Sorry didnt read OP properly! Coffee In Heaven John Agard A poem wondering whether the coffee in heaven is actually any good.Fuelled By Coffee Mark Gregory A poem for someone whose daily life revolved around coffee.The Warmth Of Your Love Mark Gregory A poem for a warm-hearted soul who loved sharing a coffee. MORE THYME! And then I thought, I am a partof all this, and I felta great happiness,and I opened the book againand began to read. The lazy float that controls the boatAnd makes the swing quite true,And gives that rest that the oarsman blestAs he drives the blade right through. Its all about the journeyIts the part that countsEven when he gets thereHe may just turn around. Earrings Mark Gregory a poem in free verse about a woman who wore earrings with true grace.A Mothers Crown anon A religious poem about all the elements of a mothers character.She Loved Jewellery Lewis Raynes A slightly humorous poem for someone who wore a lot of jewellery. For all of you that have fallen,There will be someone to continue your work ofcaring and heroism.You will truly be missed,and always remembered. But I am a man who loves his jobAnd the life I live. We cherish the special place in our heartsthat will always be reserved for you.We thank you for the giftyour living brought to each of us.We love you.We remember you. Here are 10 stirring funeral readings, poems, and quotes for any service that can encourage family and friends: 1. Remember Me. Mum would cook our dinnerDad came home at fiveWe were all sitting at the tableWaiting for him to arrive. So let us honour and rememberThe warriors spirit that lives onFor it will be with us foreverIn every battle, lost or won. I've picked 10 of my favourite funeral verses including a special funeral poem for a Dad. we missThe joy that liesIn labour, and in thisGrow old before our time.The gardeners artIs Natures own,And he who tends a partTends the whole.The noblest work of manIs to add beauty to the world. 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. You were a loving, caring granddad.You were there for me a lot.You will always hold a place in my heart,A loving, treasured spot. Fly, fly little wingFly beyond imaginingThe softest cloud, the whitest doveUpon the wind of heavens lovePast the planets and the starsLeave this lonely world of oursEscape the sorrow and the painAnd fly again. Bugs on visor, flatly splattered, Speed limits, completely shattered. The description is reasonably short too, only a few pages. Well see your smile in every rayOf sunshine after rainAnd hear the of echo of your laughterOver all the pain. No tears to be shed,Only in cheer;Continueonthe path already ledEachonyour own veer. One more day to sing our song, Close To You,and listen to you sing it to your son too. He picked up bricks, mortar and trowel to craftBarbies and walls, buildings and homes that lastAn arch or a curve, all his work set apart,Because each brick he placed, was a work of art. Ive been a daughter, mum, nan and wifeI had a ball and enjoyed my lifeIts just that when I heard the callThe call had my number on the ball.Live on now, make me proud of what youll become. There were a couple of muckers who mixed up the cement,they were forever subbing so they never paid their rent. If thou wouldst win, and not thy fortune rue,Subdue thyself yet to thyself be true. Knit one purl one, knit one purl oneThe band was almost doneThe soft sound of the needles clickety clackFinish one row, turn around and go back. The fences have all been mended. 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. 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. Some light up rooms with their laughterOthers brighten the world with a smile.Many will make you feel happyBy sitting nearby for a while. Whats with this gameThat made you feel so high?Was it your teamYour matesThe offside trapAnd then that lousy shoot-outNearly made you cry? Poems for those who loved clothes in all their forms, or who made a living in the fashion industry. Unique if rudyard kipling related items, Etsy. We have sought, but we sought it vainly,That one last drink divine;We have sampled his various bottles,But somehow they dont combine:Yet I know when I cross the riverAnd stand on the Golden ShoreI shall meet with an angel chemist Wholl brew me that drink once more. Heaven has received another angel,The night sky another star.Your life has become a loving memory.I know you will never be far. My love, you gave yourself to meAnd life caught fire from your spark. If so then this may be perfect. You explain death to the clothes like that dream.You tell them how much you miss the spouseand how much you miss the pet with its little winter sweater. 