Day is ended, dim my eyes,but journey long before me lies.Farewell, friends! Guest. "Warm Summer Sun" by Walt Whitman. It was a joy to watch him, for he movedAs if he were the embodiment of joy,As if the energy that animated himWere a spirit that he couldnt destroy,A force that he had learned to channelInto the grace of his somersaults and cartwheels,The beauty of his handstands. (New annually renewing membership only. Yes. He will hold you in his arms and the angels will sing. He has achieved successwho has lived well,laughed often, and loved much;who has enjoyed the trust ofpure women,the respect of intelligent men andthe love of little children;who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;who has left the world better than he found itwhether by an improved poppy,a perfect poem or a rescued soul;who has never lacked appreciation of Earths beautyor failed to express it;who has always looked for the best in others andgiven them the best he had;whose life was an inspiration;whose memory a benediction. 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. 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. 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. It took you as my mother,A girl you did become.Searching for the answersAnd looking for your mum. Life Is Chess anon A thoughtful poem about how chess reflects life but its only a game, right?Not Much For Games Hans Ostrom An anti-board game poem for someone who preferred fairness and solitude.Rest In Peace, Chess Master Mark Gregory A poem for a skilled and passionate chess player.The Scrabble King Spencer Stoddard A poem highlighting someones total domination of the game of Scrabble. Heavens gift, now heaven destinedAn arrow chosen from a quiverSelectedTransformedPoised and vibrating on the restDancing in anticipationTight and ready at full drawImpatient against the bowstringHearing distant tempos of dreams and discoverySensing, knowing the destinationSeeing the pathThen oh soStillAnd quiet in releaseA prayer off the lipsFlightFreedomA powerful arcRacingSoaringStraight and trueFrozen forever in the trajectoryAnd outstretched toward the welcomeBound for Home. 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? She tumbles on the floor with art,Her movements swift and sure,Her strength and flexibility,So wonderful, so pure. *Replace Pemaquid Point with any relevant geographical location. anon A poem wondering whether one has done productive or destructive deeds in life. But oh! So let us keep the warriors spiritAlive in every move we make,For it is through this art, we inheritA strength that will never shake. Survival and loveare what counts, and arentgames. A free bird leapson the back of the windand floats downstreamtill the current endsand dips his wingin the orange sun raysand dares to claim the sky. Required fields are marked *. They swiftly snatch a morning snack.One flies away,One flies back. In this lonely place, beside a spring,I brew my tea and dream.The green leaves dance and whisper secretsIn the quiet afternoon sun. And be less quick to angerAnd show appreciation moreAnd love the people in our livesLike weve never loved before. You can click on a topic of interest, and youll then find a collection of readings on that topic and a short summary of each, and you can click or scroll again to be taken to the full text. Verses are listed by category, and alphabetically. My toes may bleedAnd my knees, grow weakBut Ill never stop dancingNot until I reach my peak. The following database of poems and readings is an ever-expanding list of verses useful for anyone planning a funeral ceremony for a loved one. Nature funeral poems about flowers and trees. Poems for those who found a love of the stage either on or off it during their life. For years, the riverbank was whereYour soul felt most at peaceYour heart was most content when thereWith the fish and the geese. 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. To the feet of your Lord, your Saviour, and your friend. This is the life of a dancer en pointeRisking the health of her feet, legs and jointsJust for that one perfect moment on stageWhere the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed. Add languages. But every life that ever forms,Or ever comes to be,Touches the world in some small wayFor all eternity. Copyright 2023 Scattering Ashes or original authors | Powered by. These protect the batsman s legs from the solid ball, which can travel at over sixty miles an hour and bloody hurts when it hits an unprotected shin. You always believed that the good Lord would provide and He always had somehow,Take off your gloves and put them down, no more sweat and worry for you now. He cannot help but be aware that such is the end of all life. In the end,only one gets to brag.The first to kiss,the checkered flag. Here are 10 stirring funeral readings, poems, and quotes for any service that can encourage family and friends: 1. So, if youre searching for a poem for a grandmother, scroll down to G or hit Ctrl+F to find grandmother on this page; this can be done for someone who loved cricket, someone who suffered from Alzheimers, someone who brought laughter into everyones lives, or any other topic you can think of. The fistic world was dull and weary,But with a champ like Liston, things had to be dreary.Then someone with color and someone with dash,Brought fight fans a-runnin with plenty of cash.For I am the man this poem is about,The next champ of the world, there isnt a doubt.Iamthe greatest! Heaven by Rupert Brooke. 