Some love it for mingling with their upstanding crowdThe drinking, the laughter, the gossip so loudThey arrive at the track wearing yesterdays shoppingFor racing you say, more a spot of Box hopping. Theres not a pair of legs so thin, theres not a head so thick,Theres not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick.But it can find some needful job thats crying to be done,For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one. Feel no guilt in laughter, theyd know how much you care.Feel no sorrow in a smile that they are not here to share.You cannot grieve forever; they would not want you to.Theyd hope that you could live your life the way you always do.So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared,the days you spent together, all the happiness you shared.Let memories surround you, a word someone may saywill suddenly recapture a time, an hour or a day,that brings them back as clearly as though they were still here,and fills you with the feeling that they are always near.For if you keep those moments, you will never be apartand they will live forever locked safely within your heart. A beautiful garden now stands alone,missing the one who nurtured it,But now she is gone. Your labor is done, your home now is heaven; no more must you wait,Your legacy lives on, your love of the land, and we will close the gate. I look at the clues That are luring me there. Poems for those who really enjoyed a cup of tea and the inner peace and warmth that it brought with it. 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. 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. They were the glue that held us all in place, The one we could always depend on, Their warmth and kindness never failed, Their love, an endless fountain. 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. Little rattle of dry seeds in pods, Poems for those who enjoyed the challenges of rock climbing, hiking, and fell-walking. We shared ourBirthdaySince I was five.My wish now will beTo have you back healthyAnd alive. With tearful eyes we watched him sufferAnd saw him slowly fade awayAlthough we loved him dearlyWe could not make him stay. We must dig in and get through to tea. Ive grown up with your values,And Im very glad I did;So heres to you, dear father,From your forever grateful kid. Triumphantly their bodies sing,Their eyes are blindWith music. Just throw your best, and throw with zest,And remember the follow-through,And practice whenever you get the chanceIf you know whats good for you! What is it about a Grandmother,that is such a special bond,Seeing not the years between us,but so very much beyond,For being so much older,just doesnt seem to be a case,The ages seem to melt to nought,within our own special place. Poems reflecting upon the importance of the memories we have of others. 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 . And so now to me, what does it all meanfor me not the fashion, or the high social scenebut the thundering hooves pounding down on the earthThe grace and the power of these kings of the turf. Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees. Also the late, great Peter Tinniswood wrote a fantastic pair of books called "tales from the long room" and "more tales from the long room". Walk a little slower Daddy,said a child so small.Im following in your footstepsand I dont want to fall. Not having a good fielder is bad luck. If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,Or walk with Kingsnor lose the common touch,If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it,Andwhich is moreyoull be a Man, my son! You light up a room when you walk in.If someone feels sad, you can make them grin. 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. It took you as my mother,A girl you did become.Searching for the answersAnd looking for your mum. Dear God, please take care of my little girl,The one with big eyes and soft brown curls.She was special, as you should know.I really didnt want to let her go. I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me! This poem by Robert Burns describes a friend who is an honest man, a guide to youth and an informed human being. Poems admitting that the person we have lost wasnt perfect. Coast to coast across England in one day;A hundred miles in one trip. We light these five candles in honour of our loved ones: One for our grief, one for our courage, one for our memories, one for our love, and one for our hope. I pray the umpire knows his job,And doesnt lift his finger.But if he does I pledge to you:Ill not forlornly linger. 