That he planned his funeral is factual
And being a prankster quite actual
He prerecorded his voice
So when we kneeled on the joist
He said, "Hi there! Don't I look natural."
Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer | Year Posted 2008
When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
While a man was golfing in Fife
a funeral cortege was arife,
his head bowed in prayer
at this somber affair
to pay last respects to his wife!
Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010
They tried to make you go to Rehab...
Shoulda' packed your bags ta' Rehab...
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
He had a few drinks the night before,
enough to mistake the waiter for a door.
T'would help him remember
he thought to himself,
the fun to be had in the coming of day.
He'd married a Madame
with her perfumes and pearls,
a painted smile
as he watched her walk
with first one foot
and then the next,
stepping in time to his funeral march.
They'd promised forever in those very same rooms,
with their sad yellow curtains and broken blooms.
This could have been a wedding
there were vows to make-
I, Harold, un-take June as my wife,
for better, not worse,
for richer not poorer.
With his eyes on her profile
he thought to himself
that she'd never looked more radiant
than she did today.
A few odd words and then it was done,
all i's were dotted
and the t's crossed
to pronounce them completely
un-manned and de-wifed.
“Fancy some lunch at The Ritz, my love?"
“Alright then, darling. You drive.”
Copyright © Leileah Kasperyan | Year Posted 2016
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Here lies a man who had no name.
There was a funeral; Nobody came.
No one cried, and None was blamed
Only three men attended; what a shame.
Copyright © Tara Andre | Year Posted 2013
He was a great doctor,
A pretty swell friend,
An intelligent person...
Except at the end.
Copyright © Tara Andre | Year Posted 2012
The Contest for my Heart
Ah yes, a one time event
Black widows, black roses, red blood flows
Capture my heart
With your affections or the carving knife
Cut and bleed me as you wish
Shower me with your passions
I shall drink to the butchers dream
Of dinner severed for two
Or me served on a plate to you
The table clothe is romantically red
Our love affair left me ending up dead
On my tomb the flowers bloom
The epitaph cryptic under the moon
Here lies a man without a heart
I had the candle
I had the wine
She had the bitchers knife
She committed the crime
I may be buried in the cemetery of the forgotten
However my heart remains ice cold
It’s still in her fridge
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
There was an old lady from Ireland
Who was frightened to death by a brass band
We watched with dismay
As without delay
They buried her corpse in the band stand
Contest : Slapstick Limerick Contest
Copyright © Nick Bagnall | Year Posted 2011
the crowds taking the subways
enter the underground
below upon waking
to rise up
in the clouds above
only to go back in the evening
down through the underground
low upon leaving
to final rest
in the underground
or in the clouds above
Copyright © RUDOLPH RINALDI | Year Posted 2015
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2012
A crowded table, all suspended in shock
The sound of the shot dimming to a ‘knock’
Only silence, except for the marching clock
The weapon still smoking; an anonymous glock
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
Loud cries arise from the elongated table,
Jack Frost is shocked, the Tooth Fairy unable
To speak whilst Santa is checking the stable
For clues on the erstwhile maidservant Mable
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
They searched for hours, called in C.S.I,
Panic set in, would the children all cry?
Sandman confirmed the bunny had died
Batman suspected somebody had lied
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
Guests were quizzed, interrogations began
The mystery unfolded when Santa Claus ran,
Grabbing the pies, he tried escaping in a van
But was stopped in his tracks by superman
SANTA KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY!
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Here lies the Rock Climber,
Who climbed up ol' Mt. Everest
And then let go.
Copyright © Tara Andre | Year Posted 2013
I stood in the doorway frozen in fear,
Your coffin was within;
The room was empty of sound and of life,
I could see you resting.
In peace, your pain was gone,
But mine was beginning;
Wanting to scream, I fled, I ran away,
Down the dark street weeping.
I ran away from you,
Like a pigeon who has flown the coop;
I went back to that room,
Be strong was your whisper.
