I am the wind in your hair, the sand in your toesButterfly kisses that you feel on your noseI am with you at sunrise and in the sunsetBut you cannot see me, its my one regret. Pray dont find fault with the man who limpsor stumbles along the road,unless you have worn the shoes he wearsor struggled beneath his load.There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,though hidden away from view,or the burden he bears, placed on your backmight cause you to stumble too.Dont sneer at the man whos down todayunless you have felt the blowthat caused his fall or felt the shamethat only the fallen know.You may be strong, but still the blowsthat were his if dealt to you,in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,might cause you to stagger too.Dont be too harsh with the man who sinsor pelt him with word or stone,unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,that you have no sins of your ownfor you know perhaps if the tempters voiceshould whisper as softly to youas it did to him when he went astray,it might cause you to stumble too. 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. 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. All the times when your heart shined throughare the greatest memories I have of you. If we could just slow down enoughTo consider whats true and realAnd always try to understandThe way other people feel. Brother when you weep for me, remember that it was meant to be,Lay me down and when you leave, remember Ill be at your sleeveIn every dark and choking hall, Ill be there as you slowly crawlOn every roof in driving snow; Ill hold your coat and you will know.In cellars hot with searing heat; at windows where at a gate you meet;In closets where young children hide: you know Ill be there at your side.The house from which I now respond is overstaffed with heroes gone;Men who answered one last bell did the job and did it well.As firemen we understand that deaths a card dealt in our hand,A card we hope we never play but one we hold there anyway.That card is something we ignore as we crawl across a weakened floor,For we know that were the only prayer for anyone that might be thereSo remember, as you wipe your tears, the joy I knew throughout the yearsAs I did the job I loved to do I pray that thought will see you through. Langston Hughes remarks: As Befits a Man. I do not want these words to make you cry.I do not want to ever say goodbye. I read of a man who stood to speakAt the funeral of a friendHe referred to the dates on the tombstoneFrom the beginning to the end. Beer Is Just Fine - Roy Pett - A humorous verse deliberating over the wonders of beer. Musically, perhaps a bit sentimental, "When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease" by Roy Harper. Floral Tribute, which has been distributed by Armitage's publisher, Faber, is a double acrostic . Too many to paste into the thread, enjoy! Then gracefully his arm went outHe knew how he would bowl itWrong bias there!, then came the shoutWouldnt ya bloody know it!Here is a little message Make it a golden rule Always check your biasAnd you wont be a fool! Dont cry for me, please dont be sadHold on to the memories of the times we both hadDont dwell on dark thoughts, hold on tight to your wishesSending you hugs and butterfly kisses. I juggle for my friends, and keep them all aglow,With love and trust and faith that nothing can oerthrow,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. A place of work where people doAs if about to do: concentratesThe readers face, lift up the lampTo look for something in the book, and turnThe page, and then read on and lift it upAgain. 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. I imagine you watchingThe many things I doProudly standing beside meAs I remember and honour you. My pencil is ready; The boxes are bare. As I grew older so did he,But that man was always there for meHis love, unspoken, but strong and clear,Of that, I have no doubt or fear. Brothers Steve Mason A poem contemplating the unique bond of trust and loyalty that brothers share.For My Brother Shelly Domenici A touching tribute to a brother gone too soon.Memories Tamarah M. Olsen A poem reflecting upon the fond memories shared with a brother.My Brother anon A poem reflecting the many ups and downs of a relationship with a brother. We rowed, my friend and I, out past the swallowing reeds and the water lilies to where the river opened into a world of morning light and the herons voices and the musky scent of redemption and then we dipped our oars in unison and glided silently toward heaven. Too soon he left to travelBeyond where we can seeBut its all about the journeyForever riding free. They are not in any particular order or category as every person interprets a poem in their own way. One day you will all forgive meOne day you will understandAnd when your time on earth is doneI will be waiting to take your hand. For they existed. 