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. Wonderful wood full of carbon is ecologicalThe carpenter stands back in his craftsmans callWorking with your hands shows a skill so goodAs he works he magic cutting and shaping the wood. O Magic wheel of burnished steelHow part of myself thou art.As we roll alongMid the hurrying throngThat peoples the busy mart. As I look into your little boys eyes, I know I have to carry onso I can tell him about his mom. We all paint our lives.The mountains of challenges,The rivers of tears,The waterfalls of joy. Do not go gentle into that good night, I stand Oh Lord With hand on heartAnd ask you now to do your partIve sent my wood from centre lineI know the green I choose is fineNow let your word be trueOh hear me, as I prayScatter thou mine enemiesMake a path where there is no wayGuiding on a righteous track,Place it Lord upon the JackAmen. She leaps and flips and twists and splits,Her body a blur in motion,Her dedication and discipline,A beautiful emotion. You loved the game, with all your heart,You chased the ball with might,You ran and kicked and passed and shot,With skill and speed and fight. The slapping of my leathersand raging winds on either side,drum a beat of sweet contentmentas I ride this, my last ride. Its everything you sacrificedand choices you made.Its all the problems that you solved,your lessons from mistakes. *Replace Pemaquid Point with any relevant geographical location. 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 Song of the Reel by W. E. Hutchinson. My three sons I married right,And their sons I rocked at night;Death nor sorrow never broughtCause for one unhappy thought. If I had a voice nowIt would be lovingAnd I would say thank you for all of your care.If I had a voice nowId want to tell youIm sorry for not always wanting to be there.My life, it confused you, it did so to me.But I am released now and my heart is free.The heart that was hidden beneath all the pain,It felt so much more than I could explain.And if I had a voice now,Id say out loudI love you, I wish that Id made that clear.And in my lifetimeI need you to knowThat I was much more than I did appear.These are things that Id say through choiceif I had a chance and if I had a voice. If we could just slow down enoughTo consider whats true and realAnd always try to understandThe way other people feel. 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. We sit a whileWe guess bird namesWe look them upWe watch bird games. Last updated 8 th October 2021. And you will see. Ive got the bowling ball blues.I gotta mark one more time.I cannot let my team lose.I finally found a good line.Come on now, roll like thunder,Drop those pins asunder:Cure my bowling ball blues. A Legacy of Stitches is what we leave behind;the imprint of our very soul that lasts beyond our time.The heart that quilts knows, oh, so well the peace that can be found,as needle meets with fabric, for there is no sweeter sound.Whether quiet piecing done by hand or on our sewing machine,theres rhythm to our stitches as we sew along each seam.Those stitches tell the story of our lives as they unfoldas we think of quilts that Grandma made with stories left untold.The humdrum of our daily lives grows elegant and grand,when we start to cut the pieces, then stitch the fabric in our hands.And whatever is the reason for the quilts we piece and sew,and whoever is the maker, there is one thing that we know.Each quilt is full of memories and is a treasured thing.If quilts could talk, imagine how some quilts would surely sing!For some quilts are sewn in happy times and others when were sad,and some are sewn in laughter and others when were mad.Some are sewn to warm us, and some sewn just for fun,and some are works in progress that never quite get done!Some quilts are sewn for beauty, a quilt made just for show,but the heart of the true quilter is the one who really knows That no matter how the quilt is stitched, we leave our mark in time.This Legacy of Stitches is what we leave behind. And though they may be gone now, Their love will always stay, A beacon shining bright and true, To guide us on our way. Flower Child Betty Hayes Albright a poem reflecting the carefree and aloof nature of the hippy life.If The World Were Full Of Hippies Rachel-Erika Henderson What would the world be like if everyone was a hippy?Ode To My Generation Betty Hayes Albright a poem urging lack of judgement on those who lived differently. 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. One, two, three, four,This is the life that I adore,Five, six, seven, eight,To the end of the stage, and there I wait. Spaces fillwith a kind ofsoothing electric vibration.Our senses, restored, neverto be the same, whisper to us.They existed. I do not think of you lying in the wet clayOf a Monaghan graveyard; I seeYou walking down a lane among the poplarsOn your way to the station, or happily. Dismiss, Was your loved one a fan of the thwack of leather on willow? 