Its always opening time in heavenAnd the alcohol doesnt go to your headIt floats around in ones etherAnd fortifies your spirit instead. The audience is waitingFamiliar faces all aroundOnce again the baton strikesAnd I hear that familiar sound. And round that early laurelled headWill flock to gaze the strengthless dead,And find un-withered on its curlsThe garland briefer than a girls. 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. This is the particular line I was thinking of. Some Folk Pam Nelson A poem reflecting on how a person made everyone around them feel special and loved. Members of the Club stand post,Proud brothers in the wind;Shaded eyes the tears disguise,And loss they feel within. Daughter, life is not the samenow youre no longer here,but our love for you is still strongand will remain year after year. Heaven lit up with a mighty presence,as the Angels all looked down.Today the Lord was placing the jewelsInto my mothers crown. I have always been a readerand I will always be oneeven when I am no longer heremy books will live oncarrying me in their heartsjust as I have carried themin mine. Of all the friendsIve ever met,Youre the oneI wont forget. The parents in the middle though,cant share this special caring,Its just for us, my Gran and I,adventures we are sharing,And even if my situations bad,my Gran is not deterred,What is it about a Grandmother?I think Love must be the word! Their quiet heart, a noble trait,That listened well, would sit and wait,A steady hand, a patient soul,That brought us peace, and made us whole. Everything Mum Joanna Fuchs A poem for a mum who somehow managed to do everything.Mother anon A verse reflecting upon a loving and devoted mother. And when this carpenter arrived in heavenhe was expected andimmediately he was put to work:for the Pearly Gateswere a bit looseand St. Peters deskhad a couple of drawers that stuck.And before longthe old master carpenterbegan to builda new thronefor God. Dementia came and took you away,From your family and your friends.It left your mind in turmoil,Until the very end. I imagined you lifting your head, your arms,Loosening them, shedding skin and cells and boneTill you became all spirit, releasedInto the cairns, hills, the braes, barley,The sea lochs and the sea and at last,At least it seemed to me, you were free. 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. Pension Multiplier - commuted of full pension value used. 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. This fourth rose is for our love.We enjoy beauty and its presence,Continuing to guide and lead us.Regardless of the seasons of our lives,Our love for you will continue. 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. Goodbye, to you, with whom Ive shared,This wondrous gift of life.Enjoy the dance, lifes sweet refrain,For love is timeless as the stars,And I will dance with you again. I seek the West,and fields and mountains ever blest. Best Rugby Poems. And I would want to lead just right,And to know that I was true.So walk a little slower, Daddy,For I must follow you. Farewell my friend, youre leaving.Its time for you to go.Your friendship was a blessing,And I will miss you so.We shared so many secrets.You brightened up my days.You brought me so much happinessWith your kind and loving ways.You lifted up my spiritsWhen I was feeling blue.No matter what was happening,You knew just what to do.We ran between the raindropsAnd walked beneath the sun,Ran barefoot in the summertime,And oh, we had such fun.Through all the ups and downs of lifeThe good times and the sad,From high school days to golden years,The best friend I ever had.God is here to take you home.Now you and I must part.I love you, and foreverYou will live within my heart. We open the cupboard filled to the brimAnd wonder which game will be todays unholy sin:The boxes are faded and tattered, well worn,All filled with memories from since we were born.Theres dice and board, and card and stickWhich is the one that will be todays pick? They swiftly snatch a morning snack.One flies away,One flies back. Popular Poems for Funerals & Non-religious Readings. To lose ones wealth is sad indeed,To lose ones health is more,To lose ones soul is such a lossThat no man can restore. But a bird that stalksdown his narrow cagecan seldom see throughhis bars of ragehis wings are clipped andhis feet are tiedso he opens his throat to sing. For you may findWhen you clear the hilly topThat the brakes of life may seizeAnd take you to a messy stop. Funeral Poems For Cricketers "A Cricketer's Last Boundary" )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! 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. But now my shift is overIve done my very bestLast orders; its time for closureAnd time for me to rest. Over and over againjust as he had done all his serving dayshis lips would still defiantly and valiantly speakof how he had fought so hard that enemy flamewith every ounce of strength his body could aim. When you decide to call me LordIn Your special way,Could there be a team one player shortWho might ask me to play? When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. 