Proudly, standing at your coffin smiling,
Remembering fun you;
And visitors telling,
And we were all laughing.
Like the time you put the wallpaper,
Upside down and Mom yelling;
And the phone call one day,
Dad is hanging on roof.
And how can I forget the chainsaw time,
When you cut down the trees;
And trees, until you were stopped,
Rest in peace, until I join you in the above.
April 20, 2015
For the contest, The Pigeon Who Flew The Coop, sponsor, Tammy Reams
Note Regarding This Poem: I wanted to show how my Dad's funeral was full of
happy stories of his antics, he was quite the character and everyone who attended
had a story to tell. There was so much laughter. It was sadness and funny mixed
together, an odd combination.
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
I asked for strength for the journey
But its in the journey I find the strength
I hear lost souls cry out
These are more than just words that I think
Yeah I'm on the brink of disaster
Lady Luck I'll come by and see you later
But at this time I'm ending the game I only got like ten minutes
But actually I'm running five minutes late
Yeah! its kinda like my life story
Yep, the red foe is crushed now
Sure, I'm just like lightning that is struck down
Like the beginning of wisdom, is to distinguish the differences
I face my fears, I continue in the face of resistance
Because the path of least resistance is what makes both men and rivers crooked
If I have another hearing the judge will throw the book at me
And last night, Oh my GOD why did you forsake me
I got on my knees and prayed for guidance through this darkness
I went back to where it started: and I walked away, took away the threat and became the target
Of course I'm more than just a product of my environment
I'm entirely> Aware that there are 2 kinds of conspiracy
The conspiracy of the government and the conspiracy of the devil
My soul is here just to show you, you must dig deeper inside yourself
I've reached way past the point where it seems hopeless
Every door in Sweetwater is closed to me
So I close the door to hell and open the door to heaven
It was God who said everything my hand touched would prosper
And my hand has touched this keyboard
And my voice is just screaming out to touch that microphone
"Get your microphone and make it pretty; Put a skull around it for this city"
Copyright © Timothy Jacks | Year Posted 2012
“Coffins. Who’d of thought it? Catalogues for coffins. And the speed and efficient nature of funerals in general. I mean I know we’ve been doing them for years, but we’re very good at it aren’t we?”
“No, but really the whole thing has just been one task after the other, call the funeral home, call the hospital, call the crematorium, call the family, call the papers, call the lawyers.” She paused, “I’d half-forgotten someone had died!”
“And the things that always seemed like jokes – he always said he thought he should hedge his bets with the man upstairs just in case the religious folks got it right, but was that serious?”
“And the funeral director, oh the funeral director trying to tactfully ask if he was a fat man, by asking if we needed one urn or two.”
“I mean the whole thing is just too funny.”
At the funeral everyone cried.
Copyright © lex treenie | Year Posted 2013
She chose a red scarf. The most red
of them all.
Of a dark red, a sweet and thick red color,
just as wine.
She carved from the red scarf
from the middle
to the size of a Martini glass.
Then she carved one more glass,
and she kept carving
till she fell asleep.
she saw her Beloved Moth
flirting with a Younger Moth,
carving together from a sweater
while she was getting busy,
carving in the shelves.
The Unhappy Moth drank lots of wine
She drank lots, too much
for a Moth.
The Unhappy Moth got drunk
and fell asleep
on the red scarf,
with a heart filled with peace.
She was not afraid no more.
Now she could be seen easily,
laying on the scarf
and easily crushed.
The Unhappy Moth was not
afraid of death no more,
at least, now she knew
how wonderful the red scarfs are
and that they taste
like red wine.
Copyright © Doina Postolachi | Year Posted 2012
Henrietta just a pet chicken
Loves attention and holding
torments the jealous dog by tapping on the door
Plays dead like a duck once tooo often
Doggie thinks KFC....yum
Henrietta taking a dirt nap under a pine tree.
tears and sorrow!!
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2012
"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."
Please do not edit the quote , or add anything to it, use as given.
