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Best Funeral Poems

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Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

Where The White Rose Blooms

The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.

He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.

This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.

The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.

With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.

His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.

The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.

The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.




November 25th, 2013

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

DARK ANGELS OF HIGHGATE


  
Enough Angelina, drop the bouquet of harebells.  
The flowers wilt as your graying hands stiffen. See, how grave
is our newborn son. We gift him a black crêpe layette.
Say Darling Edward, say, Golubushka, make me come alive.
Leave this chapel, return to his cradle, quicken your deadwood.  
Come, rock his sweet little boat, croon, sladkiy bairdark.
 
Your shade sighs as the mourners trudge into the dark
of All Hallow's Eve. A breeze stirs the hairs on my nape. Bells 
toll, the ringer incants “Unto the Church, I do You call, Death              
to the grave will summon all.” Freshly turned gravel
rolls from the burial mound, the earth’s answer to life’s 
reticence. Our son, whom I cradle, mutely lays.       
 
See, the ground moves.  There, there, my boy. Love's only mislaid.
Father, Mother, take the babe, go, shield him from Highgate’s darkness.
I stay. By will alone, I'll not let maggots deface beauty that lives.    
My Angel, please, tug the cord housed in your coffin so the bell
will ring, rouse London’s rigor. You will waltz on this grave,
speak of Siberian winters, then scoff, roll eyes at the vigor of death. 
 
Insubstantial lips brush the babe’s forehead, even death
cannot stay her reply. Ed’ard, Mother will take him home to lie. 
A chill north wind rises as if to show your sorrow from the grave,
clawing the headstone with twigs and pebbles; clouds darken
the moon. Your shade screams; a bough whips Mother's cheek, the bell  
on its gold cord is silent. Wind nigh swallows my howl, Angelina, live!
 
We are alone, Angel, save for those cemetery ravens which liven
roan weeds. Three nights I've troubled Highgate, plucking deadheads   
from your boney wreath. Obstinate wife, revive the grieving bell.
I hear them calling Ed’ard, Come. I am torn from your stone: waylaid,
outnumbered, locked in our bedchamber. At the next darkening,  
the babe's rattle rings, calling your name. I escape to your grave.  
 
Nightclothes drenched and shoeless, I topple onto the grave.
Yea though I walk … ring, damn you, bell, ring! Curse this life!
The sky cracks open, sheet lightning pierces the craven darkness
as if in answer a mother oak’s limb shatters. The deadweight
crushes me against the granite angel where you lay.
At sunrise, church bells rang Angelus prayer from the chapel’s belfry.
 
Angelina, Angelina, our grown son visits our grave to honor the dead.
He is our true afterlife; all my fears have been allayed.
All is too calm and well 'til his eyes darken as he batters your bell.


Collaboration by Cyndi MacMillan and Debbie Guzzi

Stanzas 1, 3 ,5 and 7 by Cyndi MacMillan
Stanzas 2, 4, and 6 by Debbie Guzzi



| Details | Funeral Poem | |

All About Carolyn

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



Entry for Sidney Lee Ann's "All About You" contest

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….



Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

Motherland's Funeral

In the past, my country
cradled me within her womb,
but our roles reversed.
I held her in my arms,
felt her slip away.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

They wrenched her from my arms,
took her from my loving arms
to poke, to prod and draw blood.
I prayed while watching attempts made
at her resuscitation,
as greedy hands held out pens,
prodding me to fill in the proper forms.

The world is on lithium,
the drug has defiled the last drop of clean water.
My country was on lithium,
for her, the vibrant colours turned into dull grays,
and in the end, her heart gave way 
from having spent too many decades 
trapped within a gilded cage.

She had an organ donor card -
her organs were sold off one-by-one
while she still clung onto life.
Her organs were removed,
replaced with waving flags
and roaring stadiums.

Men from every standing, race and creed,
groped Motherland's body
after causing her to bleed.
Many men had laid with her. 
Oh, how they did.
At least some men showed decency,
graced her with meaningful caresses.
But they were far and few between -
between the rape, miscarriages and spoils.

