Cricket Poems - Modern Award-winning Cricket Poetry : All Poetry Poems / Cricket Poems - The best poetry on the web anolderambler Follow Nov '22 Cricket T20 sun-soaked, in a blaze of glory bowlers marauding torn grass blades ball-ridden lost amidst an everlong green morning If the juggler is tired now, if the broom standsIn the dust again, if the table starts to dropThrough the daily dark again, and though the plateLies flat on the table top,For him we batter our handsWho has won for once over the worlds weight. He wanted someone to hold usAnd show respect for others.He wanted someone whod be gentle,So he created mothers. Until we lose. Poems about losing a child, especially at a young age. I can sit here in my room at nightAnd dream of you out thereAnd make a blanket just for youWith tender loving care. Aunts have no wands or wings,So they work with wisdom, love, and things.Having taken on this role,You loved me right down to my soul. The sadness of the present daysIs locked and set in time.And moving to the futureIs a slow and painful climb. Someday when Im all grown up,Youre what I want to be.Then I will have a little childWholl want to follow me. Tolkien A wonderful verse about sailing off to the West; perfect for a Lord of the Rings fan.Crossing The Bar Alfred Lord Tennyson Another of Tennysons famous verses about mans final journey.Gone From My Sight (What Is Dying?) Well always rememberthat special smile,that caring heart,that warm embrace,you always gave us.You being therefor Grandma and usthrough good and bad times,no matter what.Well always rememberyou Grampa becausetherell never be another oneto replace you in our hearts,and the love we will alwayshave for you. He firmly held his bowl in handHis eyes they were unblinking;None could tell what he had plannedOr just what he was thinking.Then slowly down his body wentHis bowl arm was at the readyTo neither side his torso leantHe was so sure and steady. But I was patient and not het upEyes looking down, ears pricked like a pupId calmly wait to hear the callThe call that says this is the ball. I will go forward with my head up high.It might be hard, I cannot lie. 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. Thousands of bells chimed overheadTheir lovely tone shaping my thoughtsSplendid new lands danced in my sightBut with ten thousand bells as my guideI would never be lost. We both are made by one in the same.We grew to be different, Im not to blame. Remember Me. The sun goes down,But gentle warmthStill lingers on the land. In our hearts there is a placeThat only you can hold;Filled with loving memoriesMore precious than gold. I shot an arrow into the air,It fell to earth; I knew not where.For, so swiftly it flew, the sightCould not follow it in its flight. Now I cant except this endingAnd as its time for me to leavePlease make haste to the receptionTo enjoy my drinks, theyre free! 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. 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! The gardener, with his spade and hoe,Works in the sun and rain and snow;He digs and plants and waters too,And watches over what he grew. But now their time on earth is doneAnd we gather to say goodbyeWell remember them very fondlyAs we look up at the night sky. Slumber sweetly little oneUpon your dusty bed.The earth be both your blanketAnd pillow for your head. Its all the stories you told,The places youve been.Its every sunset that you caughtand every cent you spent. So set, before its echoes fade,The fleet foot on the sill of shade,And hold to the low lintel upThe still-defended challenge-cup. So let us all be gardeners fair,And tend to life with love and care,And watch the seeds we plant come through,To bloom and flourish, strong and true. The fire tone rang. So to the gamblers, the men here for businessThe track shows no mercy, their wives less forgivenessNo time for a banter, or a welcoming kissFor they come here to deal, this arena their office. We will all miss your fashion and grace,But our memory of you will never be erased.Rest in peace, our dear lover of fashionForever will live your legacy and passion. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits andAre melted into air, into thin air:And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-cappd towers, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolveAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack behind. Popular funeral poems and readings. ThanksDad, for teaching us to be strong,ThanksDad, for showing us whats right and wrong.ThanksDad, for giving us enough love and shelter,ThanksDad, for sharing with us our tears and laughter.ThanksDad, for teaching us to stand on our own,ThanksDad, for all the love and care you have shown.ThanksDad, for giving us support and inspiration,ThanksDad, for guiding us in our decision-making.ThanksDad, for being responsible, kind, and hardworking,ThanksDad, for lending us your time when were concentrating.ThanksDad, for loving us from deep inside your heart,ThanksDad, for hoping to be with us when we were apart.ThanksDad, for showing us how a realDadshould be,ThanksDad, for always caring for mum, my brother, and me.What more can we ask from a great father like you,For special fathers like you are so far between and few.ThanksDad, for showing us unconditional caring and love,We hope,Dad, that you can read and hear this from above. The empty spots beckon; They yearn to be filled And if Im successful Im quietly thrilled. The Bird That Was Trapped Has Flown James Robertson Several metaphors for a physically disabled person set free.Caged Bird Maya Angelou A wonderfully poetic verse which is at times a difficult metaphor for disability.Not Quite Right E. B. Broken beyond repair? Always with that memory of failure.Always with the possibility of more. so sad, recurringWhat good amid these, O me, O life? We did so much togetherrode in carsshared our lovenear the campfireWith