cricket poems for funerals
Go after your dreams.Be bold. Rugby, what a beautiful and passionate game Its not about money, fashion or fame. Closer, the bowler's arm swept down, The ball swung, swerved and darted, Stump and bail flashed and flew; The batsman pensively departed. You filled our home with happinessand made our life complete.The time we had with youwas far too short, but oh so sweet. This wretched pain inside of meMy throat, my heart, my now. I always begin With the first clue across, Continuing on Until Im at a loss. Your life was fueled by coffee,That much we know is true.It was more than just a drink,But a way of life for you. That man would rock me off to sleep,Would wipe my tears when I did weep.He watched me go from crawl to walk,And smiled with pride when I learned to talk. Its been a long time since we first felt the beginning to this end.And today we pray before you; your family and your friends.Weve watched your thoughts get more obscure with every passing day;As this heartless thing called Alzheimers made them fade away.Gradually it took the gleam from those once so loving eyes.To befall on such a giving manit seemed so unjustified.Stripping you of everything, leaving nothing in its placeExcept a look of sadness left upon your face.As long as we have searched, through all the tears weve criedWeve tried to find the reason for this long good-bye.But now its time to take back all your memoriesAs you are finally free from this cruel disease.We pledge to remember the man that you once were;A good hearted, giving man is all that will be heard.And every night when we look up and see a certain starWe will know within our hearts exactly where you are.So on this day we say good-bye as you now depart.Although far from our touch, never far from our hearts. The board is your target, not the mat,So, be careful what youre aiming at! 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. Chris Gayle Cricket is a team game. Youve made me laugh,when I wanted to cry.Youve made me stronger,when I felt so weak I could die. You tell the worn raincoat that if you talk about it,you will finally let grief out. You played the game with all your soul,Giving everything to win,You pushed yourself to the brink and backTime and time again. Carry On Shauna Danskin A highly poetic piece which urges mourners to look forward with hope.Dear Friends I Go anon A call to look forward and stay positive in the face of death.Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep anon A popular poem to encourage mourners not to weep, but to look ahead.He Is Gone / She Is Gone David Harkins A poem urging mourners to have fond memories of the person theyve lost.I Am Always With You anon A verse reflecting upon the idea that our lost loved ones are always with us.One At Rest anon A call to think of the deceased as simply resting. cricket poems for funerals. This is the particular line I was thinking of. 3. Have you checked the smoke detectors? Poems reflecting upon the importance of the memories we have of others. This bond that even death cant breakwill keep you here close by But I feel such pain and miss youmy Tiny Butterfly. Tell her I promise to see her again someday.When that will be, I really cant say.I promise to make up for the time thats passed,To hold her and comfort her in my arms at last. So tell me, what do you do up in heaven?Are your days filled with love and light?Is there music? Mother, you were just a girl, So many years ago. Then gracefully his arm went outHe knew how he would bowl itWrong bias there!, then came the shoutWouldnt ya bloody know it!Here is a little message Make it a golden rule Always check your biasAnd you wont be a fool! If so then this may be perfect. She says youve only left the room,You havent gone away.But I really miss you, GranddadAnd the games we used to play. 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. I have spent the night in the watchhouse My head was the size of three So I went and asked the chemistTo fix up a drink for me;And he brewed it from various bottlesWith soda and plenty of ice,With something that smelt like lemon,And something that seemed like spice. 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. You left us beautiful memories,Your love is still our guideAnd though we cannot see you,You are always by our side. I am a creator of ideas,Swimming in a sparkling sea of imagination, A magician of sorts, turning thoughts of wondermentinto pieces of originality, Each creation showcasesMy own personal journey, My worries, dreams and ambitionsEverything Ive loved, and everything I feared, All that I was yesterday and all that I could have beenIs neatly contained in my glorious creations, When you glance over my work, you are catchingA glimpse of my soul for a part of me in each piece I have created, I marched to my own beat and wildly danced to my own rhythmPassion ran through my veins as emotions were the fuel for my craft, Certain pieces I protected and kept to myself,but you will see them now along with the others I shared with the world, I was a creative beacon, shining my light brightlyFor all the universe to see, I was all these things and moreRolled into one unique and talented artist. With every punch and every hitIt demonstrates its strength and skillIts resilience, its steel and gritIts honour, courage, and will. You know right from wrong.You are the melody from a beautiful love song. Dont weep at my grave,For I am not there.Ive a date with a butterflyTo dance in the air.Ill be singing in the sunshine,Wild and free,Playing tag with the windWhile Im waiting for thee. A broad demographic, some salt of the earthWho with them they bring passion, character and worthThe owners, the