And the white light warmed him andnurtured him andfed him great peace. I can talk as we rollAnd I know that a soulMust lurk in thy wonderful frameA spiritual essenceSome far hidden presenceSome genius of magical fame. 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. Villanelle Of Spring BellsBells in the town alight with springconverse, with a concordance of new airsmake clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing. Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws. 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. Let us faith and hope receiveThe rose still grows beyond the wall,Scattering fragrance far and wideJust as it did in days of yore,Just as it did on the other side,Just as it will forever-more. As I look into your little boys eyes, I know I have to carry onso I can tell him about his mom. But look at the family,Created by only two.How many weve become,And all because of you. One, two, three, four,A designer now, fashions in my core,Five, six, seven, eight,Theres plenty of work still on my plate. Poems for those people who enjoyed collecting fossils, or, indeed, were amateur or professional palaeontologists. So from this moment, lets endeavourTo celebrate these worlds so clever;Well think of them, whenever, wherever:A legacy, to go on forever. 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. Which organisations allow you to scatter? 65 p Addeddate 2007-05-31 17:58:40 Bookplateleaf 4 Call number SRLF:LAGE-3653666 Camera 5D With flags so colourful and bold,His home was a sight to behold,Friends and family cameAnd all knew his name,His love for flags never grew old. 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. If I were there, Id tell you I have no more pain or strife,That I loved my friends and family, and I had a wonderful life.If I were there, Id tell you how I loved the small blue highways,I loved the curving mountain roads, and I loved to ride the back-road byways. 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. 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! So go, my loveClimb that mountain in the sunsetI will watch you with a smileand eternal lovein my heart. Have you checked the smoke detectors? We didnt eat in front of the TVOr with a phone in our handWe werent plugged into a stereobopping to the latest band. Love is like a game of cards,you win, you pass, you lose.Life is like a poker game,depends which bluff you choose. With tearful eyes we watched him sufferAnd saw him slowly fade awayAlthough we loved him dearlyWe could not make him stay. Its all the stories you told,The places youve been.Its every sunset that you caughtand every cent you spent. crunch! Poems about grandfathers, grandpas, and gramps. And left in sepulchres of stoneThe dead He buried there.But they are not dry bones alone;I see them as they were. cricket poems for funerals. This isnt how it was supposed to be!The world carries on like nothing has happened, but not me. We would all sit at the tableEveryone in their placeThere were never any surprisesWe recognised every face. On the ashes of our Baseball Ground. Guest. 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 empty spots beckon; They yearn to be filled And if Im successful Im quietly thrilled. One, two, three, four,Heels click down on the catwalk floor.Five, six, seven, eight,Head held high and back dead straight. The driver sees it differently, with their car becomes a part,Take the road together, hit the road, with a single beating heart,The turbos rising wail, and the exhausts muscled, subtle growl,To the drivers ear, an orchestra, theres music in that howl. And now as we gather,To say goodbye to you,Well raise a cup of coffee,And honour all youve been through. 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. This bond that even death cant breakwill keep you here close by But I feel such pain and miss youmy Tiny Butterfly. 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. These are my footprints, so perfect and so small.These tiny footprints, never touched the ground at all.Not one tiny footprint, for now I have my wings.These tiny footprints were meant for other things.You will hear my tiny footprints, in the patter of the rain.Gentle drops like angels tears, of joy and not from pain.You will see my tiny footprints, in each butterflies lazy dance.Ill let you know Im with you, if you give me just a chance.You will see my tiny footprints, in the rustle of the leaves.I will whisper names into the wind, and call each one that grieves.Most of all, these tiny footprints, are found in mummys heart,cause even though Im gone now, well never truly part. Who was that man, you may well ask?To tell you now is my last task.It makes me proud, it makes me glad,To tell you that man, he was my dad. Tiny Angel shook his head,These things I do not knowBut I do know that you love me,And that I love you so., This was a life that had hardly begunNo time to find your place in