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. Of round . You know Ill always ride hereeven when my ridings doneIn the whisper of the pre-dawnor the final burst of sunAt the corners of transitionwhere the changes are obscuredI will ride and if you see meits because our love has endured. But you can find many more. MORE THYME! He employed an incompetent plumber who always gave him the pip, Every job he went on he always left a drip.He was a good Brickie I would say he was first class but when it came to his team, they were just total Arse! In winter gentle sheep may graze Preserving turf for summer days, A picket fence thrown round the square Closer, the bowlers arm swept down, And as I grow older its life I suppose But more and more things just get right up my nose!Like young mums with their kids and their stupid wee dolliesWho chat, blocking the aisles with their damned shopping trolleys.I barge my way past, just as rough as I can,So the bitches will know Im a grumpy old man. Too soon he left to travelBeyond where we can seeBut its all about the journeyForever riding free. 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! 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. Analysis,Subject Summarisation And Explanation : 'On Tingling Catch: An interview with cricket poet Nick Whittock, Tingling Catch: Bill OReillys 1946 NZ cricket. Eternal rocks will form my tomb,Sand my quilt shall be,Protecting from shipwreck and raging storms,And Ill become one with the sea. How could such blazing colour leave? Poems for those who enjoyed filling in those tantalising blanks across and down. Its any time that youve been proudof others or yourself.Its every song you turned up loud,and every friend you helped. 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. The world is always peaceful,As I sit and drink my tea.Im grateful for these simple moments,Of pure tranquility. For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears . My feet ache, my hands are numb.Will this day ever be done?I head home with talc in my lung,and some hair stuck in my thumb. Grandmas quilts were always there,A comforting, colourful sight,A source of warmth and motherly love,On cold and lonely nights. 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. You offered kindnessAnd greetings with a hug and kiss,Each freely out of love which I will miss. 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. His labourers name was Dodger who would work now and then, most of the time was spent at The Bookies placing bets for other men. 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. Below are the all-time best Rugby poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. Block A poem about what a hard-working sailor will do once his working life is over.Sea Fever John Masefield A touching poem asking for a quiet sleep and a sweet dream at the end of life.Some Time At Eve Elizabeth Clark Hardy A lovely verse about passing away quietly and without fuss.The Voyage Christie Moore A poem about a couple navigating life together, and with friends.When The Last Hand Comes Aboard Richard John Scarr A religious poem about completing a ships crew. 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. Poems about those people in our lives who stuck by us through thick and thin. They took away my freedom,They took away my choice,And when they got their hooks in,You could hear it in my voice. Farewell my friend, youre leaving.Its time for you to go.Your friendship was a blessing,And I will miss you so.We shared so many secrets.You brightened up my days.You brought me so much happinessWith your kind and loving ways.You lifted up my spiritsWhen I was feeling blue.No matter what was happening,You knew just what to do.We ran between the raindropsAnd walked beneath the sun,Ran barefoot in the summertime,And oh, we had such fun.Through all the ups and downs of lifeThe good times and the sad,From high school days to golden years,The best friend I ever had.God is here to take you home.Now you and I must part.I love you, and foreverYou will live within my heart. It knocks down the road toward the next wreckers yard,And it cant get far; whos driving this car? Someday when Im all grown up,Youre what I want to be.Then I will have a little childWholl want to follow me. But take heed, becauseShes still keeping an eye on all of us,So lets make sureShe will like what she sees. Rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, and birdsDogs, and cats, and everything furredAn interest in creatures in others she stirredAnd through illness, she went on, undeterred. The Print+ membership where Singletrack magazine drops through your door, plus full digital access, is normally 45, now only 22.50 with the code. Ill never get to see your precious face;or whisper words to make you feel safeIll never get to hold you tightwhen you cant sleep at nightIll never get to sing to you a sweet lullaby,to calm you down when you cryIll never get to fall asleep with you in my arms,all bundled in a blanket to keep you warmIll never get to hear you laugh and giggleor see you little toes wiggleThere are many things I will never get to do,but the hardest is not being with you. When I speak your name,It brings back memoriesOf you dancing for joyOr maybe playing with a toy. Karate is a quiet art,Yet speaks louder than a shout.It moves with grace, a work of heart,And can turn a life around. 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. This kid fights great. That would be the most meaningful of all. My pencil is ready; The boxes are bare. Lets haste awayFrom the heart of the dayTo the woods refreshing shadeWhere the babbling brookIn some sheltered nookIs gurgling a-down the glade. Richard. Dont curse me, for I have done you no wrong.I only want the acceptance I have needed for so long. In this guide: Popular funeral poems and verses; Happy and funny funeral poems; Short funeral poems; Non-religious funeral poems; Popular funeral poems and verses. enter an oceanfeeling insignificant,overwhelmed by its enormity. No tears to be shed,Only in cheer;Continueonthe path already ledEachonyour own veer. The members sat in their strong deckchairs, 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. Martial arts is so much more than just a fighting art:It strengthens one spiritually by connecting the soul and heart,Martial arts does more than strengthening the mind, body and soul,It teaches you discipline, lessons to keep emotions under control. Dismiss, Was your loved one a fan of the thwack of leather on willow? Poems