Best Obituaries Poems
Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long,
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.
I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.
The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.
Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive. There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.
A car is cruising by our house. The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.
Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name. In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.
We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us. So we turn and go inside.
Categories:
obituaries, child, children, family, morning,
Form:
Rhyme
When a friendship dies
no mourners come
with last respects to pay
There’s nothing
but the silence
where there once was much to say
Old comforts
feeling awkward
if in happenstance we meet
We are strangers
once again
in chance encounters on the street
The laughter
and camaraderie
of former times are through
You’ve found a better
crowd to join
and I shall find one too
No, there will be
no fanfare
no memorial for the dead
No tributes
in the papers
no obituaries read
For it will simply
fade away
right there before your eyes
Leaving you
to write a poem
when a friendship dies
Categories:
obituaries, confusion, life, loss, relationship,
Form:
Rhyme
dear tormented soul,
what are you out to gain?;
why do you toil in misery,
why are you in so much pain?
persecuting others,
because of what they say;
if you want to teach them,
try the Christian way!
your heart's in total anguish,
you claim that you don't lie;
only Christ walked on water,
take that beam from your eye!
write about something happy,
remove that awful frown;
a frown is nothing but a smile,
when it's turned upside down!
life brings you sorrow,
this we truly know;
stand and dust those cob webs,
sometimes you must let go!
the world's not always ugly,
take a look around you;
script a poem about nature,
perhaps a haiku will do!
read the morning obituaries,
do you see your name?;
at least you're among the living,
stop crying and finish the game!
Categories:
obituaries, uplifting
Form:
Rhyme
Let’s take a ride, how about traveling, to outer space,
Just accept anything’s possible, it’s our cosmic chase,
Moving faster than light speed, in the blink of an eye,
Unleash your imagination, laws of physics, don’t apply,
Maybe stay closer to home, getting carried away,
Not that it’s impossible, Probably better this way,
I bid to free your mind, open up Pandora’s box,
Some controlling egotist, may be keeping locked.
Might think this is fantasy, I promise you not,
Keeps us unrestrained, from an imperious lot,
Rather we’d stay stupid, believe everything’s fine,
Brainwashed all our lives, left to tow the line.
Too many gaslighters, out for personal gain,
Call us troublemakers, having gall, to complain,
I am not preaching, just offering sound advice,
Keep your independence, for life’s full of choice.
Well thank God for google, if needing a little help,
Press a few touchscreens, a tonic within itself.
Always some caveats, beware of computer trolls,
Half decent firewall, should suffice on the whole.
Is too much knowledge, really a dangerous thing,
Worse than owning shotguns, barely aged sixteen,
I agree in some cases, ignorance truly is bliss,
Only if comforting, from the inevitable abyss.
Many poets shone light, on history’s darkest times,
Obscure aficionados, emancipating reality with rhyme,
Fighting nightmarish wars, writing obituaries home,
Bleeding ink upon paper, never flinching in their tone.
Others encapsulate landscape, frozen in winter snow,
How they portray nature, this rhymster will never know,
Beautiful form of art, smashing out from all restraints,
Poets you set me free, lest my tribute is mundane.
By
David Kavanagh
Categories:
obituaries, appreciation, education, internet, meaningful,
Form:
Quintain (English)
We livin in a world today,
Where its streets over home
Heartaches where pain rome…
Its guns before goodies,
Babies before books…
Boys before brothers,
& family below lovers…
Its sex without rubbers,
More baby showers than graduation parties
And more funerals than weddings…
We’re blinded by lust,
And trapped without trust…
We’re living in a world today,
Where everybody falls a victim to the street..
A bullet is the only thing they seem to meet;
Everybody’s a follower,
But nobody leads!
We’re living in a world today,
Where only parents read..
The obituary is one thing they probably
Aren’t too happy to view..
But the kids who listen:
Its only a few.
It’s more obituaries than honor rolls
And this is what we live in…
Today
Categories:
obituaries, black african american, brother,
Form:
Blank verse
So as not to come under the scrutiny of an oncologist,
Each six months to check my moles I visit my dermatologist!
His exam is as thorough as that of an investigative criminologist.
Sometimes he'll take a biopsy and forward it to a microbiologist!
Many times he's had my moles zapped by his electrologist,
Or provides an RX for medications from the pharmacologist!
If he suspects any cell abnormalities he'll call in his cytopathologist,
Or send me down the hall to consult with his peer, the etiologist!
I don't want to come under the knife of that "cut-up", the pathologist,
Nor do I want to be listed in the obituaries by a passionless necrologist!
To keep this old frame free of moles I have no faith in a cosmetologist,
So, I'll continue to bare my hide for inspection by my dermatologist!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 6 in Nikko Palmario's "Holy MOLE-y!! Contest - August 2010
Categories:
obituaries, funny
Form:
Rhyme
He scanned through the newspaper,
but couldn't find anything fascinating to read
or see, except for the obituaries.
He was very certain he had seen his tenant,
Mr. Wobbles, in a funeral list;
it showed the date, time, and venue
of the funeral. It also showed the names
of his family and relatives.
If his eyes serve him right,
he saw Mr. Wobbles in the TV, carrying
a dummy cheque of one million dollars;
he had won a one million jackpot.
Mr. Wobbles had lastly visited his house
three weeks back. Mr. Jones bought his TV
two weeks back. Mr. Wobbles therefore thought
Mr. Jones didn't know he had won a jackpot.
Woe unto Mr. Wobbles;
he was shocked to see Mr. Jones the following day,
with a counter book showing the months he
lived in the house for free....
Date of Publishing: 9/21/2016
Categories:
obituaries, funny, humor, humorous, imagery,
Form:
Narrative
Magazine ads and newspaper obituaries
skitter across the streets
like tumbleweed in the desert.