the SunNo time to do all you could have doneBut we loved you enough for a lifetimeNo time to enjoy the world and its wealthNo time to take life down off the shelfNo time to sing the songs of yourselfThough you had enough love for a lifetime. In all our loving moments,we waltz through life,and in those complicated moments,we will twist the whole night through. They move through threatening ghostsFeeling them cool as mistOn their brows. The, of Children's Picture Books: Childcraft,, s and An Ode to Cricket at Kings School and a couple of Storms What is cricket, the teatowel factor, ESPN Cricinfo, Ten, s about Cricket, Candlestick Press, Poetry Pamphlets. Ourteam Which artelevenHallowedbethy gameOurmatch be wonTheirscorebenoneOn turf Aswe score at leastseven Give us today no card of redAnd forgiveusourlostpassesAswe forgivethoseWho lose passesagainstusLeadusnot intoretaliationAnd deliverusfrompenaltiesForthreeisthe kick offThepower and scorerForeverandeverFulltime! This traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppress of toll;How frugal is the chariotThat bears a human soul! 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. I know of tall pines,And long, waiting lines.Of the warmth of campfires,And the agony of flat tires. The tired old men who napped. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky.I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.My cheek like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed. For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host As the run-stealers flicker to and fro, To and fro: O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago! Ill always be your mother,Hell always be your dad.You will always be our child,The child that we had. And so we meet again today,To toast your bodys end.For it was true and faithful,Until right at the end. Then there are the Jokers,theyve lots of rules, not always fair.When you let them play your game,keep watch and take good care. And Lord I pray that tonight or sometime real soon,I get to raise my voice in praise Praise that you deserve When I get to shout out BINGO! The peewees in the town park are distinctive in their call,And the magpie on a wattle pipe on this cool morning in the Fall,And for one who will not breathe again, the eulogy is read,And the funeral bell is tolling, in memory of the dead. I cant be there to hold your handI cant be there to hug youI cant be there to dry a tearBut there is one thing I can do. The Lego builder, with skill and care,Constructed worlds, beyond compare,With towers tall, and cities fair:A legacy, to last and share. Rev. 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. Cried and yelled at the moonand crushed nightmaresDrank together and helped each otherback to bed. Grandmas quilts were always there,A comforting, colourful sight,A source of warmth and motherly love,On cold and lonely nights. 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. My lifes journey ended early,The path I chose was short.You all tried your best to change it,But in the end it was for me to sort. 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 seats are saggy from long time use,The rear-views broken; whos driving this car? A mile of gleaming metal linesThe circle and the park;Out of saddles, boots hit brickAnd make for chapels heart. Tiny Angel can you tell me,Why you have gone away?You werent here for very longWhy is it, you couldnt stay? write me in historymove over King Tutyou aint got nothingon the legitimate King! For that dash represents all the timeThat they spent alive on earth;And now only those who loved themKnow what that little line is worth. The Funeral Bell Francis Duggan A sombre poem about the feelings that arise upon hearing a funeral bell.Ring Out, Wild Bells Alfred Lord Tennyson A wonderful piece about ringing out the bad and ringing in the good.Villanelle Of Bells Keith Douglas A lengthy but beautifully poetic piece about bells guiding our way in life. Are you more alive?Cause here on earth it feels likeEverything good is missing since you leftAnd here on earth everythings differentTheres an emptiness. You took a piece of me with you the day you left,leaving me unable to catch my breath. I know I caused you sadness,I know caused you pain,But I was captured by these demons,They wouldnt set me free again. He never looks for praisesHes never one to boastHe just goes on quietly workingFor those he loves the most.His dreams are seldom spokenHis wants are very fewAnd most of the time his worriesWill go unspoken too.Hes there A firm foundationThrough all our storms of lifeA sturdy hand to hold toIn times of stress and strife.A true friend we can turn toWhen times are good or badOne of our greatest blessings,The man that we call Dad. 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. 