And although this pain is painful,And I really dont wanna let you go.Ill wait for death to take me Nan,So we can together one day glow. Rest now my fallen brotherLay soft your suffering backRest well and foreverYour memory shall not lackRest your tired handsWipe clean your weary browRest with St. FlorianYour spirit now endowedRest here your breaking heartWe know you gave your allRest easy, youve done your partYouve answered your last callRest knowing that in god we soughtOh lord, watch over another who just fellRest assured your troubled thoughtAs we ring the final bell. I 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. Final words and kisses, thenThe pipes Amazing Grace;Souls of bike and rider seekEternal resting place. If Id met her in a cavein the darkwhere no light ever livedshe would still be the brightest thing Id ever seenfor it aways was the way she wasnever the way she lookedthat made her so beautiful to meand beautiful she wasthough I never let it blind mefor it was only when I closed my eyesand stood in that darkest cavethat she truly blinded mewith beauty. So let us honour and rememberThe warriors spirit that lives onFor it will be with us foreverIn every battle, lost or won. Foster A poem for a child born with a disability who is lost to the world too soon. Stump and bail flashed and flew; H eartbreaks hurt less when you were by my side. Is there art and adventure?Tell me are you happy? Poems for those who had a passion for butterfly collecting and breeding, or just enjoyed watching them flutter by. I am a juggler, and I juggle as I go,Flung from hand to hand, these balls of life and woe;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. And so we meet again today,To toast your bodys end.For it was true and faithful,Until right at the end. He knew that you were suffering,He knew you were in pain;He knew that you would neverGet well on earth again. Hegot into competition,but didnt really trust it,and the main games of life allseemed rigged, one wayor another. Joyce Kilmer wrote lots of poems about nature. They would put in the footings then forget to build the wall, and when they did it was neither short nor tall. Dont judge me, for I am just like you.I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too. Thou life giving wheelWhose sinews are steelMy veins imbibe life from thine ownAnd I sink to my restWith true loyal zestWhile my dreams are my cycles alone. But a heaven is easier made of nothing at allThan the earth regained, and still and sole withinThe spin of worlds, with a gesture sure and nobleHe reels that heaven in,Landing it ball by ball,And trades it all for a broom, a plate, a table. "Death Is Nothing At All" by Robert Scott Holland. 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. 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. The following verses are among the most popular for a funeral. 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. Keep the men happy and the girls nice,Let everybody be merry and have a good night.Keep the hookers out and the troublemakers at home,Leave the anger and misgivings at the door. Fishing by William Henry Dawson. The Beer Prayer - anon - A beer-infused version of the Lord's Prayer. Tell her I promise to see her again someday.When that will be, I really cant say.I promise to make up for the time thats passed,To hold her and comfort her in my arms at last. Until that day Ill close my eyes,And see your smiling face.Ill lock you up inside me heart,Until we again embrace. I am a double award-nominated Family and Funeral Celebrant covering the entire UK, and would be happy to help you commemorate in a meaningful and personal way. The fences have all been mended. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress eyebrow. Anyone have any other suggestions? 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. The, of Children's Picture Books: Childcraft,, s and An Ode to Cricket at Kings School and a couple of Storms What is cricket, the teatowel factor, ESPN Cricinfo, Ten, s about Cricket, Candlestick Press, Poetry Pamphlets. And if Im asked to bowl I prayThe ball leaves my hand true,So whether or not wickets comeIll know that theyre my due. Three weeks after her death,a stranger entered the salonand settled in the chair.She had the colour and shapeof his mothers hair,and when he sunk his hands in it,the texture, even cowlicks,individual as frecklessame.Twice he had to leave the room,and twice, he returnedstill,when he touched her hair, it blurred.Hold still, he said, hold still. And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,Till they rise again, as they were a new bells boom,He hears it not now, but used to notice such things? Tossed to and fro in a raging tide of emotion;without you, Im just so lost and broken. 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. How could such blazing colour leave? June 14, 2022; jeep renegade 4x4 usata francoforte sul meno; astrological predictions for trump 2022 . Good Afternoon, My father has recently passed and I would like to scatter his ashes at Lords.He was a lover of attending Lords and had many happy days there. The sky became your deep blue seaThe clouds became your shoreAnd there, for all eternityYou sat with friends galore. That you are herethat life exists and identity,That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. 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. Blessed art Thou oh Lord our God!Thou hast made the sand, the grass the trees,and gently in the tallest oak,You waft a gentle breeze.You drew the bubbling little brook.You painted the placid pond.You sigh the deepest twilight.And smile the brightest dawn.Beneath the fog, beneath the mist,that drifts across the ground,You twirl Your mighty finger,and spin this world around.The hills, the valleys, the winding wood,inspire a soul to sing,was ever there such beauty, Lordwhere rolls the emerald greenOh God, I know You are a golfer,Your work does thus demand.It seems Your only handicap,is this thing that You call man.Can this be an island, Lord?A place of grace and charm.Away from daily trouble Lord,away from daily harm?We pray that this may be, dear God,a place where love extends.Where travellers come as strangersand golfers leave as friends! With no maps to guide us we steered our own course,Rode out the storms when the winds were gale force,Sat out the doldrums in patience and hope:Working together we learned how to cope. 