Whee, in the airThe balls roll around, wheel on his wheeling hands,Learning the ways of lightness, alter to spheresGrazing his finger ends,Cling to their courses there,Swinging a small heaven about his ears. And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread. You know Ill never leave youeven when Im far awayIn the moments when the words stopand your breath gets in the wayI will softly say I love youbarely louder than the breezeSo I hope you gently listento my voice between the trees. You didnt die just recently,You died some time ago.Although your body stayed a while,And didnt really know. 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. But take heed, becauseShes still keeping an eye on all of us,So lets make sureShe will like what she sees. He picked up bricks, mortar and trowel to craftBarbies and walls, buildings and homes that lastAn arch or a curve, all his work set apart,Because each brick he placed, was a work of art. The archer and his bowNever cease to amaze;They are togetherThroughout all days. 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. Poems about those who suffered from and in some cases, succumbed to addiction. From stretcher to oar with drive and draw,He speeds the boat along.All whalebone and steel and a willowy feel,That is the oarsmans song. Where on Shaftesbury Cres, the kids now play. Over and over againjust as he had done all his serving dayshis lips would still defiantly and valiantly speakof how he had fought so hard that enemy flamewith every ounce of strength his body could aim. Is there anyway we could carry out this request please if possible? My grandfather said that of those he could hire,Not a servant so faithful he found,For it wasted no time, and had but one desire At the close of each week to be wound.And it kept in its place not a frown upon its face,And its hands never hung by its side,But it stopped short never to go again When the old man died. The 'Cricket' Funeral Order of Service design is from the HobbiesRange, which is only available from Fitting Farewell. This suffering flesh, It may not display this or other websites correctly. Standing and waiting for the race of life to beginIm getting quite nervous.Am I going to win? I wont dye my hair pink or blueMy piercings will stay as the simple twoNails cut short and hair in a bunIn ballet, this must be done. And there youll see the gardeners, the men and prentice boysTold off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words. Well take the time togetherTo catch up on the pastTo build a new beginningOne that will always last. In life, they loved their family, With a love that knew no bounds, Their heart was filled with joy and pride, When their loved ones were around. Poems admitting that the person we have lost wasnt perfect. Funeral Poems For Cricketers "A Cricketer's Last Boundary" A CRICKETER'S LAST BOUNDARY Weeping willows formed an honour guard For the cricket ball writ with a noble name A team of ten, which had once been eleven Would never be the same side again No bails united the forlorn stumps Since this wicket had fallen some days ago I read of a man who stood to speakAt the funeral of a friendHe referred to the dates on the tombstoneFrom the beginning to the end. I pray that my side score quick runsAnd our opponents falter,And if it comes to pass we lose,I pray the games a belter. Dont look to right or left at all,For that is how the mighty fall! Grandmas quilts were always there,A comforting, colourful sight,A source of warmth and motherly love,On cold and lonely nights. We dreamed of you and of your lifeAnd all that it would be.We waited and longed for you to come.And join our family. The Bird That Was Trapped Has Flown James Robertson Several metaphors for a physically disabled person set free.Caged Bird Maya Angelou A wonderfully poetic verse which is at times a difficult metaphor for disability.Not Quite Right E. B. 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. A Long Cup Of Tea Michael Ashby A humorous poem about not dying, but going for a long cuppa instead.A Moment Of Tranquility Mark Gregory A poem about the inner peace found when enjoying a cup of tea.Tendrils Of Steam Mark Gregory A thoughtful poem equating the rising steam from a teacup to the spirit of life. Final words and kisses, thenThe pipes Amazing Grace;Souls of bike and rider seekEternal resting place. Pirouette, PirouetteDancers silhouettePracticing at duskDedication is a must. 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. 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. May 5, 2020 - Explore Nancy Schlag's board "cowboy prayers" on Pinterest. [Person] is now the brightest star in our sky tonight burning on, with a flame dimmed with sadness and sorrow for us still here.The stars are watching us.
