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! 65 p Addeddate 2007-05-31 17:58:40 Bookplateleaf 4 Call number SRLF:LAGE-3653666 Camera 5D She is a gymnast, a true athlete,Her talent and grace on display,She inspires us all with strength and skill,In this, her chosen way. The warm crowd faintly clapped, Poems for those who had plenty of furry and feathered friends. If they mention a 'he' or 'she' you can always change that. I go apoplectic to hear people say:Awesome and Wicked and Have a nice day!The poor English language is brought to its kneesAnd falls prostrate and screaming with phrases like these:They should be wrapped up neatly and flushed down the panBut nobody heeds me: a grumpy old man, At my death just cremate me; Im hoping to saveSomebody the labour of digging my grave.Set my ashes in concrete and on the urn writeHeres a rebel whose aim was to put the world right!He failed but what better memorial thanA farewell salute to a grumpy old man. Nothing is over until we decide it is! Beyond anon A short verse signalling the hope that beyond the bad emotions there is peace and forgiveness.Dont Judge Me Kathleen Wilson A lament on behalf of someone who may have felt outcast or unaccepted.If I Had A Voice Caroline Wilkes A verse apologising for not always being the best person one could be.Time Will Ease The Hurt Bruce B Wilmer A verse suggesting that time helps painful memories fade away.When I Come To The End Mrs Lyman Hancock A verse urging mourners to remember the deceased at their best. The tales you told about each catchIts stature and its girthWill live in memories unmatchedAs days pass here on earthUntil we meet again, one dayUpon Gods golden sandWell picture you, no other wayThan with a pole in hand. 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. We dreamed of you and of your lifeAnd all that it would be.We waited and longed for you to come.And join our family. Spaces fillwith a kind ofsoothing electric vibration.Our senses, restored, neverto be the same, whisper to us.They existed. 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. Poems for those who made a career moulding and shaping wood, or who simply enjoyed it as a pastime. I can still hear you calling my name,then reality sets in and Im reminded my life will never be the same. Be and bebetter. Tiny Angel, look at me,I want this image clearThat I will forget your precious faceIs my biggest fear. 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. Perfect for him: right field inbaseball, an eccentrics positionthough he thought of drifting into otherfields beyond. You know right from wrong.You are the melody from a beautiful love song. One, two, three, four,A designer now, fashions in my core,Five, six, seven, eight,Theres plenty of work still on my plate. My love, you gave yourself to meAnd life caught fire from your spark. I guess he wrote a lot more in a similar vein. Camping Kaitlyn DeMatteo A short verse contemplating the wonders of camping out under the stars.I Feel You Drifting Darren White A moving, heartfelt verse written by a partner to their lost lover.This Journey Is Just Beginning Ju D. G. A lament upon having to part, but hopeful of what might be to come. These poems are brief and express your feelings in few but powerful words. But you can find many more. extract from The Tempest by William Shakespeare. The laughter and loveIt always shone through. And now I have another child,perfect in every way;I know Ive seen that smile before,and this time, its here to stay. Green sod above, Lie light, lie light. I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheels kick and the winds song and the white sails shaking,And a grey mist on the seas face and a grey dawn breaking. Both paths tell a storyThat waves may wash away;As long as we have the memoryThey live with us each day. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress eyebrow. The referee needs no introductionOr whistle for a foul blowWhen God raises his eyebrowsNone argue with the penalty or throw. The boys who came to watch their gods, I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me! While most of us are fast asleepAs the moon begins its fall,And drifts its gentle lightAcross the clock upon the wall;Theres others who have left their bedsTheres hoof beats in the dawn,And out upon the training trackThe music of the morn.The frost lays thick upon the groundAnd shines upon the roofs,And all around, the lovely soundA thousand steel shod hoofs,A scraping here, a snorting thereA jockeys curse, a whinny;A trainer feeling tender legsDamn, that colts gone shinny.The flaring nostrils show soft red,A roll, hose, scrape and lead,The rug thrown on, and off back homeTo munch the morning feedAnd as they leave, some more come inWhile the sun turns red at dawnTo the clatter of a thousand hoofs,The music of the morn.So when I die I hope that ICan chat with old Saint Peter,And that dear chap would understandThat nothing could be sweeterFor me, to go where the horses runDown a track thats long and worn,To hear once more, the glorious sound;The music of the morn. And now that man has left this life,No longer parted from his wifeMemories are all that we have leftOf that man who was the best. Knit one, purl one, knit two togetherHer woollen creations will last forever.The sound of her needles, clickety clack,Another row on the counter, turn and go back. The most popular funeral poems include: "Crossing the Bar" by Alfred Lord Tennyson. And though you are gone, though youre not here with methe cord is still there but no one can seeIt pulls at my heart, I am bruisedI am sorebut this cord is my lifeline as never before. So rude, mocking and defiant, And on you, still so reliant, You are there to fulfil their every need, Were so proud of their successes, And forgive their many messes, The writings on the wall but they wont read. Each angel was a fishermanWho had traded