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. The bird that was trapped has flownThe sky that was grey is blueThe bone that was dead has grownThe dream that was dreamed is true, The door that was locked has swung wideThe prisoner has been set freeThe lips that were sealed have criedThe eye that was blind can see, The tree that was bare is greenThe room that was dull is brightThe sheet that was soiled is cleanThe dawn that was dark is light, The road that was blocked has no endThe unknown journey is knownThe heart that is hurt will mendThe bird that was trapped has flown. Michael Ashby A humorous play-on-words about death and cooking.Mothers Apron Joyce Johnson A similar piece to the above, but with subtleties that befit a mother.Riches Jeanne D. Rhein A lovely, comforting piece about the cosy, familial comforts of a home-cooked meal. Our fishermanWho art on riverbanksAngler be thy nameThy fishing season comesThy casting will be doneThe weather will be heavenly.Give us this day lots of bitesAnd forgive us our laughterAs we forgive you, yourLies about the one that got away.Lead us to a shoal of fishAnd deliver us a big catchFor thine is the carpThe Pike and the TroutForever and ever,Amen. The Boxer Ross Dix-Peek A poem telling the tale of a physicially worn-out boxer whose mind is still sharp and agile.I Am The Greatest Cassius Clay Muhammed Alis famous poem from the 1960s.Poem for a Boxer At Rest Gabrielle Tinti A poem originally in Italian about a boxer who has fought his last fight. I imagine you watchingThe many things I doProudly standing beside meAs I remember and honour 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. So dance with me this eveningAbove the lands belowThe clouds provide our dance floorNeath the light of those we know. The little one we longed forWas swiftly here and gone.But the love that was then plantedIs a light that still shines on. You left this life so quicklyand I am left to mourn Yet precious memories fill my heartsince the day that you were born. Your fingerprints are on my heart.Fingerprints that teach me about caring.Fingerprints that teach me about love.Fingerprints that teach me about courage.Fingerprints that teach me about hope.Fingerprints that bring me closer to my loved ones.Fingerprints that bring me closer to myself.In the time I cared for you my whole life changed never to be the same againAll this from tiny fingerprints that touch my heart.You will live in my heart forever never to be forgotten.I will always love you.You are my child. Is there art and adventure?Tell me are you happy? The feet of dancersShine with mirth,Their hearts are vibrant as bells: The air flows by themDivided like waterCut by a gleaming ship. I pray the Captain sets his fieldWith telepathic skill,That all his plans work wellAnd that the catches do not spill. From the moment they are born, That bond never shall be torn,Regardless of all they do or say,Theyll always be your kid,No matter what they did,Loves bloodline, can never go astray. Himself against himself, he ever setsHis knights, pawns, castles in a proud array;His soul the stake he on the issue bets Too great a prize to risk in thoughtless play. For forty years Ive lived with God,Oft from the haunts of men.Ive thought upon His wondrous wordAnd scenes beyond our ken. But there are those whose whole life is a blessing,Not just a moment, a smile or a word.They make all around them feel special,No person ignored or unheard. 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. Character matters;Be your own person,Your own original self,Not someone elses version. cricket poems for funerals. Alas, reality was somewhat different. If I could be there with you, wed laugh and share memories from our past,And this gathering would be just one more tale, another story, not our last.But today I cant be with you, except in heart and memory stores.So, youll have to laugh, remember the past,and then let your engines roar! The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes,Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins.Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies-I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise. You may think of me in your waking hoursAnd on those sleepless nightsJust look out of the window and youll find meThat brightest star, that dazzling light. You attract like a magnet beautiful things.You sparkle and shine like a diamond ring. One, two,Ill miss you,Three, four,Thats for sure. 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. My joy increased, I felt you growas weeks went quickly by Then one blessed day, I felt you moveA tiny butterfly. The first verse of Sir Henry Newbolt's 'Play the Game'? A Boy and His Dad by Edgar A. Poems for those who made a career moulding and shaping wood, or who simply enjoyed it as a pastime. Therell be many destinationsSome are happy, some are sadEach one a brief reminderOf the great times that weve had. This kid fights great. Poems about people who liked a drink - in a healthy way. The archer and his bowCannot be torn apart;For shot after shotThey share the same heart. And when he died at just years,his brother comforted me,with, I expect God wants to put him right,but we missed him dreadfully. It wove its way within our hearts, in all our hopes and dreams,Until the very purest love became my tiny wings.Although I could not stay with you, I knew right from the start,That once you felt your angels love, youd keep me in your hearts. These will be suitable for memorial services as well as funeral readings. He took his place upon the matAt the angle that he wanted;So rigidly he stood there, thatIt looked like he was planted.He eyed the flag up on the mastAnd weighed the wind a blowing;He called experience from the pastTo guide where the bowl was going. It's a powerful memorial poem to celebrate someone who knew they were dying and lived life to its fullest up until their last breath. Chris Gayle Cricket is a team game. 