When my sailing days are over,And I sail the seas no more,I shall build myself a refugeBy the oceans murmuring shore.As I watch the foaming breakersWhen the tide comes rushing in,I will contemplate my lifetimeWith its virtues and its sins. The Bowlers Prayer anon A prayer asking for help from God to ensure the bowled ball lands near the Jack.A Crown Green Bowlers Prayer P. Helliwell A verse imploring the Lord to ensure there are games of bowls in heaven.My Last End Graeme Cook A lovely, short poem inspired by memorable games upon that velvet turf.Unbiased Bowls J.J. Hasson A light-hearted poem discussing the bias of bowls and perhaps also of life. Ninety years without slumbering(Tick, tock, tick, tock)His lifes seconds numbering(Tick, tock, tick, tock)It stopped short never to go again When the old man died. For untying the strings that held them,when they grew up and left home.I give you this one for courage.Then the Lord added a garnet stone. 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. I have lied in the sight of the oceanWhere the water runs into the landI have walked on the beach in the morningAnd left my footprints in the sandBut musical waves have been callingAnd the ocean is so wide and vastThat Ive struck for the silver horizonAnd put out to sea at last. For you had got Alzheimers,You failed to comprehend.Your body went on living.But your mind had reached its end. In winter gentle sheep may graze Preserving turf for summer days, A picket fence thrown round the square 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? Remember Me. Come gather here,Be at your ease,To say this last goodbye.Not to this shell before you,But to a life passed by. One popular poem, Dylan Thomas' " Do not go gentle into that good night ," talks about the unstoppable nature of death and how we can challenge the way we face death. Time flies like an arrow .. fruit flies like a banana. 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. With tearful eyes we watched her sufferAnd saw her slowly fade awayAlthough we loved her dearlyWe could not make her stay. I know not of richesBut rather, of patches on my britchesI know of draught and rain,Of pleasure and pain. "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" by Mary Frye. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.I give a share of my soul to the world where my course is run.I know that another shall finish the task I must leave undone.I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.As one looks on a face through a window, through life, I have looked on God. He taught us all so much;his brother how to care,tenderness bonded the family;it grew from our despair. In life, he found his greatest joyIn this game of queens and kings,Now, as he rests beneath the soil,We remember all of his wins. Poems for those who suffered from a physical hindrance during their life. The time has come when time is no moreand all thats left was once before. I am a martial artist. Tip: Does it create a picture in your mind? 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! In the darkness of the theatreWhere the screen would light up brightThey found solace, joy, and comfortIn the stories that played each night. Fly, fly do not fearDont waste a breath, dont shed a tearYour heart is pure, your soul is freeBe on your way, dont wait for meAbove the universe youll climbOn beyond the hands of timeThe moon will rise, the sun will setBut I wont forget. Amazed, I watch the tiny gymnasts all,While praying, as they flip, that none will fall. Footballs a match made in heavenWhich is fan-tastic news for meAnd heavens a level playing fieldWhere anyone can kick off for free. Where I have goneI am not so small.My soul is as wideAs the world is tall.I have gone to answerThis call, the callOf the one who takesCare of us all.Wherever you look,You will find me there,In the heart of a rose,In the heart of a prayer.On butterflies wings,On wings of my own,To you, Im gone,But Im never alone.Im over the moonI am home. Feel no guilt in laughter, theyd know how much you care.Feel no sorrow in a smile that they are not here to share.You cannot grieve forever; they would not want you to.Theyd hope that you could live your life the way you always do.So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared,the days you spent together, all the happiness you shared.Let memories surround you, a word someone may saywill suddenly recapture a time, an hour or a day,that brings them back as clearly as though they were still here,and fills you with the feeling that they are always near.For if you keep those moments, you will never be apartand they will live forever locked safely within your heart. The draping, it is perfectNo wrinkles will you seeA symbol of a nationA reminder that were free. Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good. see also: The Countryside, Flowers, and Gardening. The Archers Bow Shelbie Hale An ode to the oneness between archer and bow that has now come to an end.The Arrow And The Song Henry Longfellow Wadsworth A verse touching upon the impact people have on our lives.An Arrow Chosen From A Quiver anon A slightly religious poem comparing someones life to the release of an arrow. We have a lot to be thankful for,The memories through the years.The many times together,Full of laughter, full of tears. I hold onto memories of you And cherish them with love God took you from this world So, you could be with Him in Heaven I lost you too soon But I will never forget you. Achievement and SuccessActingAddictionAlcoholAlzheimersAnimalsArcheryArtistsAstronomyAthleticsAuntsBabies and ChildrenBartendingThe BeachBell RingingBingoBirdsBoard GamesBoats and SailingBooksBowlsBoxingBricklayingBrothersButterfliesCalmnessCamping and CaravanningCandlesCars and DrivingCardsCarpentryCavingClimbingClocksCoffeeCookingThe