Poems for those who were keen on loosing an arrow from a bow. My father-in-law was cricket barmy. My partners a dope and Im losing all hope.And when s/he says double I know were in trouble.My points are not high and Im wondering whyS/he kept on bidding right up to the sky. Its any time that youve been proudof others or yourself.Its every song you turned up loud,and every friend you helped. Members of the Club stand post,Proud brothers in the wind;Shaded eyes the tears disguise,And loss they feel within. All through the swing he hears the boat singAs she glides on her flying track,And he gathers aft to strike the craftWith a ringing bell note crack. Capitulation anon A poem about the highs and lows of bridge, and always being on the verge of quitting.The Gambler Kenny Rogers The lyrics to Rogers infamous song about the train ride with the gambler.A Keen Bridge Player Simon Lucas A humorous limerick about forgetting to remove the jokers! Images of smoke and the haunting sound of siren screamswere the memory companions that filled all his nightly dreamsand they became his lifeblood as well as passions fireto faithfully yield to the duty they so overwhelmingly did inspire. For though from out our bourn of Time and PlaceThe flood may bear me far,I hope to see my Pilot face to faceWhen I have crossed the bar. I thought I saw her face todayIn the sparkle of the morning sun.And then I heard the angel say,Her work on earth is done., I thought I heard her voice todayThen laugh her hearty laugh.And then I heard the angel say,Theres peace, little one, at last., I thought I felt her touch todayIn the breeze that rustled by.And then I heard the angel say,The spirit never dies., I thought that she had left meFor the stars so far above.And then I heard the angel say,She left you with her love., I thought that I would miss herAnd never find my way.And then I heard the angel say,Shes with you every day.. If I were there, Id tell you I have no more pain or strife,That I loved my friends and family, and I had a wonderful life.If I were there, Id tell you how I loved the small blue highways,I loved the curving mountain roads, and I loved to ride the back-road byways. I liked a little gambleA bet I loved to placeA rush of the adrenalineI loved to watch the race, I studied all the formRunning heavy on the courseSometimes picking coloursAn eye on my favourite horse, For me it wasnt gamblingIt was a treasured way of lifeIt took my mind so far awayFrom trouble and from strife. And now I have another child,perfect in every way;I know Ive seen that smile before,and this time, its here to stay. 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. Dont be sad for me todayFor me please do not weepCall upon your memoriesThey are yours to keep. Poems perfect for those who liked to while away the hours engrossed in some table-top magic. 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. Time for us to part now, we wont say goodbye;Look for me in rainbows, shining in the sky.Every waking moment, and all your whole life throughJust look for me and love me, as you know I loved you. He may be reserved in his manner and speech,And hide the fine graces of which pedants preach;But he is kind and sincere when his heart you once reach,For that is the badge of a Yorkshireman. In all our loving moments,we waltz through life,and in those complicated moments,we will twist the whole night through. Its everything you sacrificedand choices you made.Its all the problems that you solved,your lessons from mistakes. A Fantastic Football Fan Anthea Ballam A poem perfect for a huge fan of the beautiful game.The Footballers Prayer Paul Cookson An adaptation of the Lords Prayer, but football themed!The Goalie With Expanding Hands Paul Cookson A poem fitting most of all for an excellent goalkeeper.The Passing Of A Footballer Michael Ashby A poem comparing heaven to a football squad.You Loved The Game Mark Gregory A poem for someone who spent their career wowing fans on the pitch. I always begin With the first clue across, Continuing on Until Im at a loss. The following verses are among the most popular for a funeral. That our caravanning days togetherHave now ended that is trueBut travel on my darlingAnd think of me as you do. 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 Am A Martial Artist Karen Eden A poem about the pride and courage needed for various forms of martial art.Karate Is A Quiet Art Mark Gregory A reflection upon karate as a journey of self-discipline.Martial Arts Is So Much More Than Just A Fighting Art Daya Nandan A poem about the richness of martial arts.The Warriors Spirit Mark Gregory A poem about the strong, bold spirit of a fighter and warrior. 