The archer and his bowNever cease to amaze;They are togetherThroughout all days. Poet laureate honours Queen Elizabeth II with new work, Floral Tribute 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. There is a train at the stationWith a seat reserved just for meIm excited about its destinationAs Ive heard it sets you free. Luther F. Beecher. As the flag is lowered to half mast,We mourn the loss of one who has passed.A lover of flags, they stood so proud,A symbol of freedom, they did avow. As I look up to the skies above,The stars stretch endlessly But somehow all those rays of lightSeem dimmer now to me.As I watch the morning sun appearThe shadows still dont fadeAs if the brightest light of allWas somehow swept away. But now you are gone,and with you the aromaof your favourite roast. But every life that ever forms,Or ever comes to be,Touches the world in some small wayFor all eternity. Would you volunteer to be Captain, Lord?To ensure there is fair play?For if you draw the cards, and measure,I hope to play for you someday. Show all. The archer and his bowAlways achieve gloryThough this is the endOf their epic story. 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? Look sharp! I will still keep you withinFreedom is importantThe wild roar of your heartis not for me anymoreI am allowing you to make your next journey. Now you will not swell the routOf lads that wore their honours out,Runners whom renown outranAnd the name died before the man. The lowest of them all is Ace,but sometimes hes on top aboveand thats the moral of this verse:dont give up the game of love. Dont give up, though the pace seems slowYou may succeed with your next blow.Success is failure turned inside outIts the difference between faith and doubtYou may be close, though it seems so farIts hard to tell how close you areSo stick to the flight when youre hard hitIts when things seem their worst,That you must not quit. Profanity : Our optional filter replaced words with *** on this page , What I hear as I type: Crickets Chirping. Poems for those who brought laughter into our lives. Cosmopolitan House, Old Fore Street, Sidmouth, Devon, EX10 8LS, Contact : customerservices@thefuneralpoem.com. The rain has blocked the doorAnd Aunt Bess continues to snore;What can we do that might be fun anew? Character matters;Be your own person,Your own original self,Not someone elses version. Pinter's perfectly scripted farewell - The Independent Going to second Mass on a summer SundayYou meet me and you say:Dont forget to see about the cattleAmong your earthiest words the angels stray. Someday when Im all grown up,Youre what I want to be.Then I will have a little childWholl want to follow me. The Beer Prayer - anon - A beer-infused version of the Lord's Prayer. - Navjot Sidhu 5 1 Add a comment The third umpires should be changed as often as nappies and for the same reason. Come gather here,Be at your ease,To say this last goodbye.Not to this shell before you,But to a life passed by. 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. The tide recedes,But leaves behindBright seashells on the sand. Until we lose. He rides like an eagle, flyingAll along the stars;Its all about the journeySafe now from any harm. She says you have my teddy.Hell keep you safe from harm.If the going gets hard, just squeeze his handAnd he will keep you calm. I farmed the land,I tramped the wood,These are the thingsI understood. And a digital membership where you can read all the digital magazines is normally 25, and now 12.50 with the code. 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. Dont judge me, for I am just like you.I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too. Richard. And rumble off to clubhouse forA changing of the brew;Black vests in formationfastand tighta loud tribute. Minimalist Funeral Poem Ready to Print Those We Love, Celebration of Life Table Sign, Forever In Our Hearts, Funeral Poem Digital Download PeachPaperieCo (271) $5.99 The day god took you home, memory poem, shadow box frame, memorial gift keepsake, home decor, funeral poem MadewithlovebygemGB (521) $41.31 With great expectation you quietly sitGaining confidence, you smirk a bit.Here it comes, you see the ball,As you anxiously wait to hear the call. 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. We all paint our lives.The mountains of challenges,The rivers of tears,The waterfalls of joy. For the rock outwears the man,And cruel Time wears out the best,But memories were made upon those stones,Before you were laid to rest. Many friends I know are waitingWho took an earlier trainTo greet and reassure meThat nothing has really changed. You can shed tears that he is goneOr you can smile because he has lived, You can close your eyes and pray that he will come backOr you can open your eyes and see all that he has left, Your heart can be empty because you cant see himOr you can be full of the love that you shared, You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterdayOr you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday, You can remember him and only that he is goneOr you can cherish his memory and let it live on. The wind whispers secrets to meAs I paddle under the open skyAnd the beauty of nature, I can seeIn the sunsets and the birds that fly. Sir Henry Newbolt's "Vitai Lampada" ("Play up! I seek the West,and fields and mountains ever blest. Always with that memory of failure.Always with the possibility of more. Bingo! Poems about those people in our lives who stuck by us through thick and thin. 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. My lifes journey ended early,The path I chose was short.You all tried your best to change it,But in the end it was for me to sort. Released as a single twice, in 1975 and 1978, it is possibly Harper's best-known song. 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. I am the last barman poet,I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make,Americans getting stinky on something I stir or shake,The Sex on the Beach, the schnapps made from peach,The Velvet Hammer, The Alabama Slammer,I make things with juice and froth,The Pink Squirrel, the 3-toed Sloth,I make drinks so sweat and snazzy,The Iced Tea, the Kamikazi,The Orgasm, the Death Spasm,The Singapore Sling,The Dingaling.America youve just been devoted to every flavor I got,But if you want to got loaded,Why dont you just order a shot?Bar is open. The Song of the Reel by W. E. Hutchinson. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits andAre melted into air, into thin air:And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-cappd towers, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolveAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack behind. Time passed, that man grew old and frail,No longer strong, but weak and pale.Now I helped him, as hed helped meA debt to repay, no charge, no fee. For everything we do,there is a dance to get us through.For every day,we dance our life away. They have outlivedtheir usefulness and cannot get warm and full.You talk to the clothes and explain that he is not coming back. Can you send cremation ashes in the post? They are all mostly non-religious funeral poems but can be used as part of any service whether in a church or a secular ceremony. 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. You played the game with all your soul,Giving everything to win,You pushed yourself to the brink and backTime and time again. The time has come when time is no moreand all thats left was once before. Poems for those who had a passion for wearing jewellery, or dedicated a lifetime to crafting it themselves. I pray the wickets well-prepared,And that it doesnt stick,That all my shots find gaps And that the outfields fairly quick. 25 Beautiful Non-Religious Funeral Readings from Literature - Stylist I pray the Captain sets his fieldWith telepathic skill,That all his plans work wellAnd that the catches do not spill. I breathed a song into the air,It fell to earth; I knew not where.For who has sight so keen and strong,That it can follow the flight of song? Tip: Does it create a picture in your mind? It's been mixed up week here at STW Towers, mostly thanks to everyone suddenly realising they haven't used up their annual leave so they'd better take some time off. Their quiet heart, a guiding light,That shone in darkness, pure and bright,A gentle voice, a calming breeze,That whispered peace, and brought us ease. But a bird that stalksdown his narrow cagecan seldom see throughhis bars of ragehis wings are clipped andhis feet are tiedso he opens his throat to sing. It knocks down the road toward the next wreckers yard,And it cant get far; whos driving this car? 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. Where on Shaftesbury Cres, the kids now play. So when you talk of family lifeOr how it used to beThough many had more moneyNone were as rich as me. The archer and his bow:Take aim and let the arrow fly,It hits, fast as lightning A perfect bulls-eye. Poems to read for a beloved daughter who has sadly passed away. Ill tell him how much you loved him and how you couldnt wait for him to be here.Because of him, I know you will always be near. Id like to accept that while I stumbled and spluttered,I never strayed so far as to end up in the gutter.Id like to come to terms with all the times I slipped and fouled,But always got back up again: of this I am quite proud. t206 walter johnson portrait; family jealous of my success Its all these thingsand so much more,so dont stress.If you lived your lifeWild-n-free,Then its been a success. 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. My mums playing Bingo in heavenWith a happy smile on her faceIf shed known there was a Bingo hall in heavenShed have looked more forward to the place!Past 78 and heavens gateIts 83 and time for teaWith 61 and a bakers bunAnd no queue for the lavatory!After 41 and time for fun,Shes won with 54 and wiped the floorI really do thank my lucky starsMy mum landed in heaven instead of on Mars! Too soon he left to travelBeyond where we can seeBut its all about the journeyForever riding free. "Alive" by Winifred Mary Letts. 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. Do you have a pavilion Lord?Where we could sit and talk?Can you give me lots of energySo that I am never short? see also: The Countryside, Flowers, and Gardening. If someone had to describe you, so many words come to mind.Beauty and grace, a heart so kind. As eighteen flags flew at half mast, andGlasses were soberly raised highThe latest member was having a ballAt the golf course in the sky, Freed from the gravity of the situationThe first tee shot soared through spaceBringing a wondrous, beaming smileTo a kind, down to earth face, Surrounded by old club friendsOnce thought never to be seen againThe infinity course beckoned aheadEighteen holes were for mere mortal men. Main Menu. The Road goes ever on and onOut from the door where it began.Now far ahead the Road has gone,Let others follow it who can!Let them a journey new begin,But I at last with weary feetWill turn towards the lighted inn,My evening-rest and sleep to meet. Its everything you sacrificedand choices you made.Its all the problems that you solved,your lessons from mistakes. To succeed. Although I cannot see you,I feel your presence near.I will hold you close in memory,Till I drop my very last tear. We both are made by one in the same.We grew to be different, Im not to blame. A wife, a mother, a grandmother too,This is the legacy we have from you.You taught us love and how to fight,You gave us strength, you gave us might.A stronger person would be hard to find,And in your heart, you were always kind.You fought for us all in one way or another,Not just as a wife not just as a mother.For all of us you gave your best,Now the time has come for you to rest.So go in peace, youve earned your sleep,Your love in our hearts, well eternally keep. This traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppress of toll;How frugal is the chariotThat bears a human soul! Well, it isn't. 