CountrysideCricketCrosswordsCyclingDanceDartsDaughtersDementiaDisabilityDivingFamilyFarmingFashionFathersFilmsFirefightingFishingFlagsFlowersFootballFossilsFriendsGardeningGolfGrandfathersGrandmothersGymnasticsHairdressingHippiesHorse RacingImperfectionJewelleryJugglingKnittingLaughterLegoMartial ArtsMemoriesMothersMotorcyclingMusicNaturePositivityRowingSelflessnessSpousesTeaTen-Pin BowlingTerminal IllnessTrainsUnclesYorkshire. Who was that man, you may well ask?To tell you now is my last task.It makes me proud, it makes me glad,To tell you that man, he was my dad. Although your jokes were not that funny,And you seldom spent your money,Last to the bar and first to leave,That youre gones hard to believe. Poems for those who grew up in the age of flower power and truly embraced it. Then as the leaves tumbleRemember me as a crimson jewelAs we allcarryon, humble,Until the cows come home. We will all miss your fashion and grace,But our memory of you will never be erased.Rest in peace, our dear lover of fashionForever will live your legacy and passion. Children that I leave behind,And their children, all were kind;Near to them and to my wife,I was happy all my life. Only for those of a special breed,Living a dream, a chance to succeed,Yesterdays hopes and desires coming true,Making your mark with records anew,Proving hard work and the daily grind,Instructing the body, conditioning the mindCan capture a medal for the whole world to see, withGlamour and Pride for your country.As you stand aloft and your flag is flown high, theresMemories forever, and a tear in your eye,Enjoying the moment, the admiring looks,Securing your name in the history books. Feel No Guilt In Laughter anon A call not to feel guilty at sharing happy and funny memories of the deceased.Last Will And Testament Max Scratchmann A light-hearted message from the deceased to their living relatives. I have met him away from his own native dales,In cities and lands where strange language prevails;Yet a breath of his county he always exhales,and thus you will know hes a Yorkshireman. Fortifying The Spirits - Michael Ashby - A humorous poem . For everything we do,there is a dance to get us through.For every day,we dance our life away. 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. As you learned lifes messagesNo matter how hardThe laughter and love always shone through. Its 3 am and youre on my mind,I just cant sleep tonight,I try but toss and turn and cry,Its not fair, or just or right!I close my eyes whisper your name,Into the dark still air,My sweetest child my Angel,This pain I cannot compare.Missing you is such a huge part,Of my life now of my day,Every waking moment youre there,On my mind now to stay.When I sleep youre in my dreams,Calling out so distant so small,I feel you slipping away from me,I just cant get to you at all.Then I wake up bathed in terror,Its like losing you all over again,My heart racing the tears falling,It hurts so very much then.But sometimes when I dream of you,Im holding you in my embrace,Breathing in every inch of you,Gazing into your darling face.This stays with me when I waken,I carry it in my heart,Watching you grow, seeing you change,Even though we are apart.Your name the trees whisper to me,The wind it sings your tune,I know youre there, youre with me,As we gaze at the waning moon.Hold my hand My Angel,As we gaze into the nights wild,These twilight hours are mine and yours,My Angel, my darling my child. If so then this may be perfect. Poems perfect for amateur and professional sailors, or simply someone who loved all things boat. The fifth candle we light for hope: that you will live on through us, never be erased from our memory, that your life continues to make a difference in the world. Heaven has received another angel,The night sky another star.Your life has become a loving memory.I know you will never be far. So when you talk of family lifeOr how it used to beThough many had more moneyNone were as rich as me. as when he showed up immaculately dressed in slacks and plaid jacketand had that beautiful smile on and youd talk.Youd go to get something and come back and hed be gone. Publication date 1905 Publisher London : Simpkin Collection cdl; americana Digitizing sponsor MSN Contributor University of California Libraries Language English. "Dead" by Winifred Mary Letts. or hanging inside the dark closet. The Travelers Rest always welcomes departeddrinkersWith a warm smile and a kindly nodYoull never have to put your hand in your pocket againBecause this really is a free house, thank God. Poems for those who loved exploring caves and caverns underground. Poems about grandmothers, grandmas, nannies and grans. I picture you in every placeAmong the trees and waters blueAnd every time it comes to mindIm grateful I had you. 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. Dont Quit John Greenleaf Whittier An inspirational poem urging those listening not to give up when times are hard.Olympic Games Ken Budden A acrostic poem reflecting on the hard work required to win a medal for your country.Olympic Race Victoria Seale-Constantinou A poem comparing life to an Olympic race, and reflecting upon its end.To An Athlete Dying Young A. E. Houseman A poem reflecting upon the premature death of a sportsman. Your life was fueled by coffee,That much we know is true.It was more than just a drink,But a way of life for you. Bottles of red, bottles of white,Barrels of brown and glasses so bright,Keep the night peaceful and the customers polite,Dont let a fight break out tonight. The photograph above was unearthed from the countless images to be found on the web. Her creations all made with such skill and such careLove knitted into the gifts who would shareA jacket for a baby, a blanket or twoIn almost every shade from pink to blue. The transfer window never closesAs new players