Lithium is being slipped into my drink,
into my food, into the very air I breathe,
so daily I purge,
horrified by my country's overdose.
She looks decrepit, splayed out in the morgue,
a cardboard ticket hanging from a big toe
like an empty, whorish price tag.

I will have to give her a proper burial in my mind,
for they are going to have Mother embalmed,
encase her in a glass coffin,
and put her on display.

Our Mother passed away,
yet the land is here to stay.
I will walk across clear-cut ridges,
pass through neon-lit distractions
as a gypsy vagabond.
From now on, the territorial lines
mean nothing more to me than rules to follow.
The shell of this country remains, 
Nationalism has turned empty-hollow.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

I lost my country today,
held her in my arms,
watched her slip away,
felt her slip away.





April 30th, 2012

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

I'll Be Back

Faded memories inked
on the shell of my
skin.
best friends forever
through thick and
thin.
Fourteen years ago,
blurred images I
remember,
cold stubborn tears
of a harsh December.
That little white
Escort could spin on
payment,
in that Denny's
parking lot, icy,
slick and wet.
We braved the storm,
like we always did
together,
You loved me, I know
I loved you better!
Always a sweet
smile, you brought
me joy,
Best friend loves
deeper than a love
from a boy.
Everything we did
together, a team, a
duo,
Off on the main
road, into the night
we go.
My hands on the
wheel, oh I was
scared,
Driving on ice, I
was mentally
unprepared.
Hazy shades of
winter, soaked with
tears,
The crashing sound
of metal, twisting
fears.
Why wasn't I the one
that met God that
night.
Eyes closed, your
vacant eyes in my
sight.

Arrested, I couldn't
go to your funeral,
Rehab, institutions,
adults gave me pull.
It was too much to
handle, sixteen and
sad.
I'll be back, I
promised, but I
never had.
I walked away,
blocked out the
pain.
I'd cry in silent
along with the
pouring rain.
Memories were
nightmares, I closed
the door.
I couldn't think
about your smile
anymore.
I killed you, it was
because of my deed,
I hated myself
forever, my
ignorance, my greed.

I lay on my
cancerous death bed,
My regrets filling
my daily guilty
head.
I'll be back,
holding your hand in
the ever after,
In heaven with your
contagious laughter.
I'll be back, with
my best friend, I
know I will.
After all this time
I hope you love me
still.


For Contest : I'll
be back
Date: 08-03-2014

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Psychostasia

The Psychostasia
(The Egyptian Funerary Rite)

For seventy days I’ve been prepared
With oils and unguents ever so rare
And with linen bandages to and fro
Wound and wrapped from head to toe

And on this journey I’m prepared to start
By enduring the “Weighing of the Heart”
With Toth’s oversight we’ll see whether
My heart weighs true against Truth’s feather

Should it fall short the beast will devour
My soul to oblivion in my final hour
Yet should it measure straight and true
The Pylon opened I’ll be ushered through

And then I shall fall unto my knees
And pray that Osirus hears my pleas
That he acknowledge and clear my tears
And accept my soul for a thousand years

And cleanse said soul of all its scars
And make me one with the canopy of stars
And bless my children and my wife
That they may join me in the afterlife

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

the skeleton tree

i am the skeleton tree
bare branches where leaves
are suppose to be
i am the skeleton tree
bare bones and no flesh
not another me
i am the skeleton tree
thousands of ancesters
but not one child for me
i am the skeleton tree
the end of my fathers name
and so called legacy

yet i sing a song
like there is nothing wrong
and being last doesn't matter
and yet i've writen a verse 
that many will rehurse
when one day my poetry matters
and when i die
who knows who will cry
i'll just be dead and gone
but the skeleton tree
that once was me
will live on in eternity
the skeleton tree
that one could read
and ponder possibilities
a skeleton tree
that one could recite
tell the difference between wrong and right
a skeleton tree
with branches and no leaves
yet and still the best of me
a skeleton tree
in this world i leave






Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

Flowers,,,Beautiful Flowers

Flowers...beautiful flowers.