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. A ball point pen just wouldnt do That really is the case For I would be at quite a loss If I could not erase! But when, to show affection for my son,she gives him candy, who can bear her eyes?begging from a tiny serious idolforgiveness for the terrible gift of timeshe once held out with beautiful, ignorant hands. Poems for those who enjoyed filling in those tantalising blanks across and down. And round that early laurelled headWill flock to gaze the strengthless dead,And find un-withered on its curlsThe garland briefer than a girls. She says youve only left the room,You havent gone away.But I really miss you, GranddadAnd the games we used to play. John Betjeman began his poem about Cheltenham with the following memory: I composed these lines as a summer wind Was blowing the elm leaves dry And we had seventy six for seven And they had CB Fry. Its all about the journeyIts the part that countsEven when he gets thereHe may just turn around. You raised a fine family, worked the land well and always followed the Son,Hang up your shovel inside of the barn; your work here on earth is done. Ive seen fire and Ive seen rainIve been through a desert on a horse with no name, Ive gone to Kansas City, I sang in the sunshineIve been on the road again, with Georgia on my mind, Like a rolling stone, Ive given peace a chanceIve put a camel to bed and danced the last dance, Mr Tambourine Man played a song for meIve whispered words of wisdom, let it be, Ive fallen into a burning ring of fire and walked the lineTo all the girls Ive loved before, you were always on my mind, Ive been everywhere, Ive been so lonesome I could cryIve driven my Chevy to the levee when the levee was dry, Ive been to Itchy Coo Park in a yellow submarineIve made the scene in a time machine, Ive done the Hokey Pokey and turned myself aroundIve welcomed baby back to the poor side of town, Ive followed the tracks of my tears down a long and winding roadIve kept on searching for a heart of gold, Ive sought shelter from the storm, Ive sat on the dock of the bayIve rocked around the clock, on a sunshiny day, Ive knocked on Heavens door, while blowing in the windJoy to the world those were the days my friend. We trust that beyond absence there is a presence.That beyond the pain there can be healing.That beyond the brokenness there can be wholeness.That beyond the anger there may be peace.That beyond the hurting there may be forgiveness.That beyond the silence there may be the word.That beyond the word there may be understanding.That through understanding there is love. Heaven by Rupert Brooke. Yes. For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks:The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks. A Bricklayer Lou Szymkow A poem reflecting the natural talents and hard-working craft of a bricklayer.Bricklayers Lament Sylvia Spencer A poem about a hard-working builder with a less-than-ideal team beneath him.The Bridge Builder Will Allen Dromgoole A touching poem about building bridges for others, rather than for yourself.Wreckers Or Builders? 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. Angel Wings anon A beautiful poem about the deep bond a parent forms with a child even when they die young.Asleep Wendy Sisson A short but impactful poem comparing an infants death to a peaceful sleep.A Butterfly Lights Beside Us anon A touching short verse comparing the loss of a child to a butterfly passing by.The Cord anon A beautiful poem about a mothers love for their deceased child being an unbreakable, invisible cord.Dear Child In Heaven anon A poem with a religious sentiment finding comfort in the knowledge of a child in heaven.Fingerprints Tom Krause A poem reflection upon the huge impact a child can have on our lives and our hearts.Little Snowdrop anon A poem to reflect the immense grief a parent might feel when they lose their child.Love In Every Tear anon A poem about the child we had, but never had, yet we will have forever.Never K. Fugleberg A poem lamenting all the things a parent will never get to do with their child.Parenthood Graeme Cook An amusing and thought-provoking poem about the joys and toils of parenting.These Are My Footprints anon A poem that urges us to see the remnants of a lost child in the world around us.Tiny Angel anon A poem reflecting upon the question of why? we had to lose a child at such a young age.Too Soon Mary Yarnall A poem about loving a child enough for a lifetime, even though they were taken too soon.When I Speak Martin Nelson A poem about the positive memories one still has after a childs death. all is alive,all dances on through time and space,so find the highest tastein all thingson your journeyinto love. The moment I knew about youformed a bond that will never break This tiny life I have insidefrom me no-one could take. Im thankful that my heart connects us this waya mother and child, death cant take it away! Dad was an avid cricket fan and we wanted something appropriate for him to read. When things go wrong as they sometimes willWhen the road youre running seems all uphillWhen the funds are low, and the debts are highAnd youre trying to smile but you have no sighWhen cares are pressing you down a bit,Rest if you must,But dont you quit. But such a tide as moving seems asleep,Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deepTurns again home! Rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, and birdsDogs, and cats, and everything furredAn interest in creatures in others she stirredAnd through illness, she went on, undeterred. In life, they loved their family, With a love that knew no bounds, Their heart was filled with joy and pride, When their loved ones were around. Its every wish you ever had.Its all your dreams and hopes.Its all the books you ever read,the movies that youve seen. Most prefer it flyingFree to wave and blowNot sitting on a mantelWithout the stripes to show. I want to take away all of your pain.I want to give you sunshine in the rain. Land of the rainbow gold,For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold.Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days,The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze. of the questions of these recurring,Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filld with the foolish,Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless? You make me creative which makes me fun!You made me realise that you are not fun sometimes.You are tuff and mean when I step on you.You make me happy to see you new and cool in the store or online.You are colourful and small but together you are majestically massive.Sometimes I misplace you, but when Im focused I find you soon.You are fun when you are together, but not when you are done.My dog thinks you are food crunch! You may have thought I didnt see,Or that I hadnt heard,Life lessons that you taught to me,But I got every word. As we say goodbye, and bid them adieu,We remember the flag, and all it stands for true.A symbol of liberty, for all to see,We honour their memory, and now set it free. The following database of poems and readings is an ever-expanding list of verses useful for anyone planning a funeral ceremony for a loved one. Her apron could bring gigglesIn a game of peek-a-booWith her newest, sweet grandbabyAs she hid her face from view. 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. Dont get your feet wet when you throw,And to this advice please hark,Take up a firm but easy stance Behind the eight-foot mark! 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. Poems for those who savoured the taste of coffee and relished it as more than just a boost of caffeine. She wore her earringsLike a queenWith regal graceAnd a silent dignityThat only a womanWho knows who she isCan possess. She tumbles on the floor with art,Her movements swift and sure,Her strength and flexibility,So wonderful, so pure. The Bird That Was Trapped Has Flown James Robertson Several metaphors for a physically disabled person set free.Caged Bird Maya Angelou A wonderfully poetic verse which is at times a difficult metaphor for disability.Not Quite Right E. B. 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. There are so many poems for funerals available, that you have plenty to choose from. 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 on a soundless-clapping host As the run-stealers flicker to and fro, To and fro: O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago! The archer and his bowWithout each other are nothing,But when they come togetherThey become quite something. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. Fishing by William Henry Dawson. When these graven lines you see,Traveller, do not pity me;Though I be among the dead,Let no mournful word be said. IM driving this thing, and this car is ME,And its all worn out, but I made it work. The batsman pensively departed. I have been on the razzle-dazzleFull many a time since then;But I never could get the chemistTo brew that drink again.He says hes forgotten the notion Twas only by chance it came Hes tried me with various liquidsBut oh! Fly Like A Bird Javon Evans A poem detailing how wonderful and freeing it would be to fly.In Memoriam Victoria Bruce A poem encouraging mourners to think of the deceased in natures finer details.No Fear Of Flying anon A message from the deceased that they are no afraid to fly or to die. The final chapter of that is quite moving as the author was battling unsuccessfully against cancer to get it finished. 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. Little rattle of dry seeds in pods, Where houses stand and turf once lay. But now my shift is overIve done my very bestLast orders; its time for closureAnd time for me to rest. Poems reflecting a passion and love for birds, bird-watching, and anything remotely aviary in nature. Tiny Angel, look at me,I want this image clearThat I will forget your precious faceIs my biggest fear. 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. I imagine you dancingSkipping among the cloudsHappily singing with the angelsLooking down upon the crowds. There once was a man from round hereWho loved flags more than he loved beer,He flew them with prideFrom morning til nightAnd even slept with them, so we hear! Rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, and birdsDogs, and cats, and everything furredAn interest in creatures in others he stirredAnd through illness, he went on, undeterred. If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, dont deal in lies,Or being hated, dont give way to hating,And yet dont look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dreamand not make dreams your master;If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth youve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: Hold on!. We all paint our lives.The mountains of challenges,The rivers of tears,The waterfalls of joy. I cant improve you life, thats true,But I am always there to care for you.Years ago you became my wife,Since then you have become my life. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. )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! 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. Alcohol. Now you will not swell the routOf lads that wore their honours out,Runners whom renown outranAnd the name died before the man. May they prosper, love and grow, Come to learn all that we know, And hopefully succeed through Lifes great test, May we leave this mortal coil, Free of grief, relieved of toil, And know that for our kids, we did our best. give me the flavourof butterscotch and vanillawith a little chocolateplease and thank you. That man would rock me off to sleep,Would wipe my tears when I did weep.He watched me go from crawl to walk,And smiled with pride when I learned to talk. Think of me as one at rest,for me you should not weepI have no pain no troubled thoughtsfor I am just asleepThe living thinking me that was,is now forever stillAnd life goes on without me now,as time forever will. Guided by the Lonely Star,beyond the utmost harbour-bar,Ill find the heavens fair and free,and beaches of the Starlit Sea.Ship, my ship! Im old and Im bitter, with nothing to fearSo I hope I offend you by bending your ear.Its my one joy in life you can like it or not No answer in edgeways? You were a blessing to us allyou were a special child.And were so glad God sent youto be with us awhile. Always Been A Reader Mark Gregory A poem about the qualities of books and how they will endure after death.The Last Book Mark Gregory A poem about the miracle of life and being a part of it, even just for a while.The Library Mark Gregory A lovely poem about the magic of libraries, perfect for someone who worked in them.Roads Go Ever On J. R. R. Tolkien The classic from Tolkiens Lord of the Rings, perfect for a book-lover.Sitting In An Armchair Mark Gregory A book about a female reader in a chair being transported off to another land.There Is No Frigate Like A Book Emily Dickinson A short poem about how books carry us away to lands unknown. Ruth E. Renkl. I hear the call.The ships beside the stony wall.Foam is white and waves are grey;beyond the sunset leads my way.Foam is salt, the wind is free;I hear the rising of the Sea. Poems for those who loved exploring the darkest depths of the oceans. Then as time gently passes by,And comfort soothes your sorrow,Like flowers youll find, new memories bloom,To brighten your tomorrow. Where every day is a day to fish,To fill your heart with every wish.Dont worry, or feel sad for me,Im fishin with the Master of the sea. 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. My memories are what I have left,and a lesson I will not forget. The archer and his bowCelebrate victory!The greatest of allThe archers in history. As I stand at the caves entranceNodding my headuntil next timemy good friend. Ive finished lifes chores assigned to me,So put me on a boat headed out to sea.Please send along my fishing poleFor Ive been invited to the fishin hole. When I come to the end of my journeyand I travel my last weary mile,just forget, if you can, that I ever frownedand remember only the smile.Forget unkind words I have spoken;remember some good I have done.Forget that I ever had heartache,And remember Ive had loads of fun.Forget that Ive stumbled and blunderedand sometimes fell by the way.Remember I have fought some hard battlesand won, ere the close of the day.Then forget to grieve for my going;I would not have you sad for a day,but in summer just gather some flowersand remember the place where I lay,and come in the shade of the eveningwhen the sun paints the sky in the west.Stand for a few moments beside meand remember only my best. Poems for those who loved clothes in all their forms, or who made a living in the fashion industry. I picture you in every placeAmong the trees and waters blueAnd every time it comes to mindIm grateful I had you. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress eyebrow. Inner pages (if required) are printed on high quality 120gsm white bond. 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. I must be off to the links again,For the call of the fairways wideIs a loud call, and a clear callThat cannot be denied.It fills me with a mad desire to realiseMy dreams of tee-shots long,And irons strongTo the heart of all the greens. I can still hear you calling my name,then reality sets in and Im reminded my life will never be the same. Eternal rocks will form my tomb,Sand my quilt shall be,Protecting from shipwreck and raging storms,And Ill become one with the sea. 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.
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