Funeral Poems - Mark Your Occasion I know well they powerIn each trying hourThou servant so faithful and trueWhen the swift rushing windIs left muttering behindAs thou sippest the sweet morning dew. 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. It's the life in your years." Popular Poems for Funerals & Non-religious Readings. Analysis,Subject Summarisation And Explanation : 'On Tingling Catch: An interview with cricket poet Nick Whittock, Tingling Catch: Bill OReillys 1946 NZ cricket. 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. 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 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. On The Grasshopper And Cricket, by John Keats, theartofchildrenspicturebooks.blogspot.com. When great trees fall,rocks on distant hills shudder,lions hunker downin tall grasses,and even elephantslumber after safety. You were really one in a million,A cut above the rest.All who knew you would agree.You simply were the best. The last time he cut his mothers hairthe rude morning sunleft no corner of her kitchen private,the light surgically cleanwhere it fell on his scissors.Her hair fell in a blonde circleon the lake blue tilesmell of coffeeand cinnamon; her laughingshook her head, Hold still, he said,his hands surfeit with the curland softness of her hair. So fly high, dear flag, as we lay them to rest,Their love for you was truly the best.A life well-lived, with memories to hold,They cherished the flag; we let it unfold. 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. For the rock outwears the man,And cruel Time wears out the best,But memories were made upon those stones,Before you were laid to rest. Grandmas Apron Tina Trivett A lovely, reflective piece about the many things a grandmothers apron has seen.MORE THYME! And when she passedHer earringsWere the only adornmentShe neededTo shineIn the next world. Funeral Poems; Memorial Poems, sayings, quotes, and verses; Celebration of Life Poems; Remembrance Poems The Comfort and Sweetness of Peace After the clouds, the sunshine, after the winter, the spring, after the shower, the rainbow, for life is a changeable thing. Short Funeral Poems Nobody likes long-winded, dry segments at an already dour event like a funeral. Can anyone help me? As the engines start up, and our rumble grows loud.We ride for our brethren who can no longer be found.The sunglasses we wear are to cover our tears.Remembering those who ride that weve held so dear. Guest. When someone dies, the clothes are so sad. Sadly he has passed away and I'd like to include an evocative piece, perhaps something describing a match or an aspect of the game, that I could read at his funeral. Time for me to go now, I wont say goodbye;Look for me in rainbows, way up in the sky.In the morning sunrise when all the world is new,Just look for me and love me, as you know I loved you.Time for me to leave you, I wont say goodbye;Look for me in rainbows, high up in the sky.In the evening sunset, when all the world is through,Just look for me and love me, and Ill be close to you.It wont be forever, the day will come and thenMy loving arms will hold you, when we meet again. Smooth road; never mind the few bumps; and air so fresh you could eat it in lumps. Its any time that youve been proudof others or yourself.Its every song you turned up loud,and every friend you helped. We had a wonderful grandmotherOne who never really grew oldHer smile was made of sunshineAnd her heart was solid gold. Our Memories Build A Special Bridge Emily Matthews A verse highlighting the importance of memories. Here are some suggestions for anyone wishing to choose a moving poem or verse for their loved one's funeral. The water was hot and steaming,The tea was fresh and new.I took a sip, and closed my eyes,And all my worries flew. Although I didnt understandI still told everyoneWith a love thats undeniedId say That is my son. My pencil is ready; The boxes are bare. Dear Lord, each time I bowl a frameI thank you for this striking game.Each step I take down the alleys laneIm glad I can play sunshine or rain.When Ive hooked my final Bowling BallPlease spare me a split when I answer your call,And take my mortal soul to beWith you in Heavenly Bowl. And now, the builders time has come,But their creations live on and on,A testament to the builders fun:A legacy, to shine upon. I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.To the gulls way and the whales way where the winds like whetted knife:And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long tricks over.