arrive all the timeTheres always a top team to play onAs for the kit, I just wish Id brought mine. I have spent the night in the watchhouse My head was the size of three So I went and asked the chemistTo fix up a drink for me;And he brewed it from various bottlesWith soda and plenty of ice,With something that smelt like lemon,And something that seemed like spice. You want for them the best,But they put you to the test,And seem intent, your efforts to defy,Beseech, threaten, teach or cheer,They so seldom seem to hear,No matter how bloody hard you may try. I Love Rugby. Your love for coffee was a passion,A way to start each day anew.It gave you strength and courage,To do the things you had to do. Eyes the shady night has shutCannot see the record cut,And silence sounds no worse than cheersAfter earth has stopped the ears. But I was patient and not het upEyes looking down, ears pricked like a pupId calmly wait to hear the callThe call that says this is the ball. 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. Poems for those who loved clothes in all their forms, or who made a living in the fashion industry. There were times I tried to fight them,There was a time I nearly won,But they came back and overpowered me,I had nowhere left to run. For a deeply private man it was a brief and intensely private funeral. Hers was a life full of kindness and heart,She was selfless, private, but always played her partCaring for animals to her was like art,And her example inspired many others to start. The stark white ring-barked forests, all tragic to the moon,The sapphire-misted mountains, the hot gold hush of noon,Green tangle of the brushes where lithe lianas coil,And orchids deck the tree-tops, and ferns the warm dark soil. 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. The Funeral Bell Francis Duggan A sombre poem about the feelings that arise upon hearing a funeral bell.Ring Out, Wild Bells Alfred Lord Tennyson A wonderful piece about ringing out the bad and ringing in the good.Villanelle Of Bells Keith Douglas A lengthy but beautifully poetic piece about bells guiding our way in life. Core of my heart, my country! We all paint our lives.The mountains of challenges,The rivers of tears,The waterfalls of joy. Neville Cardus is still the gold standard for cricket-related purple prose. My cards are all rotten and I have forgottenWhos played and whats trumps and whats gone on my right!So for now its all over Im off to the back woodIm bidding good-bye to Gerber and Blackwood. We travelled the path of our lives side by sideBut this path you walked on your ownTo a world where no pain and no suffering resideWhile I stay in this world alone. The years went by so quicklyfrom when I held you at my breast To watch you grow to a beautiful womanand finally leave the nest. Near a shady wall a rose once grew,Budded and blossomed in Gods free light,Watered and fed by the morning dew,Shedding its sweetness day and night.As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,Slowly rising to loftier height,It came to a crevice in the wallThrough which there shone a beam of light.Onward it crept with added strengthWith never a thought of fear or pride,It followed the light through the crevices lengthAnd unfolded itself on the other side.The light, the dew, the broadening viewWere found the same as they were before,And it lost itself in beauties new,Breathing its fragrance more and more.Shall claim of death cause us to grieveAnd make our courage faint and fall?Nay! 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. Look for the brightest colours,sun sparkling on the lake, the sea,or turning rain dropsinto daily diamonds. Ring out the old, ring in the new,Ring, happy bells, across the snow:The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true. Maailmankaikkeus. It serves as a mark of respect to all who played in 2010 and as a memorial to the unknown village side, especially to those who may knowingly or unknowingly . 5. Do you have a pavilion Lord?Where we could sit and talk?Can you give me lots of energySo that I am never short? I've picked 10 of my favourite funeral verses including a special funeral poem for a Dad. "A Meeting" by Edith Wharton. And there youll see the gardeners, the men and prentice boysTold off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words. Mum would cook our dinnerDad came home at fiveWe were all sitting at the tableWaiting for him to arrive. As you played and sharedAnd helped and taughtThe laughter and love always shone through. I cannot say. This world of rayAnd shark, of fish and whale, of wonderful creaturesOf strange colours, shapes, and featuresLies beneath the foam and waves of the sea.Ancient reefs call to meTo come and share in their beauty,To bathe in their serenity.This deep blue world of perfectionMassages my soul, and relieves the tensionOf living on the noisy land,For here no noise disturbs the sandOr coral or walls or caves,Nor are they disturbed by wavesWhich crash around the land worlds rim.This deep blue world remains calm in dimSubdued light filtered and made gentle by the depths.I feel a part, but am only a guestIn this undersea EdenFrom which I must depart for a season,Left to remember, and to anticipate the dayWhen I may return. So from this moment, lets endeavourTo celebrate these worlds so clever;Well think of them, whenever, wherever:A legacy, to go on forever. There is an old belief that the stars shining in the night sky are the spirits of those who have died.They have shed their earthly bodies and exchanged them for bodies made of light;thousands upon thousands of our dear departed friends all promoted to glory in the night sky.There is another saying that the brightest flame burns the shortest. Guest. I dont know when it started,Or how it all began,But God created families,As only our Lord can. You are loved by so many.You might notHave known,But in our heartsIs whereYou have grown. These poems are brief and express your feelings in few but powerful words. 