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Sonnet Funeral Poems | Sonnet Poems About Funeral

These Sonnet Funeral poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Sonnet Funeral poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sonnet | |

Patriot Guard funeral Escort

Patriot Guard funeral Escort
Loch David Crane
August, 2008

Today is sunny: with three dozen bikes,
some decorated cars,  a pair of trikes,
two dozen Marines: all of the family
and toddlers to set their Daddy free
into the Great Beyond beyond the sky
where loved ones send their veterans who die.
Below our feet the stones give way to grass
where they are neatly trimmed; and as we pass
the names of strangers stare into the air
and we look back, wondering who lies there.
I won't step on a grave--I'll walk around
so not to insult those within the ground.
	We ride at funerals honoring those vets,
	brave men and women we have never met.


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Sunken Tears

                                   He stood bravely before me 
                           with a medal of honor in his right hand
                        and a bandage of agony around his left knee
                           It seemed like he had struggled to stand,
                             his crutches lay useless on the ground
                                 I found it hard to understand why,
                                 a soldier in pain didn't even frown
                                      With a voice firm but dry
                                 his words shook me like thunder
                                "You're now the man of this house"
                                 he uttered like a worn-out hunter
                            quivering up my legs like a terrified mouse
                                 Drowning my mind through cold ears
                        he passed his sincere respect and sunken tears


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The Errant Knight

Seeing through the wav’ring flame of light
your porc’lain skin your brazen eyes so fair,
the songs which stir the depth of frosty night
do not waylay the course of love’s despair.

For love of King, not I, thine heart’s declared.
Oh, I am damned by wanton deed bespoke
on Furies wings my cursed heart’s ensnared   
and in the fire we shall rise on smoke.

My love I’ll not rescind, nor Him provoke.
Beside your sleeping form our bed a pyre, 
the curtain's caught in candle flame once stoked, 
we’ll go to Holy Hell within the fire,

a martyred Queen, an errant Knight so blind
for Kings and common men are seldom kind.


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''We buried her in that grave in the ground''

We buried her in that grave in the ground;
it was her final, resting place--poor Mom!
Shaken, I wept but my siblings were calm;
only I appeared distraught and unsound,
overwhelmed at the sudden loss I found
too great to bear; it was like a huge bomb
had exploded in our lives,--like napalm!
There I sat...my grieving tears were profound;
it had been an upsetting funeral:
we buried her on a cold, wintry morn...
all there knew their places on arrival;
among them I wept, so tearful and torn
during the service and the burial.
In the end, I felt so dead and stillborn...



Details | Sonnet | |

For the Late Midsummer

Show me a clear midsummer’s day, and I
Shall reveal the coldness lurking beneath
For which the mortals heave a knowing sigh
In kind, the winter bares her savage teeth


Yet we, who know better than to implore
Play games with Time that are cruelly coy
Always to have less than ever before
And thus is the fickle manner of joy


To depart tenfold as quick as it came
Seeking first the ones who try to hold fast 
For all who dare speak that elusive name
Breathe tender eulogies of summers past


Fear not, for the blush of this earth entombed
Shall run our blood until we are exhumed


Details | Sonnet | |

The Fallen Leaf

Millenniums have I traversed through mists and thunder Hovering above volcanoes, stretching through sea-caves My passionate trips surfaced along the meander Of mountain ridges, swaying like a marooned slave My autumnal greenness suffered a parch In the days of searing summer pretty much During winter the swirling wind laid me astray Summer again to turn me green from grey Suffering from others’ pains I writhed The days of intense agony were built The confounding rays of sun made me swoon Was I born again? Was it nature’s boon? Today I look up at the distant Sun Covertly content; I have made my run


Details | Sonnet | |

sonnet i

Therein amongst the subtle fall of rain
That drips rhythmically upon leafy green
I hath now a dead love, woefully lain
Like deadened steps on the grave stones serene.

Though mold casts shadows, haunting and subdued— 
As rain's sleek menace cracked youth's lofty tomb—
Black boughs laden with black apathy, nude,
Line this grave yard as would a mother's womb.

These roses are not perfumed in anguish,
Yet, in hesitation, with them I lie
A solitude prepared for relinquish
That with salted derision, hopes to die.

And the meek mourn with ugly, failing grace
As the rain gradually quickens its pace. 


Details | Sonnet | |

The Last Lullaby

Basking in the first rays of the childhood sun
Chasing the fleeting trail of the grasshopper
The ancient trunk of life, in its penultimate run
Embraces the horizon, steps towards the bar

So many memories twinkle across the sky
Childhood fancies, youth gilded of love and passion
The strength of togetherness, days passing by
Loneliness creeps in, a grey morn lamenting the Sun 

Heart craves for a return, yet the call of the sea
What pain cripples him when all bonds are severed
A distant lull encompasses the forlorn lea

Wonder peace ever found in the journey entire
Were souls paired with soul, relationships made real
The world slowly fades out, a voice heard loud and clear


