Develop your talents;They are unique.Use your time well;Listen only to positive critique. 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". O you are not lying in the wet clay,For it is harvest evening now and weAre piling up the ricks against the moonlightAnd you smile up at us eternally. The sails are set,the wind is east, the moorings fret.Shadows long before me lie,beneath the ever-bending sky,but islands lie behind the Sunthat I shall raise ere all is done;lands there are to west of West,where night is quiet and sleep is rest. Rest now my fallen brotherLay soft your suffering backRest well and foreverYour memory shall not lackRest your tired handsWipe clean your weary browRest with St. FlorianYour spirit now endowedRest here your breaking heartWe know you gave your allRest easy, youve done your partYouve answered your last callRest knowing that in god we soughtOh lord, watch over another who just fellRest assured your troubled thoughtAs we ring the final bell. I have to goagaineven thoughIve just come backeven ifIm covered in bloodblood all over meeverywherethat no one bothersto wipe offand yet they call mestillthe crowd cheersthe ref is impatientmy opponent awaits meI feel deadenedevery voice is far awayand yet I hearI knowthat this is the momentthat I have to goits my jobat first I liked itI couldnt stopit was my lifenow no longerIm exhaustedworn outIm in pieceshow longcan my body last?how many of those punchescan it take?night is fallingI feel itfalling quicklyon memy powers weakendeath will comeand bethe fatal woundfor methe final defeat. When we kids were hurt or cryingWed run to find her lapShed wipe the falling tears awayWith a bit of apron flap. Last dogwatch done.Now a new berth awaits you on the other side. Im now at peace,Life battles done,Ive faced the foeAnd I have won. From hoops, to drops, to barbell hugs, She loved wearing tiny rocks, But no one can actually see her now, Shes become a walking jewellery box! These will be suitable for memorial services as well as funeral readings. Perfect for him: right field inbaseball, an eccentrics positionthough he thought of drifting into otherfields beyond. And so I have a gift for you,My love, in the form of a roseIll hold it to my lipsAnd whisper my loving prose. Ring out the grief that saps the mindFor those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind. I havent really left you guys,I am closer than you know,I will be the whisper in the wind,I will be everywhere you go. When We Lose a Loved One When we lose a loved one Our world just falls apart We think that we cant carry on With this broken heart Everything is different now You're upset and you're annoyed Your world it seems is shattered There's such an awful void Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye. Grandmas quilts were always there,A comforting, colourful sight,A source of warmth and motherly love,On cold and lonely nights. Whats with this ballThat they could kick so high?It meant the worldTo you and them, so why? Her apron could bring gigglesIn a game of peek-a-booWith her newest, sweet grandbabyAs she hid her face from view. I watch the magic happeningAs yarn becomes a shawl.The knitting needles of my auntAre at her beck and call. Not a day goes by, dadThat you dont cross our minds.Not all of you departedWhen you left our earth behind. Poems for those who shared a passion for literature, or who worked in a literary setting during their life. Your memory will not fade awayTo muted tones of black and white. The present only is our own,So live, love, toil with a will,Place no faith in Tomorrow,For the Clock may then be still. by | Jul 10, 2021 | opentimeclock 2004 login | list of navy reserve units | Jul 10, 2021 | opentimeclock 2004 login | list of navy reserve units Do not lose your patience with me,Do not scold or curse or cry.I cant help the way Im acting,Cant be different, though I try. Anger, hate, sorrow and fear, emotions within meant to be kept at bay,Courage, patients, persistence within ones mind and soul each dayThe art of fighting is so much more than just effective ways to kill,It sharpens and enriches the human mind with each new learned skill. Poems for those who had a love and appreciation for art during their life. A life well lived is a precious giftOf hope and strength and grace,From someone who has made our worldA brighter, better placeIts filled with moments, sweet and sadWith smiles and sometimes tears,With friendships formed and good times sharedAnd laughter through the years.A life well lived is a legacyOf joy and pride and pleasure,A living, lasting memoryOur grateful hearts will treasure. It broke our hearts to lose you,You did not go alone,For part of us went with you,the day God called you home. 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. 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. This kid fights great. Someday when Im all grown up,Youre what I want to be.Then I will have a little childWholl want to follow me. I always begin With the first clue across, Continuing on Until Im at a loss. 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? 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. A 93rd minute winner ensures the days before the next game are filled with hope, a thumping defeat fills hearts with despair. Great souls die andour reality, bound tothem, takes leave of us.Our souls,dependent upon theirnurture,now shrink, wizened.Our minds, formedand informed by theirradiance, fall away.We are not so much maddenedas reduced to the unutterable ignorance ofdark, cold caves. You were really one in a million,A cut above the rest.All who knew you would agree.You simply were the best. Poems for chefs, cooks, and those who simply enjoyed spending time in the kitchen cooking for their loved ones. There are so many poems for funerals available, that you have plenty to choose from. He noted that first came the date of birthAnd spoke the following date with tears,But he said what mattered most of allWas the dash between those years. Be and bebetter. 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 But I am a man who loves his jobAnd the life I live. 