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. Rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, and birdsDogs, and cats, and everything furredAn interest in creatures in others she stirredAnd through illness, she went on, undeterred. Another day has come again,As time moved surely on But nothing now seems quite the same,To know that he is gone.The days and weeks and months aheadWill never be the same Because a treasure beyond wordsCan never be replaced. All poems featured on this website are free to use during any ceremony, although it is good practice to make sure the author is mentioned, if known. We shared ourBirthdaySince I was five.My wish now will beTo have you back healthyAnd alive. 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. A Redevelopment Update, NBD: Last Tarvo 2, Specialized Tero X, Crankbros Mallet Trail, This topic has 9 replies, 6 voices, and was last updated. The water can be healing It always was for me Just take time to rememberAnd I think that you will see. Luther F. Beecher. IM driving this thing, and this car is ME,And its all worn out, but I made it work. Bury Me In Lycra! Closer, the bowlers arm swept down, So let us honour and embrace,Their quiet heart that leaves a trace,Of love and peace, and gentle serene,A vital part of who theyve been. I cant say goodbye.I cant acceptYour death.You will live in my heartForeverUntil my last breath. 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. so sad, recurringWhat good amid these, O me, O life? The ceremony is conducted by a humanist celebrantand it is both a celebration of a life and a dignified, personal farewell. This suffering flesh, Anger, hate, sorrow and fear, emotions within meant to be kept at bay,Courage, patients, persistence within ones mind and soul each dayThe art of fighting is so much more than just effective ways to kill,It sharpens and enriches the human mind with each new learned skill. That Hand is you, Old Sailor.And youll be sailing out on Heavenly Seas.May the wind be ever at your back.Fair weather, and God Speed! Unknown Life is simply a cricket match, with temptation as the bowler. Its notA light-hearted thing, resents its own resilience.Falling is what it loves, and the earth fallsSo in our hearts from brilliance,Settles and is forgot.It takes a sky-blue juggler with five red balls. The sounds of all your heartbeatsAre my sweetest melodyAnd at all my heavenly bedtimeThe angels play it back to me. These will be suitable for memorial services as well as funeral readings. 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. Roy Harpers When an old Cricketer leaves the crease has been mentioned. Poems reflecting a passion and love for birds, bird-watching, and anything remotely aviary in nature. Then as the leaves tumbleRemember me as a crimson jewelAs we allcarryon, humble,Until the cows come home. Poems for those who made a career moulding and shaping wood, or who simply enjoyed it as a pastime. That you are proud of us and that we will be together again. 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. But I couldnt imagine anything id rather be,causelifeas a hairdresser is thelifefor me! When things go wrong as they sometimes willWhen the road youre running seems all uphillWhen the funds are low, and the debts are highAnd youre trying to smile but you have no sighWhen cares are pressing you down a bit,Rest if you must,But dont you quit. I imagine you laughingYour heart lovingly set freeYou understand my griefIn ways I cannot see. Should you require a celebrant for your ceremony, be it a funeral, a wedding, a naming ceremony or something else, feel free to get in touch. And we must play on. A flame of great power starts within ones heart and soul and mind,That pushes every man to a breaking point so that improvement he will find,Martial arts is more than the art of combat or disarming a gun or knife,Martial arts is food for the mind body and soul, martial arts is a way of life! Poems for those who loved exploring caves and caverns underground. The Driver Graeme Cook A gorgeous poem for those who felt at one with their car, rather than merely driving it.Fast Car Jamie Blake A hectic poem ideal for some who drove fast and perhaps passed away in a motoring accident.Racing Car Poem Martin Dejnicki A poem about racing, perhaps Formula 1, and the adrenaline rush it produces.Whos Driving This Car? When I speak your name,It still brings music to my ears,And I can still see your smileAs if heaven is so near. Grandmas quilts were always there,A comforting, colourful sight,A source of warmth and motherly love,On cold and lonely nights. When I was born that man was there,Tall and strong and fair of hair.He watched my mother give me birth,As I fought my way onto this Earth. I brood not over the broken past,Nor dread whatever time may bring;No nights are dark, no days are long,While in my heart there swells a song,And I can sing. Theres a picture I cant look away fromWith simplicity of your innocence.Theres a picture of what love can becomeWith simplicity, strength and elegance. 