5. There . Always dressed in the finest clothes,A true fashionista no-one could oppose.Your style was so impeccable and bold;Your passion for fashion will never grow old. Id like to sow the barren spotswith all the flowers of earth,To leave a path where those who comeshould find but gentle mirth;And when at last Im called uponto join the heavenly throngId like to feel along my wayId left no sign of wrong. 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. A Drinking Song - W. B. Yeats - a short verse pondering over the role of wine and love in life. And if I dieBefore you do,Ill go to heavenAnd wait for you. 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. Cricket is played by two teams of eleven players and two umpires. Tiny Angel can you tell me,Why you have gone away?You werent here for very longWhy is it, you couldnt stay? 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. give me the flavourof butterscotch and vanillawith a little chocolateplease and thank you. You filled our home with happinessand made our life complete.The time we had with youwas far too short, but oh so sweet. Abraham Lincoln. When youre lost, when youre alone,and you can see nothing but the darkness,when the shadowy fingers of night reach out,to envelope you in their icy embrace,till every breath only causes you pain,and despair is your only loyal companion. 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. A product of where youve been, What youve done and what theyve seen, Theyve learnt most from the example you have set, So not totally to blame, Not too different, but the same, We all think we tried our very best, and yet? 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 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. Your ship is anchored in Gods Harbour.And your ship mates, now of equal rank.Are mustered on the deck to greet.And Pipe as you ascend the Plank. Understand?Number one in all the landSuperhuman, super-spannedIn control and in commandIm the man, Im the manThe one and only goalie with my expanding hands! We rubbed our chins and scratched our heads just what did it mean?Try menacing, or angry,or something in between? Poems for those who had a love and appreciation for art during their life. The NHS Overused? And then I thought, Everythingis a miracle, even the toadthat lives under the lilac bush,even the nasty-tempered robinthat steals the food from the other birds,even the little lump of claythat I, in my clumsy way,will shape into a potto hold some wildflowers,even the windthat scatters the leaves and the seedsand the tiny pebbles, eventhe rain that falls, even the sunthat makes everything grow. So dance with me this eveningAbove the lands belowThe clouds provide our dance floorNeath the light of those we know. When you were a boy I dreamedOf the man you would become;But life had other plans for youWith challenges more than one. White wings will carry you and you will be flown. play up! 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. Then as the leaves tumbleRemember me as a crimson jewelAs we allcarryon, humble,Until the cows come home. And yet the cares are manyand the hours of toil are few;There is not time enough on earthfor all Id like to do;But, having lived and having toiled,Id like the world to findSome little touch of beautythat my soul had left behind. I know how much you wish Id stayedI feel so very blessedOf all the people to have in my worldI got the very best. Here is the funeral poem: Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, 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. That man taught me to ride a bike,And even how to fly a kite.He taught me to know wrong from right,When to run and when to fight. The archer and his bowWithout each other are nothing,But when they come togetherThey become quite something. Years were not easy, many downright hard, but your faith in God transcended,Put away your tools and sleep in peace. Tiny Angel shook his head,These things I do not knowBut I do know that you love me,And that I love you so., This was a life that had hardly begunNo time to find your place in the SunNo time to do all you could have doneBut we loved you enough for a lifetimeNo time to enjoy the world and its wealthNo time to take life down off the shelfNo time to sing the songs of yourselfThough you had enough love for a lifetime. Karate is not just a fight,But a path to a better self,A journey through the darkest night,To a place of health and wealth. To shake our gravity up. 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. Michael Ashby A fun, slightly religious poem with plenty of bingo terminology within.Numbers Up Rebecca Spilsbury A wonderfully moving poem urging the bereaved to live on proudly.Prayer For Bingo Players Bob Barci A fun prayer asking for the perfect conditions for a bingo night.Twenty-Four Numbers anon A poem about the joys of bingo. 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. 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. Youll be greetedby a nice cup of coffeewhen you get to heavenand strains of angelic harmonyBut wouldnt you be devastatedif they only serve decaffeinatedwhile from the percolators of hellyour soul was assaultedBy Satans fresh espresso smell?
Ann Carole John Prine,
Funeral Homes In Rocky Mount, Nc,
Hardwicke Funeral Home Clarksville, Arkansas Obituaries,
Billy Joel Concert Cancellations,
Articles C