It can be the first line of your poem if that is what you want
FAMILIARITY GROWN STRANGE, COMFORTS NAUSEATED.
CARRESSING HANDS CAUSING SHUDDERS WITH
THEIR CLAMMY COLD TOUCH.
PASSION PAUSES IN YOUR AVERTED EYES,
WHILE YOUR LIPS PRETEND TO SAY OTHERWISE.
THIS EMOTIONAL HAULOCOST
CAUSING MY ARMEGEDDON.
IF ONLY MY HISTORY,
IS TO REMAIN, RATHER
THAN REMAIN THE MOMENTS,
OF MY PRESENT REPEATING THE,
SAME SONGS OF SORROW.
METHOIC MEMORIES HYPNOTIZING EXISTENCE,
OBSERVING OTHERS ALLOWING DISTANCE.
BETWEEN SELF AND SENSE,
SEARCHING, THRU CROWDS OF CONFLICTS,
WITH THE OCEANS OF EYES IN THE HORIZON DROWNING,
IN THE SEA OF LIFE.
Copyright © jennifer hedrick | Year Posted 2011
He flung his arms in amusing laugh,
At the passing funeral bier,
Beside the herd of lily blossoms--
This stout little man, in his full air:
''What say...'', he asks with a chortle,
''And thus of laughter this man dies!?''--
Gave another big guffaw--
Tears filling his beady eyes.
The birds chirped, and the dogs--
They followed-up rather slow;
The deceased was laid in his cask,
With mourning women, crying low..
He mused a moment at the sight he saw,
Then burst-up in a loud 'Hee-haw'!
''Forgive me, but it's hard to take''.
(His belly danced, as he spake)
Slightly flushed,''now'', said he,
''I choke of laughter, do you see??
Tell me will I be dead next.....''
Then stopped to take a deepest gasp
With some force, and a wasp
Was sucked into that mouth and he
Agonized with pain, stifled and red,
Next we know, lay there dead.....
Copyright © Akash Yadav | Year Posted 2011
My twin sister came for a visit to New Hampshire at 30 below,
It was even more frigid when the fierce wind would blow.
Wearing her leather coat from Georgia, she didn’t have a prayer…
If it hadn’t been for a funeral, she never would have been there.
She got out of the car on arrival, and let out a squeal,
Because of a strange noise she heard that made her reel!
She said, “What’s that horrible, creepy sound?”
I replied, “It’s just the snow creaking from your feet on the cold ground!”
She said, “You have to go back to Georgia and get out of this hell hole!”
She was shivering from head to foot…the cold had taken its toll.
Later that year in the summer my revenge was oh so sweet!
It was 100 degrees in Georgia and she was complaining of the heat.
She said, “It is 110 degrees in the shade and I can’t do a thing with my hair.”
I said, “You’ve got to get out of that hell hole you have down there.”
“It is 75 degrees and beautiful, and my hair looks great!”
“You can have the weather in Georgia... this is worth the wait!”
Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2016
God Given Gratitude
Puttered around and to Poetry Soup do go
And see my great number of poems grow
Which were written by me and well-meant
Into state of ecstasy some poets were sent.
Poem appeared smack dab in middle of night
Went back to man cave and turned on light
Started writing freely and porously like I do
After a picture in my mind the poem drew.
Never would have a worry or even any fear
Words profusely on page started to appear
Into sentence after sentence they became;
To not write down would be a big shame.
I did delightfully accept the delinquent dare
To write one more poem beyond compare
Setting such a high standard poets may meet
And with each other could try and compete.
Finally, my monotonous poem is over and done
And horrors soon will be read by everyone
Why I like each Souper is their great latitude
Would God to my poems give His gratitude?
Tune in tomorrow for my next poem to borrow;
Even with sweet sorrow, Was it by Clarence Darrow?
James Thomas Horn
It is my own funeral so I chose
funeral in the subject section.
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015
1908-1934 Not taken soon enough! Not only the good die young.