soft and tender armsTamed broken pasts. My toes may bleedAnd my knees, grow weakBut Ill never stop dancingNot until I reach my peak. So tell me nowAnd tell me true.So I can sayIm here for you.. All the times when your heart shined throughare the greatest memories I have of you. On a warm summers eveningOn a train bound for nowhereI met up with the gamblerWe were both too tired to sleepSo we took turns a-starinOut the window at the darknessThe boredom overtook usAnd he began to speak. They move through threatening ghostsFeeling them cool as mistOn their brows. And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread. Theres not a pair of legs so thin, theres not a head so thick,Theres not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick.But it can find some needful job thats crying to be done,For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one. I am the last barman poet,I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make,Americans getting stinky on something I stir or shake,The Sex on the Beach, the schnapps made from peach,The Velvet Hammer, The Alabama Slammer,I make things with juice and froth,The Pink Squirrel, the 3-toed Sloth,I make drinks so sweat and snazzy,The Iced Tea, the Kamikazi,The Orgasm, the Death Spasm,The Singapore Sling,The Dingaling.America youve just been devoted to every flavor I got,But if you want to got loaded,Why dont you just order a shot?Bar is open. It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though my own red roses there may blow; It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though the red roses crest the caps, I know. Poems for those who enjoyed filling in those tantalising blanks across and down. So be kind to your partners and dont mind their cheek.For its only a game Oh! Don't know if your F-in-Law was a church go-er but a good single line quote from the great Dickie Bird is below "Nid siocled yw popeth brown." O my goodness, whatever do I seeIs that a man coming over to meI feel a blush come from neck to my faceAnd my poor heart is beginning to race. 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. This suffering flesh, 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. 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. Short Cricket Quotes I'm jealous of my parents; I "ll never have a kid as cool as theirs. 'Trees' is by far the most famous. Im all the jobs rolled into one:Host, therapist, friend.I give the people what they want;Im basically a godsend. 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. realize,when I dive into the sea,Im part of something greater yet. Below are the all-time best Rugby poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. It serves as a mark of respect to all who played in 2010 and as a memorial to the unknown village side, especially to those who may knowingly or unknowingly . I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.To the gulls way and the whales way where the winds like whetted knife:And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long tricks over. Ive seen her use that apronTo wipe her dripping browAs she laboured over the big rangeThats just an antique now. Green sod above, Lie light, lie light. I do not despair If a few I cant solve But begin on the down clues With extra resolve. Show all. There is a train at the stationWith a seat reserved just for meIm excited about its destinationAs Ive heard it sets you free. Block A poem about what a hard-working sailor will do once his working life is over.Sea Fever John Masefield A touching poem asking for a quiet sleep and a sweet dream at the end of life.Some Time At Eve Elizabeth Clark Hardy A lovely verse about passing away quietly and without fuss.The Voyage Christie Moore A poem about a couple navigating life together, and with friends.When The Last Hand Comes Aboard Richard John Scarr A religious poem about completing a ships crew. The warriors spirit is like a flameThat burns so bright, lighting the wayAnd its fire will always remainIn the hearts of those who train each day. Here are the opening lines of 10 beautiful poems for funerals. Never will I be covered in tattoosMy legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.Ill never paint or carry a tuneForever and ever, Ill wear a tutu. I Will Dance With You Again Mike Miller A beautiful poem spoken in the knowledge of seeing our loved ones again.The Tea Dance Beryl Edmonds A poem about the struggles of moving on after losing your dance partner.They Who Dance Marjorie Allen Seiffert A poem about admiration for those whose bodies sing triumphantly. They are all mostly non-religious funeral poems but can be used as part of any service whether in a church or a secular ceremony. Your email address will not be published. He selects the wood very carefullyThe grain and the colour so beautifullyLooking along the edge its straightAnd feeling it, it has a good weight, Remember to measure twice and cut onceIs the rule of thumb before you pounceHe knows the work and the craftsmans toolsAs he saws, planes and sands to carpenters rules, The joints are a woodworkers art and a pleasure to seeWhen glued together strong and straight it will beThe last piece of the carpenters work is at handTo finish is to wax the wood for a look thats grand. 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. You loved the roaring of the crowd,The rush of victory,You loved the sweat, the tears, the toil,The adrenaline, so sweet. When I speak your name,Its because you no longer can,And I want the world to knowWhat a goof I had. And sometimes glanced at the play, 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? 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. Though I may forget you,its important that you seejust how much it means to methat you remember me. But now youre gonebut yet youre hereWell sense you everywhere.You are our sorrow and our joy,Theres love in every tear. Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,If its only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden. Thtitiede. Poems about those who suffered from and in some cases, succumbed to addiction. If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, dont deal in lies,Or being hated, dont give way to hating,And yet dont look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dreamand not make dreams your master;If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth youve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: Hold on!. That man was made of many partsA teacher of lifes skills and artsFull of love and full of careWith much to give, and much to share. 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. Beer Is Just Fine - Roy Pett - A humorous verse deliberating over the wonders of beer. Thanks The third candle we light in your memory: the times we laughed, the times we cried,the times we were angry towards each other, the silly things you did, and the caring and joy you gave us. And if theres an occasionTo mention who you knewSpeak kindly of that personAs one day it will be you. The boxer stands with his gloves at the readyHis gait sure and steadyHis eyes aware and to the foreHis mind on the bout and nothing more, But deep within, and on his face writtenAre the many scars of a life hard-bittenAnd while neer shy of a hard-fought fightThere is no longer within the feeling of delight, His face has too oft been made to payBy an opponent better on the dayAnd though within beats the heart of a lionHis poor pummelled body has given up tryin, And while a fighter to his very coreJust the smell of gloves now he does abhorYet, still he stands, eyes puffed and blood galoreStill ready to wage a pugilists war. Bury Me In LycraWith a bike-shaped brooch above my heartTake me not by motor-hearseBut pulled by trike, upon a cart. Search the forum using the power of Google, Lost my Dad recently and my son is hoping to do a reading at the memorial service at church. Develop your talents;They are unique.Use your time well;Listen only to positive critique. Ive finished lifes chores assigned to me,So put me on a boat headed out to sea.Please send along my fishing poleFor Ive been invited to the fishin hole. Invented one day by a guy named Webb How do go "I have a. Poems for those who were avid football fans or skilled football players. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tideIs a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying. The LORD is my caddie; I shall not whiff.He maketh me to drive straight down green fairways:He leadeth me over the still waters.He restoreth my swing:He leadeth me in the paths of truthfulness for the games sake.Yea, though I pitch through the valley of the shadow of the woods,I will fear no bunkers: for thou art with me;Thy wedge and thy putter they comfort me.Thou preparest a line before me in the presence of mind hazards:Thou anointest my stroke with confidence;the cup will not be runneth over.Surely birdies and eagles shall follow me all the rounds of my life:and I will dwell in the clubhouse of the LORD for ever. Villanelle Of Spring BellsBells in the town alight with springconverse, with a concordance of new airsmake clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing. Here is the funeral poem: Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, So tell me, what do you do up in heaven?Are your days filled with love and light?Is there music? 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. We trust that beyond absence there is a presence.That beyond the pain there can be healing.That beyond the brokenness there can be wholeness.That beyond the anger there may be peace.That beyond the hurting there may be forgiveness.That beyond the silence there may be the word.That beyond the word there may be understanding.That through understanding there is love. Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here, Warm southern wind, Blow softly here. When a job was finished his tools had to be clean, because he was the boss of a slap-happy working team. Without any doubt or fearmy favourite drink is surely beer,anything from pale, to brown alein fact any beer thats on sale,never halves, only pints or largerstout, bitter, smooth or golden lager,wonderful taste of malt and hopsproduced from ripe natural crops,must be drunk cold never warmdrinking good beer will do no harm,beer surely doesnt cause a beer bellydrink too much makes you very silly,you can keep your spirits and winea good pint of beer to me is just fine,beer is drunk north, south, east and westevery country thinks their beers the best. For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears . But it is only a game, right?So we stand up, we shake hands.We move on with our lives. The Fisher by Ruby Archer. When these graven lines you see,Traveller, do not pity me;Though I be among the dead,Let no mournful word be said. 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. Your angels share is there to be asked forOf the malt whisky escaped from oak casksYou can savour a peaty Macallan 46For a drink that will forever last. When great trees fallin forests,small things recoil into silence,their senseseroded beyond fear. Ourteam Which artelevenHallowedbethy gameOurmatch be wonTheirscorebenoneOn turf Aswe score at leastseven Give us today no card of redAnd forgiveusourlostpassesAswe forgivethoseWho lose passesagainstusLeadusnot intoretaliationAnd deliverusfrompenaltiesForthreeisthe kick offThepower and scorerForeverandeverFulltime! all is alive,all dances on through time and space,so find the highest tastein all thingson your journeyinto love. Grandmas quilts held memories,Of bygone days and years,Of loved ones gathered round the hearth,And tales of joy and cheer. J.G. Whats with this ballThat they could kick so high?It meant the worldTo you and them, so why? 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.