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! A troublemaker, a teacher, a friend. Poems for those who enjoyed filling in those tantalising blanks across and down. For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears . With no maps to guide us we steered our own course,Rode out the storms when the winds were gale force,Sat out the doldrums in patience and hope:Working together we learned how to cope. cricket poems for funerals. It was the way he moved that made him seemSo much a part of what he did;In every somersault and cartwheelHe seemed to turn himself to air. Thousands of bells chimed overheadTheir lovely tone shaping my thoughtsSplendid new lands danced in my sightBut with ten thousand bells as my guideI would never be lost. He taught us all so much;his brother how to care,tenderness bonded the family;it grew from our despair. Maybe the glorious legends, from Phar Lap to the Diva, That leaves me so infected, with the flush of racing fever, The buzz as they are mustered, from the starting gate they lurch, With the Form Guide as my bible, the racetrack as my church. - Navjot Sidhu 4 0 Add a comment Wickets are like wives, you never know which way they will turn! O my goodness, whatever do I seeIs that a man coming over to meI feel a blush come from neck to my faceAnd my poor heart is beginning to race. You had your loves and had your dreams, You watched us come and go. 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. Dont laugh at me, for I am not laughing with you.I see youre laughing at me why is this true? Every dayWe puzzlers cheer For since 1913, Once a day they appear. I pray the Captain sets his fieldWith telepathic skill,That all his plans work wellAnd that the catches do not spill. We little knew that morning,God was going to call your name.In life we loved your dearly,In death we do the same. He saw the road was getting roughAnd the hills were hard to climb,So he closed your weary eyelidsAnd whispered, Peace be thine.. The NHS Overused? I am a man who works with God,I cannot succeed without his help,For you see,Im just a farmerPlain and simple. Pink tights by the moundBobby pins all aroundLeotards on the floorPointe shoes by the door. The time is nowTo find your passion.Time waits for no one,So get into action. But then, your spirit came to restWhere angels chose to roamAnd once equipped with ten-pound testYou made yourself at home. But in my heart you will be,moving forward, you with me. so sad, recurringWhat good amid these, O me, O life? Haiku for a Father. Alone on my tin pony,to the heavens Ive been called,but fret not my dear loved ones,Im not lonely here at all. by Gabrielle Tintitranslation by David Graham. Children that I leave behind,And their children, all were kind;Near to them and to my wife,I was happy all my life. A line, a house would pass me byThe frustration could make a grown man cry! Poems for those who excelled at the supple sport of gymnastics, at whatever level. MORE THYME! With a nod of the head, or a grip of the hand,He will give you his bond, that for ever will stand,And nothing much safer youll find in the land;For that is the badge of a Yorkshireman. You are loved by so many.You might notHave known,But in our heartsIs whereYou have grown. Bike like a rocket each sprocket fits its socket with well oiled smoothness of clockwork. The city . There are candles in the night,flickering souls fighting back the dark:these are the angels of the abyss,holding back the blackness that consumes us. All poems featured on this website are free to use during any ceremony, although it is good practice to make sure the author is mentioned, if known. After she died, I swear the skyHad the most beautiful of all sunsets,A blush of pink, then red, a glass of red,Sudden dark and a hammock moon,Then its faint silhouette, almost secret.Life half-written, half unsaid.I had kissed your head in the strange room.Then later, I blew a kiss to the stars, to regret. A Redevelopment Update, NBD: Last Tarvo 2, Specialized Tero X, Crankbros Mallet Trail, This topic has 9 replies, 6 voices, and was last updated. The morning mist had lifted,And the sun was shining bright.I poured myself a cup of tea,And sat and watched the light. Ive got the bowling ball blues.I just cannot get a strike.I bought these white leather shoes.I paid a mighty fine price.Come on now, roll like thunder,Drop those pins asunder:Cure my bowling ball blues. Each angel was a fishermanWho had traded his poleFor golden wings and a game planAt Heavens Fishing Hole. 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. Smart lad, to slip betimes awayFrom fields where glory does not stay,And early though the laurel growsIt withers quicker than the rose. In this lonely place, beside a spring,I brew my tea and dream.The green leaves dance and whisper secretsIn the quiet afternoon sun. He cannot help but have death on his mind. 'Trees' is by far the most famous. When I speak your name,It still brings music to my ears,And I can still see your smileAs if heaven is so near. 