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. The driver sees it differently, with their car becomes a part,Take the road together, hit the road, with a single beating heart,The turbos rising wail, and the exhausts muscled, subtle growl,To the drivers ear, an orchestra, theres music in that howl. Some love it for mingling with their upstanding crowdThe drinking, the laughter, the gossip so loudThey arrive at the track wearing yesterdays shoppingFor racing you say, more a spot of Box hopping. But now youre gonebut yet youre hereWell sense you everywhere.You are our sorrow and our joy,Theres love in every tear. Crickets Demi, Gods And Villains, by Rajnish Manga A Cricket Sang Good Luck, by Sandra Fowler, Hunter. So fleeting is this thing called life, we journey toward its end,experiencing pieces of a puzzle we dont truly comprehend.The hues of our emotion paint a picture of our past,as we hurtle toward a destiny that is not meant to last.Youth a canvas all in white, not knowing what awaits,feel caresses of a brush that which we know as fate.Love so very true in reds, that beat within our heart,shadows black take form as hate, which tears the soul apart.Greens of joy and happiness, lush grass beyond compare,sadness, shrouded depths of blue, the waters of despair.Yellow screams of agony and pain which we endure.Guilt and shame are shades of grey, a torrential downpour.Earthy brown desires are that for which we lust,the loss of which comes with age, like chrome begins to rust.The image changing constantly as time plods slowly on,taking shape in many forms, as the twilight replaces dawn.We look into a mirror for the answers which we seek,but we find no consolation as our eyes grow dim and weak.The final touches on a painting created with much love,as we realise that the destination is the gallery above. 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. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from sea; And the hunter home from the hill. A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip Builders of lifes companionship!Oh, I envy them, as I see them thereUnder the sky in the open air,For out of the old, old long-agoCome the summer days that I used to know,When I learned lifes truths from my fathers lipsAs I shared the joy of his fishing-trips. The clock of life is wound but once,And no man has the powerTo tell just when the hands will stopAt late or early hour. The 'Cricket' Funeral Order of Service design is from the HobbiesRange, which is only available from Fitting Farewell. 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. 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. 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. 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. How did you find the energy, MumTo do all the things you did,To be teacher, nurse and counsellorTo me, when I was a kid? I stand on the podium, proud and boldIm wearing a medalAn Olympic Gold! Click on the title to continue reading, or browse a larger collection of funeral verses, including non-religious funeral poems and short verses. Sometimes the mist overhangs my path,And blackening clouds about me cling.But, oh, I have a magic wayTo turn the gloom to cheerful dayI softly sing. They dipThey soarThey dart right byWe wonder how it feels to fly. 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 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! Poems for those who enjoyed track and field, and the opportunities it provided them in life. Bird Watching Amy Ludwig Vanderwater A poem highlighting the joys and excitement of bird watching.Fly Celine Dion Words originally sung that reveal the sorrow yet relief of setting someone free from this Earth. Afterwards Thomas Hardy A beautiful poem with many delicately described images of the English countryside.In Memory Of My Mother Patrick Kavanagh A poem written for an Irish mother who loved the countryside.Margarets Moon Jackie Kay A poem about the death of a lady, whose soul is released into the Scottish highlands.My Country Dorothea MacKellar An ode to the wondrous countryside of the authors home. 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! Brothers and sisters came next,With that, an instant friend.Someone to look up to,Someone on whom to depend. Seasonal Poetry, Bette A. Stevens, Maine Author. The beauty and peace it brings my wayIs difficult to describeFor we who bike for pleasureBelong to a different tribe. A trip to the Ring, its all part of the gameto lay down a tenner on the horse with the namethat sounds like a winner, a worthwhile betbut tarry no longer, well miss the jet set.