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. Not just a freeway drive, but each outing on a mission,And not a veering trundle, but a task of deep precision,Not the tedium of traffic, relief at the arriving,The thrill is in the journey, and the passion in the driving. Guest. Though we never knowWhere life will take us,I know its just a rideOn the wheel.And we never knowWhen death will shake usAnd we wonder howIt will feel.So Goodbye my friend.I know Ill never see you again.But the time togetherThrough all the years,Will take away these tears.Its OK now Goodbye my friend.I see a lot of thingsThat make me crazy,And I guess I held on to you,You could have run awayAnd left well maybe,But it wasnt timeAnd we both knew.So Goodbye My friend.I know Ill never see you again.But the love you gave meThrough all the yearsWill take away these tears.Im OK now Goodbye my friend. Hell, no!, Apparently this a a Facebook Page called Why I love cricket, Starboard 10, Round again, pull in the buoys. Scatter my ashes at Pemaquid Point*,Let the wind sail them home to the sea.Cradle of life, be my cradle in death,And set my spirit free. I imagine you laughingYour heart lovingly set freeYou understand my griefIn ways I cannot see. Luther F. Beecher A verse comparing a ships journey to the idea of death.Psalm 23 Sailors Edition anon A revised version of Psalm 23 adapted to include sailing metaphors.Sailors Rest D.R. 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. - Navjot Sidhu 4 0 Add a comment Wickets are like wives, you never know which way they will turn! Totally fictional, totally far fetched, and totally brilliant. Another Biker Who Has Gone Down Connie Starren A poem lamenting the loss of another avid biker.The Big Plan Gunnar Hassenplug A humorous poem about a bikers plan to get into heaven without an invite!A Biker Funeral anon A vivid description of a biker funeral with plenty of suitable metaphors.His Journey Goes On Joe Eliston A sombre but hopeful poem highlighting the importance of the journey of life.I Ride Alone Graeme Cook A fierce poem for a fallen motorcycling companion.My Last Ride anon A slightly religious poem about a bikers last ride to heaven.We Ride As One anon A poem lamenting the loss of riders past and present. I see now it was love, MumThat made you come whenever Id call,Your inexhaustible love, MumAnd I thank you for it all. Perhaps you thought I missed it all,And that wed grow apart,But Dad, I picked up everything,Its written on my heart. I light a candle in loving memory of you:Its flame flickers like the spark you lit in me.The wax melts away like moments in timeTil we meet again.So shines a symbol of hopein a sorrow-filled world.The wicks warmth keeps the flame alightlike my faith within keeps me alive.Smoke spirals into the sky towards yousaying your name.The shimmering shine spreads peaceand parts the shadows.Its illuminating light lifts my soul to youand combines our consciousness.The flame of the candle may blow outbut the flame of our lovewill always burn in my heart. Dear God, please take care of my little girl,The one with big eyes and soft brown curls.She was special, as you should know.I really didnt want to let her go. So as we gather here today, To say our last goodbyes, We know that they will always beIn our hearts and in our minds. Poems for those who enjoyed flag collecting or were simply masters of vexillology. M. K. Paul A verse asking the question of what exactly a fathers role is in life. Heaven has received another angel,The night sky another star.Your life has become a loving memory.I know you will never be far. In my hand I hold a ball.White and dimpled, rather small.Oh, how bland it does appear.This harmless looking little sphere.By its size I could not guess,The awesome strength it does possess.But since I fell beneath its spell,Ive wandered through the fires of hell.My life has not been quite the same,Since i chose to play this stupid game.It rules my mind for hours on end,A fortune it has made me spend.It has made me yell, curse and sigh,I hate myself and want to cry.It promises a thing called par,If i can hit it straight and far.To master such a tiny ball,Should not be very hard at all.But my desires the ball refuses,And does exactly as it chooses.It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies,And even disappears before my eyes.Often it will have a whim,To hit a tree or take a swim.With miles of grass on which to land,It finds a tiny patch of sand.Then has me offering up my soul,If only it would find the hole.Its made me whimper like a pup,And swear that I will give it up.And take to drink to ease my sorrow,But the ball knows: Ill be backTomorrow. Few things are as fleetingAs footprints in the sand;Sometimes we walk aloneAnd sometimes hand in hand. Poems encouraging us to think positively in the face of death. Poems for those who enjoyed track and field, and the opportunities it provided them in life. For a second you were flyingLike you always wanted toNow youll fly foreverIn skies of azure blue. Her knitting needles are now silentNot a sound more will they makeBut what a wonderful lesson [name] has left usTo give always more than you take. I dont know how to make it through this,when all I want is to call it quits. My Old Fishing Boat by Isaac McLellan. Sorry didnt read OP properly! Its been a long time since we first felt the beginning to this end.And today we pray before you; your family and your friends.Weve watched your thoughts get more obscure with every passing day;As this heartless thing called Alzheimers made them fade away.Gradually it took the gleam from those once so loving eyes.To befall on such a giving manit seemed so unjustified.Stripping you of everything, leaving nothing in its placeExcept a look of sadness left upon your face.As long as we have searched, through all the tears weve criedWeve tried to find the reason for this long good-bye.But now its time to take back all your memoriesAs you are finally free from this cruel disease.We pledge to remember the man that you once were;A good hearted, giving man is all that will be heard.And every night when we look up and see a certain starWe will know within our hearts exactly where you are.So on this day we say good-bye as you now depart.Although far from our touch, never far from our hearts. But here is your race medalFrom me with all my heartYoull wear my gold at every stepAnd we will never be apart. 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. Poems for those who enjoyed a day at the races, or a flutter at the bookies. We miss him in his gardenDoing odd jobs here and there.We miss him at the tableWhen we see the empty chair.We miss him at the firesidewhen we gather round the blaze.We miss him, oh, we miss himIn a hundred different ways.When troubles came the familyWould always turn to him.He always had a cheery wordWhen things were looking grimAnd now hes gone we know he wouldntWant us to be sad But life can never be the sameWithout the Dear Old Dad.

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