trainers, the jockeys, the stridethe horses, the strappers, the dreams and the pride. The Darkness Of The Theatre Mark Gregory A fitting poem for someone who loved watching movies at the cinema.Funeral Blues W. H. Auden The now famous poem thanks to its recital in the film Four Weddings and a Funeral.O Me! The draping, it is perfectNo wrinkles will you seeA symbol of a nationA reminder that were free. And though you are gone, though youre not here with methe cord is still there but no one can seeIt pulls at my heart, I am bruisedI am sorebut this cord is my lifeline as never before. People emerge from winter to hear them ring,children glitter with mischief and the blind man hearsbells in the town alight with spring.Even he on his eyes feels the caressingfinger of Persephone, and her voice escaped from tearsmake clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing. When I was knee high, I was immortalBecause my Mum always held my handI knew no harm would come to meIn this, the safest place in the land, Her hands were always there to guide meTo show me where to goHer hands were forever knittingTo keep us warm in Winters snow, They were there to wave me offEach morning when I left for schoolBecause you know she wouldnt let meGrow up to be no fool, As I started to grow olderI would walk of my own accordAnd those hands once there for safetyChanged roles to encourage and applaud, Later when I took a hand in marriageWith new little hands to hold in mineShe was always there when neededTo take their hands and give us time, For many years they still held strongWrapping presents as each birthday came alongGiving out big hugs at ChristmasIn the growing family throng, But then they started to become unsureNot remembering what to doSo I knew that it was my timeTo hold her hand and help her through, We walked so many milesIn corridors hand in handI just hope that in her own mindWe were walking in the sand. When my bowling ball reaches the end of the alleyI hope for a strike.And when my life culminates in a dramatic finale,Thats what Id like. And now that youre not here, GranddadIll give double hugs to Nan.Goodnight, God bless you, Granddad,From your loving little man. They once built an house with an extension on the side;It was that badly built that no one could reside.He had a young apprentice who soon became his hoddie,he never let him lay the bricks because his work was always shoddy. Light a candle, see it glow,Watch it dance when you feel low,Think of me, think of light,Ill always be here, day or night.A candle flickers out of sightBut in your heart I still burn bright. Its 3 am and youre on my mind,I just cant sleep tonight,I try but toss and turn and cry,Its not fair, or just or right!I close my eyes whisper your name,Into the dark still air,My sweetest child my Angel,This pain I cannot compare.Missing you is such a huge part,Of my life now of my day,Every waking moment youre there,On my mind now to stay.When I sleep youre in my dreams,Calling out so distant so small,I feel you slipping away from me,I just cant get to you at all.Then I wake up bathed in terror,Its like losing you all over again,My heart racing the tears falling,It hurts so very much then.But sometimes when I dream of you,Im holding you in my embrace,Breathing in every inch of you,Gazing into your darling face.This stays with me when I waken,I carry it in my heart,Watching you grow, seeing you change,Even though we are apart.Your name the trees whisper to me,The wind it sings your tune,I know youre there, youre with me,As we gaze at the waning moon.Hold my hand My Angel,As we gaze into the nights wild,These twilight hours are mine and yours,My Angel, my darling my child. All verses 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. Hegot into competition,but didnt really trust it,and the main games of life allseemed rigged, one wayor another. So as we lay them down to restWell watch one final filmIn honour of their memoryAnd the love they had for them. 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 candle burns bright in a window of goldA beacon for lifes weary heartPromising beauty and splendours untoldOf a world that now keeps us apart. Grandmas quilts were always there,A comforting, colourful sight,A source of warmth and motherly love,On cold and lonely nights. To hunt a bird,To wet a line,Gifts from God,So good and fine. When the long, dark night is overAnd heaven begins its reignI promise you my darlingI will see you again. The laughter and loveIt always shone through. One, two, three, four,Heels click down on the catwalk floor.Five, six, seven, eight,Head held high and back dead straight. And when great souls die,after a period peace blooms,slowly and alwaysirregularly. White rose petals fall and blossoms fade,Memories linger yet,Recollections of happier times,You never will forget. Their quiet heart, a noble trait,That listened well, would sit and wait,A steady hand, a patient soul,That brought us peace, and made us whole. Its fun and its laughterIts planning and strategyBut most of all, its you and me.We laugh, we cheer, we argue a few,but this is a memory made anew. The Moment You Left Dad, the moment you left me My world came crashing down My memories of you remain with me But it doesn't feel right to not have you around The band upstairs is striking upFor me they now awaitTo play again I now can doAs I pass through heavens gate. Which organisations allow you to scatter? I pray that if a batsmanLoops a ball into my lap,Ill pouch it without too much fuss,And get a well-earned clap. So rest now my beautiful Nanna,Ill never forget how much you have done.So until my hand meets yours again,Sleep now in the sun. If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the door,Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,He was one who had an eye for such mysteries? 