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. Poems for those who had a passion for music during their life, whether as a DJ, singer, or simply music-lover. 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. Years were not easy, many downright hard, but your faith in God transcended,Put away your tools and sleep in peace. Green sod above, Lie light, lie light. I am a juggler, and I juggle as I go,Flung from hand to hand, these balls of life 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. Last dogwatch done.Now a new berth awaits you on the other side. 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. 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! 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! But as the end of his life grew near,He lay on his bed with no fear:For he knew in his heartFlags will never departFrom this world they will fly loud and clear. When I come to the end of my journeyand I travel my last weary mile,just forget, if you can, that I ever frownedand remember only the smile.Forget unkind words I have spoken;remember some good I have done.Forget that I ever had heartache,And remember Ive had loads of fun.Forget that Ive stumbled and blunderedand sometimes fell by the way.Remember I have fought some hard battlesand won, ere the close of the day.Then forget to grieve for my going;I would not have you sad for a day,but in summer just gather some flowersand remember the place where I lay,and come in the shade of the eveningwhen the sun paints the sky in the west.Stand for a few moments beside meand remember only my best. I shall remain in hearts and mindsOf loved ones that I knew,And in the rocks and hills and streamsBecause I love those, too. Cannot be used in conjunction with other offers, or when switching memberships), Contact UsPrivacyForum RulesClassifieds RulesLink RemovalNewsletter SettingsAdvertising, Viewing 10 posts - 1 through 10 (of 10 total). She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow. Ill tell him how much you loved him and how you couldnt wait for him to be here.Because of him, I know you will always be near. adapted from the poem by Sherry L. Williams. Dont be sad for me todayFor me please do not weepCall upon your memoriesThey are yours to keep. Dismiss, Was your loved one a fan of the thwack of leather on willow? Her fingers wind the wool aroundWithout her even thinkingAnd rows and rows of stitches showWithout her even blinking. My Love, You Gave Yourself To Me anon A verse to be read by, or on behalf of, a grieving spouse. 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 a caged bird stands on the grave of dreamshis shadow shouts on a nightmare screamhis wings are clipped and his feet are tiedso he opens his throat to sing. Poems for petrol heads, or simply for those who enjoyed a Sunday drive. The world may never noticeIf a Snowdrop doesnt bloom,Or even pause to wonderIf the petals fall too soon. Poems about people who liked a drink in a healthy way. 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. Death is Not the End Whats with this ballThat they could kick so high?It meant the worldTo you and them, so why? 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. The lazy float that controls the boatAnd makes the swing quite true,And gives that rest that the oarsman blestAs he drives the blade right through. Yes. I am a sailor, youre my first mate,We signed on together, we coupled our fate,Hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail,For the hearts treasure, together we set sail. The first verse of Sir Henry Newbolt's 'Play the Game'? Poems reflecting the skill and handiwork of bricklayers and builders. He put his arms around youAnd lifted you to rest.Gods garden must be beautiful,He always takes the best. I cannot say. This world of rayAnd shark, of fish and whale, of wonderful creaturesOf strange colours, shapes, and featuresLies beneath the foam and waves of the sea.Ancient reefs call to meTo come and share in their beauty,To bathe in their serenity.This deep blue world of perfectionMassages my soul, and relieves the tensionOf living on the noisy land,For here no noise disturbs the sandOr coral or walls or caves,Nor are they disturbed by wavesWhich crash around the land worlds rim.This deep blue world remains calm in dimSubdued light filtered and made gentle by the depths.I feel a part, but am only a guestIn this undersea EdenFrom which I must depart for a season,Left to remember, and to anticipate the dayWhen I may return. Stretching my limbsChoreographing on a whimAlways aiming to be strongerTo hold my arabesque longer. - Navjot Sidhu 8 0 Add a comment The Laughter and Love anon A poem reflecting how the deceased always filled a room with laughter and love.My Funny Friend anon A poem for a very specific character of person, who was funny, weird and kind all at once.Pardon Me For Not Getting Up Kelly Roper A humorous message from the deceased to the mourning.
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