For Epigram Contest
By: Richard Lamoureux
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2012
Lady bug lady bug it is fun to play and look at you,
you seem to increase in size whenever we live in some place new,
you hide in my toy, you hide in my closet
what am I am going to do with you?
Lady bug lady bug look at you, when I turn on the lights
you run with your friends and fly away too.
Lady bug Lady Bug
I am getting tired of you, you run and
alluding me in to my shoes, even when I am over you,
eating my food, you look and seem
you want me to bless you to.
Lady bug lady bug I am not having fun with you,
I am getting my mom and dad to get the
exterminator to get with you and your crew.
This poem is about a five years old kid who never saw North and
South American cockroach in his young life.
Poetry 11/26/10 by Keith Kadell
Copyright © Keith Relf | Year Posted 2012
People planters find it hard to tear
at the loss of your near and dear
At two hundred percent profits
Devastation gives them fat pockets
Diggers open up the ground
Where people sprouts can be found....
Sprouts or people dust....it is hard to know!?
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2011
At odds about the undertakers fees, Mark Twain jeered:
“There is a system of extortion going on here!”
What horrific prices to pay for just a box and hole
When it's not the body we care about, but the soul!
This clerihew is derrived from reading Mark Twains views on burying the dead. His only quotation is the second line. ( Mark Twain and the Carson City Undertaker) - February 1864
Sandra Hudson, 1/18/2012
Copyright © Sandra Hudson | Year Posted 2012
She wolf of the poetic world who run
and struggle to maintain her dignity
Our words, our dreams are falling to pieces
By, the predators of this time period
We are the prey for the fearful ones
Who scrolls and display rude comments?
Deep within as you lament over our poems
we rise up stronger than ever
Composing rhyme, lyric and prose
Unlike your hatred about likes and dislikes
Narrative poems portrays the truth
We shine, we meddled, and somehow, we win
We are stronger; death with dignity is a poet emblems
Pieces of our past anthology anguish you
Your Savage behavior bites you each time;
We compose; you pursue
We are the death of your souls
Mr. Sleepless White Nights
Your predators, you editors
Are you addicted to your inner critic
We have our rights
You confounded wretch night stalkers.
Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2012
A funny little clown, a bright red nose.
Lots of make-up, and bright blue bows.
Children laughing, some fat and some thin.
Either dressed in new clothes or rags that are faded and dim.
Pretty white ponies with beautiful glittery saddles.
And again, those funny clowns are hitting eachother with paddles.
One clown keeps fallimg and pretending to cry.
The other is daydreaming and lets out a big sigh.
There are beautiful ladies whose costumes are rare.
And a man who scares the children by dressing up as a bear.
Fantasizing is a convienient thing, it keeps the shock low.
So the surprise about the real world won't be such a big blow.
"Surprised about what"? is what you ask next.
Its something you can't learn in a text.
You'll learn about life by the things you go through.
You'll learn about whats fake and about what is true.
You'll see that the clowns are still funny and have a red nose.
But then you'll see realize only money buys the ladies rare clothes.
That's also when you realize your clothes are faded and dim.
And you recognize how many times you've been beaten by him.
Yes, those clowns with paddles are at it again.
Funny. They are married and they're children number ten.
Thier children are scared and crying in bed.
Because thier big mean daddy made thier sweet mommy dead.
Copyright © Candy Kross | Year Posted 2011
The Grace To Grow
Through peril in its intact
We have every reason by which to over react
The Grace to grow;
Many a shoulder to cry inflate the ego
Through our hard stance with fate
We lock our doors & protect out faith
In long lines at the store lest I emplore
Shades of trim left for me to begin
In oscillating ivory towers a man from Mars
The Grace to grow
From a little seed next the full grain blown to harvest once again
We can plant a seed deep enough through troubled waters come among
Shades of gems crimsome with rubbies
The cedar as a way of illumination
Perhaps I'm in need of a break on some long awaited vacation?
The Grace to grow
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2012