! 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! Poems for those people who enjoyed collecting fossils, or, indeed, were amateur or professional palaeontologists. Ah: badminton, tennis, andping-pong: obsessive,repetitive, & Kafkamight have invented tennis-scoring,Love equated with Zero, Fifteenpulled out of a surrealists head. Which is happier, man or boy?The soul of the father is steeped in joy,For hes finding out, to his hearts delight,That his son is fit for the future fight.He is learning the glorious depths of him,And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim.And he shall discover, when night comes on,How close he has grown to his little son. 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. Now both of us have been to school though many years ago we both have passed our English gradesbut still we do not know! I am a martial artist. So I handed him my bottleAnd he drank down my last swallowThen he bummed a cigaretteAnd asked me for a lightAnd the night got deathly quietAnd his face lost all expressionSaid, If youre gonna play the game, boyYou gotta learn to play it right. Poems for those who made a living as a florist, or who simply enjoyed picking, giving or receiving flowers. 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. Fishing by William Henry Dawson. 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! To the likes of you and me?So, my friends, come walk a while, the futures ours to see. His conscience on one hand the white man guide,Desire with equal skill the black direct;An angel and a demon on each sideSurvey the game for its result elect. You are loved by so many.You might notHave known,But in our heartsIs whereYou have grown. Dear friends I go, but do not weep;Ive lived my life, so full and deep.Throughout my life, I gave my best,I earned my keep, Ive earned my rest.I never tried to be great or grand,I tried to be a helping hand. O Life! She tumbles on the floor with art,Her movements swift and sure,Her strength and flexibility,So wonderful, so pure. 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. He is a lover of the earth,And all the wonders it gives birth;He is a lover of the bloom,And all the fragrant, sweet perfume. The Bowlers Prayer anon A prayer asking for help from God to ensure the bowled ball lands near the Jack.A Crown Green Bowlers Prayer P. Helliwell A verse imploring the Lord to ensure there are games of bowls in heaven.My Last End Graeme Cook A lovely, short poem inspired by memorable games upon that velvet turf.Unbiased Bowls J.J. Hasson A light-hearted poem discussing the bias of bowls and perhaps also of life. Thanks So jealously I stare at the starsBut you are all I see;For they are where your heart residesAnd where I long to be. 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. Although I didnt understandI still told everyoneWith a love thats undeniedId say That is my son. 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. Farewell, friends! Just know our love goes deep and strongWell forget you neverThe child we had, but never hadAnd yet will have forever! Good Afternoon, My father has recently passed and I would like to scatter his ashes at Lords.He was a lover of attending Lords and had many happy days there.

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