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. We mix the colours of sorrow and laughterAnd add the colours of experience and the years that passed.The souls we will always rememberAnd the moments we will never forget. Poems about people who liked a drink - in a healthy way. 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. Long, long afterward, in an oakI found the arrow, still unbroke.And the song, from beginning to end,I found again in the heart of a friend. 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. Teasing, rolling, need a little clip.Hairspray, blow dry, one more snip.Color, rinse, perm after perm.For a hairdresser, work-a-holic is our term. Its not only just the silks, and the colour and the flair, Or all the many kindred folk that I find gathered there, Sharing the excitement of the journey jockeys facing, That whips me to action, for another day of racing. The poet laureate, Simon Armitage, has released a poem to mark the death of Queen Elizabeth II. Like every other Yorkshire boy I dreamt of days of skill and joy Bashing centuries for the county White rose cap sufficient bounty Famous for setting new records And stuffing Middlesex at Lords. Heaven by Rupert Brooke. Golden wheat in sheaves preparedFor winter that will reign,The story of the life of manTold by the golden grain. Over'? The archer and his bowCannot be torn apart;For shot after shotThey share the same heart. Im all the jobs rolled into one:Host, therapist, friend.I give the people what they want;Im basically a godsend. Take my ash, and let it fly,Oer the land of ShimanoBut save some for Italia fairAnd the fields of Campagno(lo). When great trees fallin forests,small things recoil into silence,their senseseroded beyond fear. There were some lovely lines in the eulogy for Phillip Hughes. Where on Shaftesbury Cres, the kids now play. The band upstairs is striking upFor me they now awaitTo play again I now can doAs I pass through heavens gate. 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. They who danceFind infinite golden floorsBeneath their feet. They laugh and have a kick around. Id like to remember all those times I hit the mark,Or when, as a friend, I was a light in the dark.Id like to recall all the times Id always be there,Despite sometimes arriving with just moments to spare. When he put them all together,He was amazed at what hed done.He had created a family,Mother, father, daughter, son. Life gave you many challenges Too many to be fair I only wish in all those timesI could have been right there. The funeral bell is ringing for one, a last goodbye,And on the clock of our mortality, the hours just seem to fly,Respect to the departed is all that we can pay,And for each and every one of us, a final night and day. The archer and his bowCelebrate victory!The greatest of allThe archers in history. The first verse of Sir Henry Newbolt's 'Play the Game'? You know Ill never leave youeven when Im far awayIn the moments when the words stopand your breath gets in the wayI will softly say I love youbarely louder than the breezeSo I hope you gently listento my voice between the trees. But all the feelings that are nowSo vivid and so realCant hold their fresh intensityAs time begins to heal. Hes asked me if I would care to danceCant refuse, so Ill take the chanceTrembling as he takes me into his armsGliding together as the music starts. In this lonely place, beside a spring,I brew my tea and dream.The green leaves dance and whisper secretsIn the quiet afternoon sun. T he one person I could always take my troubles to. Dad was an avid cricket fan and we wanted something appropriate for him to read. The draping, it is perfectNo wrinkles will you seeA symbol of a nationA reminder that were free. Butterflies From Heaven anon A poem about what it might mean when a butterfly comes to you.Butterfly Kisses John F. Connor A poem which equates the butterfly to the spirit of those who have left us behind.Little Butterfly Amy Farquhar A poem for a person who lived their life cocooned within the love of their friends.On A Butterflys Wings Jim Howard A short, slightly religious poem about the journey to the next life.While Waiting For Thee anon A beautiful, brief verse about the soul of the departed dancing in the air around us. 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. I pray the umpire knows his job,And doesnt lift his finger.But if he does I pledge to you:Ill not forlornly linger. 3. For it matters not, how much we own,The cars, the house, the cash;What matters is how we live and loveAnd how we spend our dash. Im sorry, friends, that I cant be with you here today.If youre gathered reading this, it means Ive passed away.But if I were there, Id tell you not to shed a tear or frown.Id tell you just to simply say, Another Biker has gone down.. 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.