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. Poems about grandfathers, grandpas, and gramps. Theres a picture I cant look away fromWith simplicity of your innocence.Theres a picture of what love can becomeWith simplicity, strength and elegance. In all our loving moments,we waltz through life,and in those complicated moments,we will twist the whole night through. Develop your talents;They are unique.Use your time well;Listen only to positive critique. Well always rememberthat special smile,that caring heart,that warm embrace,you always gave us.You being therefor Grandma and usthrough good and bad times,no matter what.Well always rememberyou Grampa becausetherell never be another oneto replace you in our hearts,and the love we will alwayshave for you. 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. There are candles in the night,flickering souls fighting back the dark:these are the angels of the abyss,holding back the blackness that consumes us. Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not madeBy singing:Oh, how beautiful! and sitting in the shade,While better men than we go out and start their working livesAt grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannons mouth. Stepping into his workshop to start the day,Different pieces of wood laid in array,The scent of cedar filling the air,A piece of furniture he works to prepare,Handcrafted with love and the finest precision,A work came to life with what he could envision,Measuring the wood for the perfect size,Tape measure at hand from his supplies,Reaching for a saw lying on a shelf,He whistles a familiar tune to himself,Cutting the wood with the utmost care,A type of craftsmanship no other can compare,Skilled at working with his hands,He strives to use them for all of lifes demands,Hands that could craft his hearts desires,Creating a lifetime of work to be forever admired,The ability to turn something simple into grand,The only tools he needed were his left and right hand,Each piece of work embodies his spirit and love,A talent he was blessed with from the Lord above,The carpenter lives on through his creations,His heart the framework to all his foundations, Why, Oh why, didnt I build my own coffin?Now that the chips are downThen I wouldnt have a splinter in my bumWith me unable to protest in sound, My lifes jigsaw is dovetailed awayAnd its my turn now to walk the plankBut my coffin maker also made the boatAnd fortunately for me, it sank, Ashes to ashes, sawdust to sawdustMy preservative has whittled awayFarewell to the woods, farewell to the treesA master craftsman now lies at ease. That man was made of many partsA teacher of lifes skills and artsFull of love and full of careWith much to give, and much to share. Poems for people from Yorkshire, or for those who loved and epitomised it during their life. One, Two, Three, Four Mark Gregory A poem ideal for the death of a former model and fashion designer.A Photo anon An intimate poem about the feelings that arise upon seeing a beautiful photo of a person. Slumber sweetly little oneUpon your dusty bed.The earth be both your blanketAnd pillow for your head. 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". Just one last effort, I pass the line.Was I first, was I last? If you can scan the skies in dreary weather,And do not feel downhearted when you say,Its dark now, and I havent got a feather,Yet you know that there are several on the day.If you can spare a handful for a stray one,And room at night to rest its weary frame.Count not the cost of what it eats, begrudge none,But hope someone will treat yours just the same. 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. 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. 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 troublemaker, a teacher, a friend. It rang an alarm in the dead of the night An alarm that for years had been dumb;And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight That his hour of departure had come.Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chimeAs we silently stood by his side;But it stopped short never to go again When the old man died. I laugh and sing and jest to all, but never let them know,How hard I am at work, and how fast the moments go,I catch them as they fall and fling them to the sky,And catch them as they come back down, and so I juggle by. Poems for Funerals and Memorial Services One does not leave a funeral in the same way that he has come. 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 audience is waitingFamiliar faces all aroundOnce again the baton strikesAnd I hear that familiar sound. After the night, the morning, bidding all darkness cease, If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelids soundless blink,The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alightUpon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,To him this must have been a familiar sight., If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,One may say, He strove that such innocent creatures should come to no harm,But he could do little for them; and now he is gone.. I doubt Ill get to heaven with an invite from the man,so I parked my bike grabbed a beer and built myself this plan!Im building myself a ramp as tall as ever seen,Ill supercharge my bike, and add a couple wings!Timing will be critical, speed will factor in,angle and approach and Ill whistle me a tune!Then one day when my journey is coming to its end,Open up them pearly gates cause this bikers jumpin in! 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. The Beer Prayer - anon - A beer-infused version of the Lord's Prayer. 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.