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. (For darts is not a game of chance!). Poems for people who had family at the centre of their lives. We laughed we joked we talked we ateWe were a family dont you seeThough some may have been raised poorYou can see it wasnt me. Ineffective? play up! The music stops,And yet it echoes onIn sweet refrains;For every joy that passes,Something beautiful remains. Poetry and Verses for Funerals and Epitaphs. cricket poems for funerals. I have always neededthe solace of storiesthe companionship of charactersthe escape of other worldsthe wisdom of wordsthe guidance of good writing. 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. A golden heart stopped beatingHard-working hands put to restGod broke our hearts to prove to usHe only takes the best. Go on with the day,go on with the night,enjoy the richeslife has to offer. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at anytime. 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. So jealously I stare at the starsBut you are all I see;For they are where your heart residesAnd where I long to be. 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. 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. You didnt die just recently,You died some time ago.Although your body stayed a while,And didnt really know. 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. This poem by Carl Sandburg details the different lives one can hold as represented by seasons. 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 Those who live long endure sadness and tearsBut youll never suffer the sorrowing yearsNo betrayal, no anger, no hatred, no fearsJust love only love in your lifetime. They smoked, and talked of stocks and shares, Poems reflecting the skill and handiwork of bricklayers and builders. Inner pages (if required) are printed on high quality 120gsm white bond. But that apron had more usesThan I could ever count.It brought in eggs and vegetablesAnd could hold a large amount. 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. Deep pools of bluewith enchanting emerald green hueswaters untouched by any handstoney beaches with no sand. Without any doubt or fearmy favourite drink is surely beer,anything from pale, to brown alein fact any beer thats on sale,never halves, only pints or largerstout, bitter, smooth or golden lager,wonderful taste of malt and hopsproduced from ripe natural crops,must be drunk cold never warmdrinking good beer will do no harm,beer surely doesnt cause a beer bellydrink too much makes you very silly,you can keep your spirits and winea good pint of beer to me is just fine,beer is drunk north, south, east and westevery country thinks their beers the best. Poems about those who suffered from and in some cases, succumbed to addiction. Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. 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. Repshire: FW Harvey, Cricket, and Nostalgia. Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. You can shed tears that she is goneOr you can smile because she has lived, You can close your eyes and pray that she will come backOr you can open your eyes and see all that she has left, Your heart can be empty because you cant see herOr you can be full of the love that you shared, You can remember her and only that she is goneOr you can cherish her memory and let it live on. Earrings Mark Gregory a poem in free verse about a woman who wore earrings with true grace.A Mothers Crown anon A religious poem about all the elements of a mothers character.She Loved Jewellery Lewis Raynes A slightly humorous poem for someone who wore a lot of jewellery. Mum would cook our dinnerDad came home at fiveWe were all sitting at the tableWaiting for him to arrive. We both are made by one in the same.We grew to be different, Im not to blame. Post author: Post published: June 8, 2022; Post category: what happened after mao zedong died; Post comments: . 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. As I grew older so did he,But that man was always there for meHis love, unspoken, but strong and clear,Of that, I have no doubt or fear. And though our arms are empty,Our hearts know what to do.For every beating of our heartsSays that we love you. 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. Roy Harpers When an old Cricketer leaves the crease has been mentioned. Im climbing a mountainI feel the cool breeze on my face,And the suns beating downIm forever at home in this place. In winter gentle sheep may graze Preserving turf for summer days, A picket fence thrown round the square After the night, the morning, bidding all darkness cease, 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. Hauskat Meemit. Old Father Time, I pray to youThat clouds give it a rest,And that I get a game today,And that I play my best. I stand on the podium, proud and boldIm wearing a medalAn Olympic Gold! I cant stand the hassle, I cant stand the painIm getting those bad cards again and again.So Im giving up bridge Tonights a bad night.Declarer is horrid and nothings going right. The life of man is like a game of chess,The which he plays according to his art;Winning or losing he doth nothing lessThan to obey the dictates of his heart. Day is ended, dim my eyes,but journey long before me lies.Farewell, friends! You made me proud of who you areand all that you have done You often reached beyond the starsto find your goals and won. Then all I want is the magic puff,And the straight and powerful driveTo complete the course,Using skill and forceIn a brilliant 65! )Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renewd,Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,The question, O me! Teasing, rolling, need a little clip.Hairspray, blow dry, one more snip.Color, rinse, perm after perm.For a hairdresser, work-a-holic is our term. see also: The Countryside, Flowers, and Gardening. You light up a room when you walk in.If someone feels sad, you can make them grin. 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. Originally conceived before the 2023 UCI World Championships were POC Omne Lite and Ultra helmets, Pole Voima ID, Bell Full-10 helmet, Cane Creek ILG2 shocks, and Focus Jam/Sam 2s. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tideIs a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying. I fancy I hear them talking thereIn an open boat, and the speech is fair.And the boy is learning the ways of menFrom the finest man in his youthful ken.Kings, to the youngster, cannot compareWith the gentle father whos with him there.And the greatest mind of the human raceNot for one minute could take his place. I know I caused you sadness,I know caused you pain,But I was captured by these demons,They wouldnt set me free again. You would need to contact the club directly try reception@mcc.org.uk to start with. And then I thought, I am a partof all this, and I felta great happiness,and I opened the book againand began to read. Half Mast Mark Gregory A poem for someone for whom flags held great meaning in their life.He Flew Them With Pride Mark Gregory A humorous limerick about a man who was obsessed with flags.Under The Flag Robert Longley A poem less about a flag and more about a soldier that offered his service to it. Crossword Blindness anon A poem about the struggles of figuring out that one clue that has you stumped.My Pencil Is Ready Ilene Bauer A poem about the joys of puzzling, written for National Crossword Puzzle Day.My Trusty Pencil Ilene Bauer Another poem by Bauer about the necessities of a pencil while doing crosswords. Poems for those who grew up in the age of flower power and truly embraced it. 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. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light:The year is dying in the night;Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 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. 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. 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. There are those who prefer the shorter throwAnd those who prefer the long,And it hardly matters from where you aimIf your darts are going wrong! MORE THYME! Lyrics from google. And when this carpenter arrived in heavenhe was expected andimmediately he was put to work:for the Pearly Gateswere a bit looseand St. Peters deskhad a couple of drawers that stuck.And before longthe old master carpenterbegan to builda new thronefor God. 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. The draping, it is perfectNo wrinkles will you seeA symbol of a nationA reminder that were free. Theres food down my shirt-front and some in my beardCos I eat off my knee and I dont think its weird;When I lounge in my armchair while watching the tellyAnd my food drips unheeded all over my bellyIts a trait of the aged from here to Japan;A perk just for being a grumpy old man. I see now it was love, MumThat made you come whenever Id call,Your inexhaustible love, MumAnd I thank you for it all. Is it free like they say?Does the sunshine bright forever?Have your fears and your pain gone away?Cause here on earth it feels likeEverything good is missing since you leftAnd here on earth everythings differentTheres an emptiness. Some Folk Pam Nelson A poem reflecting on how a person made everyone around them feel special and loved. Gods Garden D. W. McConway A slightly religious poem about God calling a tired person home.God Saw Him Getting Tired / God Saw Her Getting Tired Frances and Kathleen Coelho A poem similar to the above.I Am At Peace Jennifer Alderton A short poem urging mourners to remember a terminally ill person at their best. I know how much you wish Id stayedI feel so very blessedOf all the people to have in my worldI got the very best. To me youre more than an Uncle,youre truly a great friend.Someone I could pour my thoughts out toknowing youll cherish them to the end. A family is a placeTo cry, and laugh and vent frustrationsTo ask for help, to tease and yellTo be touched and hugged and smiled at.A family is people who care when you are sadWho love you no matter whatWho share your triumphs and dont expect you to be perfectJust growing with honesty in your own direction.A family is a circle where we learn to like ourselvesWhere we learn to make good decisionsWhere we learn to think before we doWhere we learn patience and table mannersAnd respect for other peopleA family is a place where we share ideasWhere we listen and are listened to Where we learn the rules of life to prepare us for the world.The world is a place where anything can happenAnd if we grow up in a loving family We are ready for the world. Richard. Come to the beach and remember;Make some footprints of your own,And think of days now absentAnd the memories weve known. In this lonely place, beside a spring,I brew my tea and dream.The green leaves dance and whisper secretsIn the quiet afternoon sun. She wore from ears, from nose, from lips, The ones that are on show, And she wore a heap in other places, But there I will not go. When you spiralled down and moreI longed for a reverse,Id have given my right armFor your pain to disperse. Maailmankaikkeus. 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. - Navjot Sidhu 5 1 Add a comment The third umpires should be changed as often as nappies and for the same reason. The batsman pensively departed. Immediately they,vie for position.Victory and glory,is their common mission. Perhaps you thought I missed it all,And that wed grow apart,But Dad, I picked up everything,Its written on my heart. Lets haste awayFrom the heart of the dayTo the woods refreshing shadeWhere the babbling brookIn some sheltered nookIs gurgling a-down the glade. 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. When these graven lines you see,Traveller, do not pity me;Though I be among the dead,Let no mournful word be said. Broken beyond repair? Theatre of Dreams John Read A short verse lamenting the end of a wonderful act of living.Youll Never Walk Alone Rodgers and Hammerstein The well-known song can work just as well as spoken word. Its all about the journeyIts the part that countsEven when he gets thereHe may just turn around. 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.

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