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. Although we fell and stumbled at times,all those hills were necessary climbs. Poems for those who suffered from dementia during their life. The tide recedes,But leaves behindBright seashells on the sand. Your memory will not fade awayTo muted tones of black and white. Grandmas quilts held memories,Of bygone days and years,Of loved ones gathered round the hearth,And tales of joy and cheer. Our site uses cookies to provide you with the best possible user experience, if you choose to continue then we will assume that you are happy for your web browser to receive all cookies from our website. An old man going a long highwayCame in the evening cold and grayTo a chasm vast and deep and wide.The old man crossed in the twilight dim,The sullen stream had no fears for him,But he stopped when safe on the other sideAnd built a bridge to span the tide. So rude, mocking and defiant, And on you, still so reliant, You are there to fulfil their every need, Were so proud of their successes, And forgive their many messes, The writings on the wall but they wont read. That taketh all things under wing. And although this pain is painful,And I really dont wanna let you go.Ill wait for death to take me Nan,So we can together one day glow. Search the forum using the power of Google, Lost my Dad recently and my son is hoping to do a reading at the memorial service at church. Its all about expectingAnd then throwing inIts all about the winningBut not whining not giving-inThe square, the short and long ballThe pals, solid as a rockThe unexpected tackleSudden shock, You felt the roarAnd saw the lucky chipThe crossbar stopped the goalThat you were willing in, And in the endAt injury timeWhen you went deep and deeperYou didnt find the goalOr spot the sweeper. 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. I cannot say. 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. The music stops,And yet it echoes onIn sweet refrains;For every joy that passes,Something beautiful remains. Floral Tribute, which has been distributed by Armitage's publisher, Faber, is a double acrostic . Sometimes the mist overhangs my path,And blackening clouds about me cling.But, oh, I have a magic wayTo turn the gloom to cheerful dayI softly sing. The empty spots beckon; They yearn to be filled And if Im successful Im quietly thrilled. So when you talk of family lifeOr how it used to beThough many had more moneyNone were as rich as me. and play the game!") mourned the tragedy of war through the metaphor of schoolboy cricket and he came to resent the poem's use in propaganda . Here lies a man who loved the game,Of knights and bishops, pawns and rooks,He spent his days in quiet thought,Wondering which piece should be took. Look sharp! Do not ask me to remember,Dont try to make me understand,Let me rest and know youre with me,Kiss my cheek and hold my hand. Walk a while with me my friends, walk with me today,Come and see what I see, and listen to what I say,Yes I have dementia, and sometimes I get worse,Please be very grateful, that you dont have this curse,But are we all that different, the likes of you and me?We breathe the same; we feel the same, the same things we do seeThe only different my friends, I dont feel that well,When I cant remember, everything you tell,My heart beats just as quickly as yours, my blood runs just as fast,But because of my dementia, my shadow, it is cast,Its the shadow cast by others, that takes away my light,Turns my life to darkness, my pleasure to frightFor when you cast that shadow, and it comes my way,It drains me of my energy, makes me hide, or run away,Sometimes I do different things, my mind is not my own,But do YOU never talk to yourself, when you are alone?So am I all that different? When the long, dark night is overAnd heaven begins its reignI promise you my darlingI will see you again. I brood not over the broken past,Nor dread whatever time may bring;No nights are dark, no days are long,While in my heart there swells a song,And I can sing. Then all I want is the magic puff,And the straight and powerful driveTo complete the course,Using skill and forceIn a brilliant 65! I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done. Poems for those who had a love and appreciation for art during their life. He rides like an eagle, flyingAll along the stars;Its all about the journeySafe now from any harm. cricket poems for funerals. 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. The funeral bell is pealing for one, a last farewell,And few sounds sadder than the slow peals of the loud funeral bell.Above the streets and houses it echoes to the sky,For one bound for his/her last resting place the cemetery nearby. The laughter and loveIt always shone through. But all the feelings that are nowSo vivid and so realCant hold their fresh intensityAs time begins to heal. She dances on the balance beam,So light, so free, so full of grace,Her body moves with effortless ease,In this, her chosen place. Dont laugh at me, for I am not laughing with you.I see youre laughing at me why is this true? Add languages. Patti Masterman A poem about being grateful that your body lasted as long as it did. That you are proud of us and that we will be together again. My grandfathers clock was too large for the shelf,So it stood ninety years on the floor.It was taller by half than the old man himself,Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,And was always his treasure and pride;But it stopped short never to go again When the old man died. Life is fleeting,And now, like those tendrils of steam,I, too, must rise, and float awayTo some distant, better place. So jealously I stare at the starsBut you are all I see;For they are where your heart residesAnd where I long to be. But take heed, becauseShes still keeping an eye on all of us,So lets make sureShe will like what she sees. You tell the worn raincoat that if you talk about it,you will finally let grief out. Just to prove myfriendship is true to have a friend like you! 