his poleFor golden wings and a game planAt Heavens Fishing Hole. Alone on my tin pony,to the heavens Ive been called,but fret not my dear loved ones,Im not lonely here at all. This isnt how it was supposed to be!The world carries on like nothing has happened, but not me. The best description of a cricket match in my opinion is in England, Their England, written by A G McDonnell. A Poem for Mother. We will miss each other for awhile,But you will come and bring your smile.That wont be long you will see,Till were together you and me. We shared ourBirthdaySince I was five.My wish now will beTo have you back healthyAnd alive. The poems on this page are suitable for any loved one. MORE THYME! The funeral bell is pealing for one, a last farewell,And few sounds sadder than the slow peals of the loud funeral bell.Above the streets and houses it echoes to the sky,For one bound for his/her last resting place the cemetery nearby. When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings,Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,He was a man who used to notice such things? We will see him in the summer rainHe will ride upon the windAnd when our path is beaten downhis memory will pick us up again. 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. Some Folk Pam Nelson A poem reflecting on how a person made everyone around them feel special and loved. 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.. The board is your target, not the mat,So, be careful what youre aiming at! " When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease " is a track on the Roy Harper album HQ, a prominent example of cricket poetry. I juggle through the hours, and make them all my own,Through morn and eve and noon, I set a juggling tone,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. So rest in peace, chess master,Your love for the game will live on,Forever etched in the hearts of allWho knew and loved you for so long. 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. Its grand to be reunitedWith band members both old and newWe start to play it sounds so goodJust perfect like I expected it would. One more day to sing our song, Close To You,and listen to you sing it to your son too. There is no frigate like a bookTo take us lands away,Nor any coursers like a pageOf prancing poetry. We light this candle that your light may always shineWith the love that you gave to us all. When I speak your name,It still brings music to my ears,And I can still see your smileAs if heaven is so near. Poems for those who enjoyed the tranquillity and competition of Crown Green Bowls. I know now you are with meI feel your caressIll go on living for you,I could do nothing less. Finally we sit and roll a dice,Watching each roll like hungry mice,Bobby always seems to have too much loot,And we wonder if there is some hidden in a boot;Jenny just cant get a breakand will be in gaol for three rolls sake;Uncle Ron just sits with a grin, and we wonder what is his sin;Dad just tries to moderate, But Aunt Sue is truly irate!The kids all laugh, its just a gameIts family time: will we remain sane? The photograph above was unearthed from the countless images to be found on the web. write me in historymove over King Tutyou aint got nothingon the legitimate King! Board Games Lou Szymkow An atmospheric poem detailing the memories we all have of family board gaming days.A Game Of Life Frank Preston Stearns A old-fashioned yet moving sonnet comparing chess to life. The instruments played this salutationTo amusicianof note and much moreAt the end, everyone stamped their feetEncore, Encore, Encore! She says youve only left the room,You havent gone away.But I really miss you, GranddadAnd the games we used to play. Charades: Always tempted to saythe answer and stop the nonsense. If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,Or walk with Kingsnor lose the common touch,If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it,Andwhich is moreyoull be a Man, my son! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Once it was new, best thing on the road,But now its just old; so whos driving this car? God looked around his gardenAnd found an empty place,He then looked down upon the earthAnd saw your tired face. But I am a man who loves his jobAnd the life I live. 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. Haiku for a Father. Joyce Kilmer wrote lots of poems about nature. Our memories build a special bridgeWhen loved ones have to partTo help us feel were with them stillAnd soothe a grieving heart.They span the years and warm our livesPreserving ties that bind;Our memories build a special bridgeAnd bring us peace of mind. They kept us warm on winter nights,A sense of peace and calm,They were more than just plain fabric;They were creations of her palm. 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 Abraham Lincoln. When the birds start to singAfter my owls hoot;Dont let it slip thatManners dont cost a thing. Its all about expectingAnd then throwing inIts all about the winningBut not whining not giving-inThe square, the short and long ballThe pals, solid as a rockThe unexpected tackleSudden shock, You felt the roarAnd saw the lucky chipThe crossbar stopped the goalThat you were willing in, And in the endAt injury timeWhen you went deep and deeperYou didnt find the goalOr spot the sweeper. Some folk can cheer up a cold dayWith just a few words or a glance.Others can make things seem betterIf you just give them half of a chance. Golf tees on my dresserGolf tees in my bedGolf tees on my pillowsWhere they poke me in my head.Golf tees in my closetFalling from my shirts and pantsGolf tees along the baseboardsJust like army ants.Golf tees in the carpetAnd underneath my feetGolf tees lined up on the mantleOh, they look so neat.Golf tees in my couchAnd in my back and thighsWhen I sit and watch TVI feel those little guys.Golf tees in the