reflecting upon the importance of the memories we have of others. He was my North, my South, my East and West,My working week and my Sunday rest,My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. I farmed the land,I tramped the wood,These are the thingsI understood. Im just a farmer,Plain and simple.Not of a royal birthBut rather, a worker of the earth. That is all.She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.Her diminished size is in me, not in her.And just at the moment when someone at my side says, There, she is gone! there are other eyes watching her coming, and there are other voices ready to take up the glad shout, Here she comes!And that is dying. A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip Builders of lifes companionship!Oh, I envy them, as I see them thereUnder the sky in the open air,For out of the old, old long-agoCome the summer days that I used to know,When I learned lifes truths from my fathers lipsAs I shared the joy of his fishing-trips. I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done. Last updated 8 th October 2021. She wore themThrough good timesAnd badThrough laughterAnd tearsThrough joyAnd pain. There was once a master carpenter and he lived a good lifefor he loved to work, building things of wood.He was loved by his family,by his sons and his daughter,and especially by his wife.He was loved by everyone who knew him. These pieces are all about the beauty of plants. Like the car he drives,He will pass you in the fast lane of life,Like the blaring music from his car,He loves life and a good joke,Like the roaring engine of his car,His temper will take off like a racer to the finish line,With his fast car he ran straight through everyones heart,When his engine went he went along with his fast car to heaven,Going fast as he could down the road of eternal sleep,While he lies in his eternal sleep never to wake his fast car lies with him! Made from the earth by loving handsThrough heat and rain prepared,To face the joys and storms of lifeAnd treasured moments shared. Fossils Peter Cullen A thought-provoking poem perhaps equating physical fossils to memories of the dead.Old Bones and Stones Mark Gregory A first-person poem about a passion for fossils and an acceptance of death.A Story Of The Past Charles Sternberg The first four stanzas of Sternbergs poem about finding God in fossil-hunting. I sit right beside you when you are sadAnd you look through the photos of times that we hadI watch you sleeping, I hold you so tightBefore I go, I kiss you goodnight. Too many to paste into the thread, enjoy! Ill always be your mother,Hell always be your dad.You will always be our child,The child that we had. Always with that memory of failure.Always with the possibility of more. He seemed to cast off weight and gravityAs if he were no more than a spiritWhose substance was its own agility. Sorry I had to cut the end off, but ARRSE only lets you post 10,000 characters at a time. These are my footprints, so perfect and so small.These tiny footprints, never touched the ground at all.Not one tiny footprint, for now I have my wings.These tiny footprints were meant for other things.You will hear my tiny footprints, in the patter of the rain.Gentle drops like angels tears, of joy and not from pain.You will see my tiny footprints, in each butterflies lazy dance.Ill let you know Im with you, if you give me just a chance.You will see my tiny footprints, in the rustle of the leaves.I will whisper names into the wind, and call each one that grieves.Most of all, these tiny footprints, are found in mummys heart,cause even though Im gone now, well never truly part. Poems for brothers, young and old, loyal and caring, reflecting the nuances of fraternal relationships. 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. I pray the Captain sets his fieldWith telepathic skill,That all his plans work wellAnd that the catches do not spill. The bird that was trapped has flownThe sky that was grey is blueThe bone that was dead has grownThe dream that was dreamed is true, The door that was locked has swung wideThe prisoner has been set freeThe lips that were sealed have criedThe eye that was blind can see, The tree that was bare is greenThe room that was dull is brightThe sheet that was soiled is cleanThe dawn that was dark is light, The road that was blocked has no endThe unknown journey is knownThe heart that is hurt will mendThe bird that was trapped has flown. One more day to sing our song, Close To You,and listen to you sing it to your son too. After the night, the morning, bidding all darkness cease, The archer and his bowWithout each other are nothing,But when they come togetherThey become quite something. It's a powerful memorial poem to celebrate someone who knew they were dying and lived life to its fullest up until their last breath. Then as the flowers transcendedAnd the night closesNothing is brokenOnly waiting to be mended. You are loved by so many.You might notHave known,But in our heartsIs whereYou have grown. I want to say, that I love you,I feel an emptiness inside, I want to say, I miss youI just want to hide, I want to say, so much to youI just dont know how. 5. Kazmierczak A light-hearted poem about trying (and often failing) to get a strike.The End Of The Alley Mark Gregory A poem filled with bowling terminology about what we hope for when we die.A Ten-Pin Bowlers Prayer anon An adaptation of the Lords Prayer, but for ten-pin-bowlers. This poem by Robert Burns describes a friend who is an honest man, a guide to youth and an informed human being. Id like to encourage you all to remember my game,And maybe keep my photo or my top score in a frame.And when your own ball reaches the end of the lane,Id like to hope Id see you in the afterlife again. Now he lives onhaving answered that resounding heavenly bellappearing at last in the Lords eternal firehouse where firemen dwell,standing as he had done in this life so proud and talljoyously and willingly responding when he finally heardthe firefighters last call.