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! Im climbing a mountainI stop just to gaze at the view,So clear the horizonLike my every dream has come true. The warm crowd faintly clapped, Through our tears we look upwards to see [person] watching over us. And I believe my voice will soundUpon the whispering windSo long as even one remainsAmong those I call friend.. 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. Dont Quit John Greenleaf Whittier An inspirational poem urging those listening not to give up when times are hard.Olympic Games Ken Budden A acrostic poem reflecting on the hard work required to win a medal for your country.Olympic Race Victoria Seale-Constantinou A poem comparing life to an Olympic race, and reflecting upon its end.To An Athlete Dying Young A. E. Houseman A poem reflecting upon the premature death of a sportsman. In the grey summer garden I shall find youWith day-break and the morning hills behind you.There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings;And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings.Not from the past youll come, but from that deepWhere beauty murmurs to the soul asleep:And I shall know the sense of life re-bornFrom dreams into the mystery of mornWhere gloom and brightness meet. Youve also got some sweeties.Isnt Nana kind?I may have stolen one or two,But I knew you wouldnt mind. 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. At Lords Francis Thompson A condensed version by the famous poet encapsulating the atmosphere at Lords.Cricketers Last Boundary Michael Ashby A poem for a cricket-lover full of cricketing metaphors.A Cricketers Prayer anon A prayer that the game of cricket (and life) will be won, or at least be fair.The Cricketers Prayer East Leeds CC An adaptation of the Lords Prayer put together by a Yorkshire club. I can still hear you calling my name,then reality sets in and Im reminded my life will never be the same. Though the day was made for scaling,And the dusk gathers too soon,You and mellgono more a-climbingBy thelight of the moon. Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not madeBy singing:Oh, how beautiful! and sitting in the shade,While better men than we go out and start their working livesAt grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives. You didnt die just recently,You died some time ago.Although your body stayed a while,And didnt really know. This is the legend of Cassius Clay,The most beautiful fighter in the world today.He talks a great deal, and brags indeedyOf a muscular punch thats incredibly speedy.This brash young boxer is something to seeAnd the heavyweight championship is his destiny. With my lantern I decide not to go deeperas I stand at the doorwayfeeling much like a gatekeeperwishing it was forever that I could staybut now home is where I must make my way. The world needs you.Believe me, its true!Some things need doingThat only you can do. Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,If its only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden. To succeed. I juggle for my friends, and keep them all aglow,With love and trust and faith that nothing can oerthrow,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. 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. Might be some themed words in that that could be used? When the bell rings for last ordersPlease dont panic or get vexedIts simply time to sup this worlds last drinkBefore ordering your first in the next. Luther F. Beecher. For it matters not, how much we own,The cars, the house, the cash;What matters is how we live and loveAnd how we spend our dash. give me the flavourof butterscotch and vanillawith a little chocolateplease and thank you. 5. Here is a list of beautiful and comforting poems and verses for funerals and memorial services. cricket poems for funerals. Its not the model of your caror brand of clothes you wear.Its not some fancy, famous name,sewn in your underwear. This traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppress of toll;How frugal is the chariotThat bears a human soul! It is right that she is loved: her courage shinesin all the maxims that she does not drawfrom sixty years to warn our present joy.In all her tales, her husband and three sonsquietly keep the graves she bought for them. Poems predominantly for those who worked behind a bar, but also those hobby mixologists. The path tightens,the corridors wind and weavemysterious sounds frightenseeing the magic others see. Thousands of bells chimed from afarDistant, soft, and gentle they seemedThousands of steps stretched between usBut with ten thousand bells at my sideI would never be lost. We little knew that morning,God was going to call your name.In life we loved your dearly,In death we do the same. If theyd only see the truth, In this masquerade of youth, A parents job would be one of far less stress, But they crave the grog and smokes, Hang around with the wrong blokes, And dont ever dare advise them how to dress.

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