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. Through the curves, around the ton, Down the last hill, over-run, City lights below are glowing, Common sense, bike is slowing, Reality, once more it bites, To draw me back from dizzy heights, Down the driveway, to home I glide, Wish my mate was by my side! I discovered you tuckedAway in the shadow of the trees.Then rediscovered you on the smiles of the flowersAs the sun penetrated the petals;In the rhythm of the leavesFalling in the garden;In the freedom of birdsAs they fly searching as you do. The photograph above was unearthed from the countless images to be found on the web. In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,Many hours had he spent while a boy;And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to knowAnd to share both his grief and his joy,For it struck 24 when he entered at the doorWith a blooming and beautiful bride;But it stopped short never to go again When the old man died. Keeping the attendees engaged with a brief but heartfelt poem can be a good way to make. And at the end of that good lifewhen it came time for him to diethe old carpenter soaredinto the white light of death for the white light is where the good souls go to. Its all the stories you told,The places youve been.Its every sunset that you caughtand every cent you spent. Where the azure of the heavensMeets the undulating blue,Where the sweeping, soaring seagullFlies its endless quest for food.It is there that I would rest,When my work on earth is done,At the endless blue horizonNeath the crimson, setting sun. The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.For Grandma, it was every day to choose one when she dressed.The simple apron that it was, you would never think about.the things she used it for, that made it look worn out. Her flowers still bloom, and the sun it still shines,But the rain is like tear drops for the ones left behind,The weeds lay waiting to take the gardens beauty away,But the beautiful memories of its keeper are in our hearts to stay.She loved every flower, even some that were weeds.So much love she would plant with each little seed,But just like her flowers, she was part of Gods plan.So when it was her time, he reached down his hand.He looked through the garden, searching for the best.Thats when he found her; it was her time to rest.It was hard for those who loved her to just let her go,But God had a spot in his garden that needed a gentle soul,So when you start missing her, remember if you just wait,When God has a spot in his garden, shell meet you at the gate. At the moment of birth, I held you closeI looked into those eyes I saw myself, I saw your soulA bond that never dies. I chat about peoples livesI help to solve their woes,I make damn sure their night will thrive,And they keep me on my toes. If you want fame for yourself, go play an individual game. Look for the brightest colours,sun sparkling on the lake, the sea,or turning rain dropsinto daily diamonds. 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. The archer and his bowCelebrate victory!The greatest of allThe archers in history. Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees. For the cricket ball writ with a noble name, A team of ten, which had once been eleven, Since this wicket had fallen some days ago, And as the bowler delivered to the lone batsman, The cricketer crossing the last boundary, To a third innings that would forever last. We will take this special momentTo turn our thoughts to Dad;To thank him for the home he gaveFor all the things we had. This third rose represents your memory.For the times we laughed,The times we cried,The times we were angry with each other,The silly things you did,The caring and joy you gave us. Poems admitting that the person we have lost wasnt perfect. realize,when I dive into the sea,Im part of something greater yet. For they existed. [Person] is now the brightest star in our sky tonight burning on, with a flame dimmed with sadness and sorrow for us still here.The stars are watching us. cricket poems for funerals. Like life. Village Cricket | Down At Third Man This cord does its work right from the startit binds us together attached to my heartI know that its there though no one can seethe invisible cord from my child to me. Heaven lit up with a mighty presence,as the Angels all looked down.Today the Lord was placing the jewelsInto my mothers crown. This second rose represents our courage.To confront our sorrow,To comfort each other,To change our lives. His was a life full of kindness and heart,He was selfless, private, but always played his partCaring for animals to him was like art,And his example inspired many others to start. To say it loud was helpful,and although quite absurd,we kept repeating time againthat same annoying word. Words have that kind of poweryou remind the clothes that remain in the drawer, arms stubbornlyfolded across the chest, or slung across the backs of chairs. God saw him getting tiredAnd a cure was not to beSo he put His arms around himAnd whispered Come to me.. My love, you gave yourself to meAnd life caught fire from your spark. To be free of regretIn your old age,Never ever forgetTo fully live today! It was the way he moved that made him seemSo much a part of what he did;In every somersault and cartwheelHe seemed to turn himself to air. Short Poems for Funerals - Short Poems Pause in their dance and break the ring for me; Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern. We are such stuffAs dreams are made on, and our little lifeIs rounded with a sleep. It fell on my parching palateLike dew on a sun-baked plain,And my system began to flourishLike the grass in a soft Spring rain;It wandered throughout my being,Suffusing my soul with rest,And I felt as I scoffed that liquidThat life had a new-found zest. My trumpet is silentAs it is with my life tooNo more shall I play for youThere is nothing left to do. And should you think of me,think of me dragon freeupon the endless plains,immersed in a new story,in deepest fascination playing,worlds of music, magic, art,just me,doing me things,and smiling. With each brand new discovery, Im always quite astounded,The history of life on Earth is gloriously unboundedFrom dinosaurs to shells and plants, theres always something more,Fossils are simply priceless treasures I cant help but adore. Twenty-four numbers and one free space,Bingo players, find your place!Hoping to win if you are ableWith the cards that lay upon the table.