kitchenIn Jurassic coffee mugsSometimes when I pass themThey look like prehistoric bugs.Golf tees in the bathtubLike sailors on plastic shipsGolf tee in her make upLike little bald q tips.Golf tees in the atticGolf tees in the shedGolf tees, golf tees everywhereI wonder where they bred.Golf tees out the backdoorLike Hansel and Gretels trailsGolf tees in the flowerbedsAmong the mulch and snails.Golf tees in my carAnd underneath the matsGolf tees in the backseatLike little baseball bats.But when I am at the golf courseI ask my partner, like a louseMay I borrow some of your tees?I left mine at the house!, I really am a golfer And let me tell you whyIts only when I swing a club I really feel aliveI really am a golferAnd take my driver outI swing my club and hit the ballAs hard as I have mightI really am a golferMy ball is in the roughI swing my metal 3 real hardTo find the grass is toughI really am a golferMy ball goes 50 feetIts out the rough and in the sandAnd buried very deepI really am a golferI take my sand wedge outI open up the face of itAnd swing it with a cloutI really am a golferMy ball is on the greenI swing the putter in an arcWith boggy on the seenI really am a golferMy put goes 10ft pastIm looking at a doubleBut the green is just too fastI really am a golferThe balls beside the cupI make it in the centreAnd my friends they call it luck, by Criswell Freeman(final verse by Mark Gregory), Life is like a round of golf,with many twists and turnsBut the game is much too sweet and short,to curse the shots youve missed, Sometimes youll hit it straight and far,sometimes the puts run trueBut each round has its wayward shots,and troubles to play through, So always swing with heart and courage,no matter what the lieAnd never let the hazardsdestroy the joy inside. Kayaking Mark Gregory A poem about the peace and calm that one experiences on the water.The Oarsmans Song Steve Fairbairn A rhythmic poem about the hypnotic motion of a rower in full flight.Rowing In Eden Mark Gregory A short but touching poem about two friends drifting towards heaven. You ran with grace and strength all game,Your footwork swift and sure,Scored goals with ease and utmost grace,Brought joy to all who saw. 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. Fly, fly little wingFly where only angels singFly away, the time is rightGo now, find the light. 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 some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come. How lucky I was,How blessed Ive been,You were more than my Aunt,You were also my friend. With every breath, their quiet heart,Was steadfast, true, and pure in part,A steady beat, a gentle pace,That led us to a peaceful place. 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. Im now at peace,Life battles done,Ive faced the foeAnd I have won. After the night, the morning, bidding all darkness cease, I pray the Captain sets his fieldWith telepathic skill,That all his plans work wellAnd that the catches do not spill. But it is only a game, right?So we stand up, we shake hands.We move on with our lives. Fly, fly precious oneYour endless journey has begunTake your gentle happinessFar too beautiful for thisCross over to the other shoreThere is peace forevermoreBut hold this memry bittersweetUntil we meet. It broke our hearts to lose you,But you didnt go alone,For part of us went with youThe day God called you home. Poems for petrol heads, or simply for those who enjoyed a Sunday drive. Rugby, what a beautiful and passionate game Its not about money, fashion or fame. 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. Toggle navigation Poem Searcher Discovery Engine 7,226 categories 345276 poems 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. And standing thereTill that calm song is done, at last well shareThe league-spread, quiring symphonies that areJoy in the world, and peace, and dawns one star. A football team is only as good as its last game; the mood of supporters rises and falls with each result. Lets haste awayFrom the heart of the dayTo the woods refreshing shadeWhere the babbling brookIn some sheltered nookIs gurgling a-down the glade. Her apron could bring gigglesIn a game of peek-a-booWith her newest, sweet grandbabyAs she hid her face from view. I have always neededthe solace of storiesthe companionship of charactersthe escape of other worldsthe wisdom of wordsthe guidance of good writing. The audience is waitingFamiliar faces all aroundOnce again the baton strikesAnd I hear that familiar sound. Whenever Im upset I know yourethere with a shoulder to cry on.Whenever I face a problem and need some helpI know you are one I can rely on. I've picked 10 of my favourite funeral verses including a special funeral poem for a Dad. When beauty, grace and strength are all combinedIn vault, uneven bars and floor and beam,Young girls, petite, yet strong and well defined,Then dance and jump and swing, each with a dream. Here is the funeral poem: Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, 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. Death is Not the End Sweetheart, I love youBut I cannot bind you to meI see the longing in your eyeswhile you are watching these mountainsthose sunsets. Candles In The Night Peter Madden A poem about light fighting against darkness.Five Candles Sherry L. Williams A poem that can be used during a candle-lighting ritual to remember the deceased.I Light A Candle For You anon A poem in free verse about the symbolism of a candle and what it can represent.I Still Burn Bright anon A short verse reminding us that the flame of our loved ones burns bright, even after death. Then there are the moves;Always limited,restricted by the fear of capture, of failure,there are only so many times we can move sideways,move forwards,before we feel the fear of being too far out, too vulnerable.
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