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. She loved to pop out for a walk or a stroll,But illness and age in the end took its tollHer passing will leave in our lives a great hole,Shell be missed as a wonderfully generous soul. Keep the men happy and the girls nice,Let everybody be merry and have a good night.Keep the hookers out and the troublemakers at home,Leave the anger and misgivings at the door. This fourth rose is for our love.We enjoy beauty and its presence,Continuing to guide and lead us.Regardless of the seasons of our lives,Our love for you will continue. Not having a good fielder is bad luck. We open the cupboard filled to the brimAnd wonder which game will be todays unholy sin:The boxes are faded and tattered, well worn,All filled with memories from since we were born.Theres dice and board, and card and stickWhich is the one that will be todays pick? 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. I hear you whisper softly in my earTake a step forward, dont worry dearYou have my blessing, your life to enhanceKeep dancing to music of the Tea Dance.. Someday I will soarWhere only eagles dare to fly.My wings will span great distancesIn a clear blue azure sky.So high above this worldly placeThat Heavens doors Ill see.And angel voices will start to carry meThrough skies ringing with sweet melody.For God has promised us this dayIf His name we will revere.And I hold this promise in my heartAs I mount up with wings that shall have no fear. Here are some suggestions for anyone wishing to choose a moving poem or verse for their loved one's funeral. 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. Its everything you sacrificedand choices you made.Its all the problems that you solved,your lessons from mistakes. I know not of richesBut rather, of patches on my britchesI know of draught and rain,Of pleasure and pain. Its not the square footage of your houseor what you keep inside.Theres no material you possessthat proves success in life. Twilight and evening bell,And after that the dark!And may there be no sadness of farewell,When I embark. There were a couple of muckers who mixed up the cement,they were forever subbing so they never paid their rent. The silence hung suspended:It was the last bowl of the day,And everything dependedOn our skipper yet to play.He gazed upon the verdant green His eyes were focused tightOn a sphere that could just be seen:The Kitty shining white. 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. Did you say 'over'? Card & Paper Stock Finished size is A5 (A4 folded in half) and it is printed on 350gsm silk. Poems for those who were avid football fans or skilled football players. Bingo! 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. So let us all be gardeners fair,And tend to life with love and care,And watch the seeds we plant come through,To bloom and flourish, strong and true. They move through threatening ghostsFeeling them cool as mistOn their brows. Poems for those who had a calm aura, or poems for those who seek calmness in death. Pray dont find fault with the man who limpsor stumbles along the road,unless you have worn the shoes he wearsor struggled beneath his load.There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,though hidden away from view,or the burden he bears, placed on your backmight cause you to stumble too.Dont sneer at the man whos down todayunless you have felt the blowthat caused his fall or felt the shamethat only the fallen know.You may be strong, but still the blowsthat were his if dealt to you,in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,might cause you to stagger too.Dont be too harsh with the man who sinsor pelt him with word or stone,unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,that you have no sins of your ownfor you know perhaps if the tempters voiceshould whisper as softly to youas it did to him when he went astray,it might cause you to stumble too. &In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.& Robert Frost, &What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.&Albert Pike, &The fear of death follows from the fear of life. Alone on my tin pony,to the heavens Ive been called,but fret not my dear loved ones,Im not lonely here at all. Children that I leave behind,And their children, all were kind;Near to them and to my wife,I was happy all my life. Youve always made me happy,I hope you can truly see.Youre more than just an Uncle,youre also a great friend to me. It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though my own red roses there may blow; It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though the red roses crest the caps, I know. So to the gamblers, the men here for businessThe track shows no mercy, their wives less forgivenessNo time for a banter, or a welcoming kissFor they come here to deal, this arena their office. The teams. Farewell, friends! This be the verse you grave for me:Here he lies where he longed to be;Home is the sailor, home from sea,And the hunter home from the hill. Give my spare parts so some young buckMay make a start upon the roadTake the pannier of lifeAnd balance carefully his load. Rest there on the mossWhere the soft zephyrs tossThough circlet of beauty and prideWith thy invisible wingsAttached to thy stringsAre folded in peace at thy side. Blessed art Thou oh Lord our God!Thou hast made the sand, the grass the trees,and gently in the tallest oak,You waft a gentle breeze.You drew the bubbling little brook.You painted the placid pond.You sigh the deepest twilight.And smile the brightest dawn.Beneath the fog, beneath the mist,that