Prasenjit Banerjee
Contest Name: The Poet-III by Gautami Phookan
23.09.2014



Details | Sonnet | |

The Burial, Translation of Paul Verlaine's sonnet: L'Enterrement

The Burial, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : L’Enterrement

I know nothing as gay as a burial !
The grave-digger who sings with his pickaxe in bright thrill
The church bells from afar reverberating with their svelte trille
The priest in a white surplice whose joyous prayers hardly in denial

The chorus boy with his voice fresh as a girl’s,
And when at the bottom of the hole, all warm and snug,
The coffin nestles in with the tumbling in soft tug
Of earth making the corpse’s eiderdown, the lucky devil’s

All this looks to me quite charming forsooth !
And then, all those, stuffed plump in tail coats’ sheath,
Mourners whose noses redden while receiving tips

And then, the proper concise speeches stuffed with advice rare
And then, with bulging hearts and glorious foreheads glistening
	Hail ! The sparkling heirs !

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013    


Details | Sonnet | |

The Abuser

     THE ABUSER
I've known the end is here for sometime now
but your sweet talking ways led my heart on
to think we'd overcome it all somehow
avoiding what is plain though love is gone.

But now the truth and all reality
comes to my mind, as sure as do your lies
and I must put aside what you tell me
but not the truth that's in your lying eyes.

How you could beg my love then go your way
into anothers' arms, I shouldn't know,
and time is gone when I'd have more to say
and so I'll simply bid you now to go.

   And if your fits of rage fall on my head--
   just one more time--you may wish you were dead.


Details | Sonnet | |

Shall I Compare Thee

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more stormy and less temperate.
Rough winds do shake our fragile bonds of May,
And summer's temper hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot your sweat does shine,
And often is your beauty dimmed;
And every handsome man you do decline,
by chance, they leave chest hair untrimmed.

Part 2 Variation
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art as stormy and as cold
And do leave me longing for May
And winter’s temper too long showed
Sometime too cold yours eyes shine GREY


Details | Sonnet | |

Bike to Work day: escorting the funeral of Marine Albrak Omar

Bike to Work day:  escorting the funeral of Marine Albrak Omar
Loch David Crane
Patriot Guard Riders
September 2009

No more classes now that I've been fired!
Patriotism is my job: I’m retired.
The Patriot Guard rides almost every day
to bring a flapping flag line on display.
We ride to work with combustion and chrome
to bring the bodies of our brave troops home.
In a strange twist for love of our country
This Arab Albrak was a volunteer
who gave America his youthful years
to make Iraqui people finally free.
He gave his life:  I give my afternoon
remembering our heroes at high noon.
	Packed in ice, he came home to his Mom;
	his body was prepared by an Imam. 


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THE RESTING

         THE RESTING
Our death of soul steals slowly through the years
the fog of mind that's never known to be;
brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears
the fate of all no one can ever see.

It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves,
once green and shining in the morning sun,
now setting on it all, in evening grieves
for lack of interest in what life has done.

Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime
and old and tired now beats the heart we knew
life now mundaned by passing of all time,
there's little left the heart would like to do.

     Old one, you're numbered to your final breath.
      Your rest is not until it's done in death.


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Death, His Friend He Must Embrace

Back bent,
Spine protruding from withered figure,
His face a creeping shadow,
Scattering, revealing pale ghost beneath,
Breathing eerier croaks from dark fathoms within,
Lips parched,
A bumpy mess of scales,
His eyes dug deep within the shrivels of his face,
Reflecting with joy his distant youth,
Quivering lost paper in wind,
As those lips part one final time,
No one listens to his great last words,
Expecting him to quietly slip away with grace,
Death his friend he must embrace. 


Details | Sonnet | |

Inlove With Her And Novacaine

Never knew love the way I know it now
Never will I know even when I ask how
She left and that was all
I'm trying desperately to climb outside this wall
I grip the roses stem and blood drips down my wrist
I drop to the floor, put my hands on my forehead while in a fist
We shared an oath from our lips to Gods ears
I placed myself in front of her knife to the heart to quench her fears
It killed me to love and lose
I'm losing sleep so I smash my clock back to snooze
I can't believe I thought she was the one to save me
It turns out she was the one to enslave me
My trust ran deep like blood coursing through her vein
I need to numb the bitter taste so I use novacaine
The thought of her is making my heart race
My walls are gone and now I have too much space
I think my loss is starting to hit me
I can't breathe at the thought that she will forget me
I fall from my knees with my face sideways on the floor
I grip the rose tighter & tell myself I don't want to love evermore
I'm fighting the truth and reality at this time
I'm in too deep, I'm too weak to climb
I feel a cold running through my veins followed by a last chill
My eyes are awake yet my body lie still
The lights are dimming and my life is flashing in spurts
I guess this is what it means when they say love hurts...


Details | Sonnet | |

funeral of a stranger

he lived within the village I know
and yet I never knew him though 
we didn't actually live far apart
his passing leaves me not unhurt

for in the knowing of his existence
and his reputation for excellence
I now feel the void of his passing
today our humanity's under staffing

the expressions of so many now
laughing past their grief some how
to their history when he was here
their times spent together do endear

each to the other - from past to now
I'm touched by this stranger anyhow

© Goode Guy 2012-05-18