These flowers will not replace my friend.
Their beauty will soon go the way of life-
Fade and wither and then take flight.

Piled upon this mound of dirt to mark our sorrow,
Offered as a sacrifice to soothe our souls.
Petal nor thorn could save this rose.

Like flowers cut down in height of beauty,
This face that bloomed and wore big smiles,
Is covered here to rest awhile.

Then beyond the markers numbered many,
Placed in rows to make order of death,
I saw something that took my breath.

Flowers...colorful flowers...that filled
The field yet fallow...waiting for the day
When friends and family gather...and pray.

Flowers...beautiful flowers.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

And Now For Something Completely Different

The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!

Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least, 
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”

And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!

Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.

The casket was full of cold cuts; The bartender doubled as the priest; I took another shot of tequila, while the sun started setting in the east. The ladies started undressing; my organ started to rise; I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”, with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive – His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!” The next time he throws a party for himself, I think he’ll choose a different theme – And maybe the people who come and get drunk won’t be so awfully mean!

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

FAREWELL TABLEAU

Funeral today Teardrops flow freely I gaze at the sky Sun sets on your life Glorious gold glow Soothes my breaking heart Jan Allison 16th October 2014 Contest: Design Your Tableau Sponsor: Nette Onclaud 3. One day I saw the sun set forty-four times!' … 'You know, when you're feeling very sad, sunsets are wonderful ~awarded 4th place~

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

Barricaded Babies

Nightmares tore her sleep with unseen teeth.
Her small thin legs in constant cramp from dream running.
She was only a child, but not the only child,
beside her, across a gap of oaken floor, in a matching bed I slept.

Whimpering brought me near,"Tell me good things," she'd say. 

"Make me sweet dreams." And I would snuggle her close.

"Warm, small, cuddly kittens," I'd chant 
and "chocolate bunnies to chomp."

The memories long gone, linger on. 
I remember her wet cheeks 
and sheets of woe night after night,
until the wee girl began to grow, 
to shield with the only things she knew food,
with food for thought and form sated
sleep came easier.

She grew through the nightmare of longing
our home, she grew to and past me
little mother, big mother,
she sang the songs of love to dolls,
to kittens, to stray dust-motes
and grew.

Too sweet to linger in the lost land 
where battles must be found and fought.
Too dear to go through life alone, 
need...garnered, family formed
upon the rack of sustenance
and the twist of genetic curdling's
she blooms still.

Barricaded at intervals from the nightmares,
cramped with too large a soul in too fragile 
a form, sister mine, friend of all.....

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

God's Dying Sky

Man's made sky.
The sky's known beginning and unknown ending.
I look to the sky because I'm interested about the unknown.
I should look to the sky for answers I all ready know.
Sometimes I find myself giving the sky a quick gaze.
Then three hours later, find myself in a complete confused daze.
Is this caused from my interest about the unknown.
Or by subconsciously soul searching for answers I all ready know.
The adventurous flow of the sky brings me much needed hope.
Especially when man has the world headed towards a down spiral slope.
Sometimes while focused on the sky, in some type of trance like steer.
All I can feel, is its man's created fear.
Thoughts of how it was once so pure and how now oil based waters brings no cure.
Man's made sky.
the sky's known beginning and unknown ending.

American Ocean Billy's  ( black gold that is ) 6-3-2010

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

O The Grieving, Weeping, Sadness and Lamenting

~~

My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
     Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
               On the day of your funeral.

                                    O the grieving . . . 

In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
     And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
                The wild storm paused in the trees.

                                    O the weeping . . . 

Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
     Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
                  And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.

                                      O the sadness . . . 

A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
     And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
                     Only one word can be seen, Mother.

                                        O the lamenting . . . 



              And hidden beneath the snow . . .

                   I will treasure your arms last embrace Mother
                               Till this heart stops beating . . . .




_________________________________
September 24, 2014

Verse

Written by Broken Wings


Entered into the contest, A poem not entered in a contest, sponsor, Poet Destroyer 







                  



| Details | Funeral Poem | |

A golf limerick

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!