drifts across the ground,You twirl Your mighty finger,and spin this world around.The hills, the valleys, the winding wood,inspire a soul to sing,was ever there such beauty, Lordwhere rolls the emerald greenOh God, I know You are a golfer,Your work does thus demand.It seems Your only handicap,is this thing that You call man.Can this be an island, Lord?A place of grace and charm.Away from daily trouble Lord,away from daily harm?We pray that this may be, dear God,a place where love extends.Where travellers come as strangersand golfers leave as friends! Drowning or Diving? Poems for those people who enjoyed collecting fossils, or, indeed, were amateur or professional palaeontologists. While working for Birmingham 2022 Commonwealth Games, I wrote a series of quintets - something of an ode for each sport at the Games. The place was very quiet,But not too quiet. He tends the flowers with loving care,And prunes the branches here and there;He weeds the beds and mends the fences,And gathers up the fallen senses. Lay lady lay, in crimson and cloverIts been a hard days night, the partys over. The archer and his bowCannot be torn apart;For shot after shotThey share the same heart. The music stops,And yet it echoes onIn sweet refrains;For every joy that passes,Something beautiful remains. This is the end of serviceFor it and one you loveA subtle juxtapositionOf which is up above. From the depths of my heart, come the words of a brother,where our souls and our minds, are like that of no other.The spirit of competition, will always be there,in the look of our eyes, and the glance of our stare.Protecting each other, is always a must,good times or bad times, never losing that trust.Like a vision of Indians, riding across desert sand,or the heart of a Raider, when he conquers new land.We never lacked courage, or showed too much pride,with no thoughts of guilt, or feelings put to the side.Its important to strive forward, and not live through regret,but to savor the memories, and to never forget.To be such close companions, always made me so proud,never scared to express feelings, our emotions speak loud.Whether its heaven or on earth, our souls are always together,we share that sacred bond, knowing that brothers last forever. As we say goodbye, and bid them adieu,We remember the flag, and all it stands for true.A symbol of liberty, for all to see,We honour their memory, and now set it free. The only reason these days,that I ever get down on one knee,Is to view the World the way,that only a Bowler gets to see,Upon that velvet turf,looking down along the level green,Studying the Kittys spread,and where the Jack is on the scene.Will my final bowl be cunning,or just drive to win the end?I know Ill find theres Bowls in Heaven,so worry not my friend. Our Alley,who art in BowlingHallowed by thy lanesThy strikes will comeThy will be doneOn approach as it is on releaseGive us this game our weekly bowling nightAnd forgive us our splitsAs we forgive thoseWho excessively celebrate against us.Lead us not into the gutterBut deliver us from the ten pin.For ever and EverBowl Men. This poem by Carl Sandburg details the different lives one can hold as represented by seasons. 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. I look at the clues That are luring me there. Im confused beyond your concept,I am sad and sick and lost.All I know is that I need youTo be with me at all cost. 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 about those who suffered from and in some cases, succumbed to addiction. Grandmas quilts held memories,Of bygone days and years,Of loved ones gathered round the hearth,And tales of joy and cheer. If I brightened your path, then let it bea small contribution from my loved ones and me;now sadly I leave you and travel alonethrough a mystic veil to the great unknown,with such beautiful memoriesthat will forever bethe way that I hope youll remember me. There is a momentIn musical rehearsalWhen all the playersThe choirThe woodwind and brassThe strings and percussionThe entire orchestraStopsAnd there is peace, The conductor says two wordsAnd restVoices cease to singThe woodwind put down oboes and clarinetsThe brass lay down trumpets and trombonesOthers do the sameBecause the music is overThere is no audienceThere is no applauseIn that momentQuietness reignsYet the quiet that followsRemains harmonious, There is a certain silenceA spaceFor reflection and reposeThe music is rememberedAnd so we contemplateThe highsThe lowsThe passage of melodySometimes we feel sadBecause the chordsHave drifted awayFinishedCompleted, Some will feel lossOthers experience reliefAnd others deep sadness, TogetherWe shareThat moment of closureWhen the conductorSaysAnd rest., The musical notes stood in linesDiscordant in their griefBefore regaining their composureAs black tears in embossed relief. The bingo caller shouts out loud and clearThat number you have been waiting to hear!You rise to your feet and shout out loud:BINGO! You light up a room when you walk in.If someone feels sad, you can make them grin. 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. But then that week I held her handAnd it slipped away one last timeAnd now theyre in a better placeThose hands that once held mine. Its grand to be reunitedWith band members both old and newWe start to play it sounds so goodJust perfect like I expected it would. Brothers Steve Mason A poem contemplating the unique bond of trust and loyalty that brothers share.For My Brother Shelly Domenici A touching tribute to a brother gone too soon.Memories Tamarah M. Olsen A poem reflecting upon the fond memories shared with a brother.My Brother anon A poem reflecting the many ups and downs of a relationship with a brother.