Rims the size of carriage wheels roll by.
Everyone's holsters are filled,
even the children carry pistols.
The schools are ghost towns
but the saloons stay occupied.
This is the Wild, Wild West.
Categories:
obituaries, cowboy-western, history, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
Corruption Fake News
Government corruption, engulfs us every day
It's bad enough we have to see the down slide on its way
Many people disappear connections can't be made
Obituaries so obscure the stories quickly fade
Families mourn the ones they lose another heart just sinks
They said (an accident) of sorts and Washington just winks
Accusations rarely made It's hard to be that brave
Repercussions swift and hard outcome (could be grave)
Don't think that this is make believe goes back a lot of years
Those very old (so we've been told) just can't get past their fears
Carried on throughout the states (most people never knew)
The smoke screen (that we call the news) diverts your thoughts (it's true)
Working for Politico, (the apple on the string)
Keeps news in line with Washington and riches it may bring
They have no trouble sleeping nights their conscience all but numb
When asked how did, they miss that news they're good at playing dumb..... Pete Yuhas
Categories:
obituaries, america, corruption, imagination, integrity,
Form:
Political Verse
Death and its mournful tidings
Obituaries and eulogies, read
Black ties and black veils, all in rows
Surround this shell and the open earth
The cold, damp wind sashays through and through
Memories, half a century old are lost and forgotten
A flight of geese overhead, perform a last flyover
Victory in death
Vestiges of family, say farewell and Godspeed
Tomorrow brings colder and damper weather
Categories:
obituaries, dark, death, death of
Form:
Free verse
Sometimes the wholeness of the universe
Comes along like a black widow spider
On a thin thread and stops in front of one’s face
From fear and dread
All time stops
As the eight-legged spider
With eighty-eight eyes stare directly
Consumed with death and obituaries
Sleeplessness nights and tragic endings
The black widow spider a symbol of eternity and
life cycles like the center of the universe pauses
Categories:
obituaries, allegory, imagery, insect, life,
Form:
Free verse
Destiny
Sordid, shoddy succubus
Culled consciousness
Mottled, beguiled muse
Hungry for hope
An eruption of erudition
To be showered with praise
Cleansed pride
Chloroformed strife
Where dreams tease unkempt hair
And eulogize tear stained verse
Sacrificed on stripped oak altars
Trembling hostages of insatiable sermons
Sterile sunrises
Mourned by cramped, fertile fingers
I pray to my paranoia of invasion
Voices
Viscid footsteps
Shadows of salvation
Which pass without query
Again
Chortling echoes of obtuse obituaries
As I lie shackled to tomes of obscurity
Tortured
Starving
Undiscovered
Dead
Categories:
obituaries, allegory, angst, death, hope,
Form:
Free verse
The New York Times won’t publish
All the wedding news it gets.
Unless you are “acceptable,”
They’ll send you their regrets.
With attributes like wealth or fame
Or Ivy League degrees,
The Times may run your story,
But there are no guarantees.
I’ve always know this as a fact
But recently I’ve learned
That even in obituaries,
Some folks will get burned.
There isn’t space enough, they say,
To honor all who’ve died;
So only certain folks deceased
Deserve their place inside.
An influential person,
Or one “offbeat,” even “quirky,”
Will trump an ordinary guy
For reasons somewhat murky.
And so a woman from the west,
Who sculpted cows from butter,
Received her dose of fame while others
Got tossed in the gutter.
A local businessman who was
A veteran and giver
And art collector didn’t have
The goods he could deliver.
The obit writer at The Times
Did let the family know.
“Of course his life was worthy,”
But his story’s not a go.
My husband promised when I died
I’d make The Times – “Don’t sweat it.”
But now I realize there’s no way,
So he should just forget it.
It seems some people count for more.
There is a great divide;
But somehow that should be erased
When someone’s up and died!
Categories:
obituaries, death, introspection, on writing
Form:
Rhyme
Obsession
Obsession with "O's"
Oh, obsession’s obfuscating oligarchy
Oceans of oblivion
Outrage in ostentatious obsession
Overrun in hurricanes named obdurate and obstinate
Overtures of oxidized compulsive orchestration in
Obbligatos overflowing obituaries -
Overbearing octaves of the obsequious –
Orations of overt objections
Objectivity overpopulated by opportunistic obtuse –
Obsession outweighing optimist’s objectives –
Openness offspring overrun by
Ominous hunters of sweet oblations ordained
Oscillating between logic and obsession unchallenged
Orthodoxy obscures opportunity
Officially ostracizes open-mindedness –
Original the outsider - occupied the outlier -
Observes only obstructive operations
Obedience to the one-track offertory
Of overstocked outdated ordinances,
Offshoots of outmoded operatic ornaments
Odious opium overdose of the obscene
Onyx odors overpowering odes
Offered on the altar of originality -
Obliterating oligarchy of obsession
9-23-21
Sponsor: Constance La France
Contest: “O” Contest
Categories:
obituaries, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Looked at the obituaries
saw that I was dead
Thought I felt tired
so I went back to bed
Try to call my number
but it was disconnected
Maybe it is for the best
now I won't be suspected
Going to the drive through
my order did not go far
Apparently for the drive through
you need to be in a car
Told my pooka friend Larry
I just couldn't bear it
Larry smiled and reply
I like orange carrots
I daydream nightmares
while I'm wide awake
I collect broken snow globes
cause I don't like to shake
Lava Lamps bewitch me
slow globs colorful glows
Chaos in a bottle
that never overflows
Categories:
obituaries, funny, nonsense, silly,
Form:
Rhyme