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

Pins and Needles

Another song written in middle school - edited of course. ;)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Verse 1] I'm trapped within these walls Never to leave at all I am the prisoner inside my own home My spirit is broken I do not believe I'm locked in this chamber which I cannot leave [Chorus] The needles that break the skin The anger that runs within I’m giving it all away Just to stay alive The needles that pierce my veins It will never be the same We’re on pins and needles now It’s how we survive [Verse 2] They say he’ll find me soon Got to get out of this room The blood will spill and he’ll take what he wants to I’ll never let him through GET OUT OF MY DREAM He whispers in darkness, “I’m not who I seem…” [Chorus] [Verse 3] The four walls around me They start to close in I know I’m too late now I know I can’t win So just tell me I’m crazy It’s all in my head You’re not the killer And I am not dead [Chorus] [Breakthrough] Don’t tell me it’s impossible To start it all over again Infection sinks through your pale skin You’ll curse the day that I’m dead [Chorus]

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Truck Graveyard

Across the road from new truck sales
Lay a yard filld with trucks that died
These vehicles' voice offer tales
Once on them a trucker relied

They thought that he would be companion
Their eternal guide protect them
He  took one to the Grand Canyon
He was truck's  total brain stem

Made the decisions for each day
This truck didn't object just follow
Whichever way trucker would stray
Even if where lay Capistrano Swallow

Then one day the truck's tires went flat
Soon in this graveyard this truck lies
Trucker lost his favorite hat 
Old trucker no longer truck guides

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

darker than raindrops

darker than raindrops
mushroom cloud blooming purple....
I can see my bones

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

a day of dark rain

a foreboding sound

          echoes in a thunderstorm....

                   mourners at a grave
                               --
                  
                   a torrent of rain

           muffles the sound of crying....

watching crows scatter

                              --
one wet crow hunches

          on branch of the brittle oak....

                  dark clouds hover low







    ~           ~             ~               ~
For Skat's "Dark Rain" haiku contest

                                            


| Details | Funeral Poem | |

Early mourning

I sift through his Taoist rants
searching the brilliance and madness
for something to make sense; to inspire.

And he does not insult me
with the dust of dead men
though dust is what remains.

Ash falls through my fingers,
as promised, plenty of his own decay,
pure and uncontaminated,

his spirit whispering remembrance;
his legacy blowing in the wind
captured in my heart and lungs.
______________________________


*Loss contest November 3rd, 2012

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

gun salute








                                                   gun salute~
                                           in every fold of the flag
                                                   his sacrifices    







    



| Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013


| Details | Funeral Poem | |

Under the Tall Trees

Of dust, of dirt;
suspended, lost, remarkable.

Of no merit;
forgotten, under the tall trees.

And bury him;
No accurate history serves.

Under cross;
buried in sand,
buried in dirt.

His face will carry forth,
past this miserable state.

To birth,
to die;
forth not.

Behold;
of man, 
of earth.

Of dust, of dirt;
suspended, found, 
frozen in time.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Bell My Mother Rang

The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to see her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.

| Details | Funeral Poem | |

the hitchcock thriller

Some love too little, some love too long,
some they answer the riddle but fail to move on
some laugh and  others cry
when truest feelings have been denied
Some do the act with a show of tears,
surrendering everything showing their fears
And some without a sigh;
they just let their pride die
For some men kill the things they love, 
power given from up above
Yet each man does deny.
power from heaven they devise

Some kill love when in their youth,
some kill with abuse
And some when they grow old;
in the end the scam unfolds
Some smother with the hand of greed,
turning away from the hand of need
Because of lust for gold;
the way of love had turned old
The evil use their tongue because,
of vengence to discover
It takes love where it’s cold
and evil thought it mutters

But men who kill the girl they love,
and claim a passion from heaven above
have a story to be heard; 
lets not listen to one word
Some do it with a callous look
with a  wisdom from the good book
Some with a bitter word;
and with some with passion never heard,
The tyrant does it with his fist,
and serial killer with his list
The weak man with a sword.
a genious that was bored


(A collaboration by Elizabeth Wesley and John H Loving III)