Best Undertaker Poems
reminds me of the funeral job,
at the morgue 40 tables, i logged,
one of a hundred jobs id see,
blood n guts an misery,
macarbe on mentality...
but id come to get ol Marge,
suspended on 3 chains, was large,
stiff as iniquity,
came flying though the air,
6 feet up without a care,
no bloody dignity,
as naked as a Jaybird she,
but death had set her free,
as she said to me...
re:"While Waiting At The River Styx"
Terry O'Leary
Don
Guys at the morgue like to shock ya, so i get this naked lady zooming towards me suspended on 3 chains attached to rollers on the ceiling...one under the neck, one under the waist, and one under the ankles..a shock to the system...
as i come in the door...the tables 40 were all occupied with the grim reapers handiwork...
As sure as the sun comes up to emblazon the sky,
it will travel up to reach its peak then down its path;
For without the sunset to mark the end of each day
on the horizon, and herald the coming of the night,
how can man acknowledge the passing of time?
08 August 2015
The Answer Contest
Sponsor: SKAT A
There’s an old undertaker named Jerry
Who frankly refuses to bury
The newly dying
Since he’s been dying
To be first in the new cemetery
At the corner of my eyes,
Tears subside, left from the high,
Fueled by melancholic memories;
No time for goodbyes,
Likewise---forever they lie,
For the final rite, let me bury.
edited-12/4/2019
Yo bro. . . got what you said,
look in to put us poets to rest,
I've got news for you home boy,
This turf ain't big enough for the
two of us!
Get down and get your feet wet.
ain't no gods gonna help us and
that's a fact,
Play time is over Mr. Gravedigger,
Bring it on and lets show the world
a good fight!
Cool. .its show time,
for the guy with the Mic,
What's the hurry Mr. Rhyme,
scared you might miss your flight.
Heard you came back snooping
around,
with all the loud sounds and talk,
Told you once boy to be pretty nice,
Or you'll get a wrestling lesson you
won't soon forget.
I've got your name on my list and
draw,
pretty soon this town is gonna be a
bloody war,
pack up your bags and leave by the
back door,
Im not gonna tell you twice just
spare me the trouble.
this is dedicated to by jalani jenkins
for his Gravedigger poem
that got me inspired. . . so thank
you
my friend
The undertaker
A vile cruel man
He that rots in the depths a foggy abyss
Chained by the sinful sorrowful
He only slightly emitted into a netherworld
His makings of the undone
His scythe piercing the heart
Of the two people
I loved most in this world
Sadly I wasn’t invited in this ordeal
I’m sure they were great for the feast
Though for surely not my conciseness was fed
Either Mentally or Physically
Most definitely he will rebuke the taste
For they are too untainted
For a vile man such as he
For he is always starving
For the purely unclean
I owned a funeral parlor and I earned a lot of bread.
I got paid a whole lot of money to cremate the dead.
Each cadaver that I got rid of earned me five hundred grand.
I cremated murder victims and for years I was in high demand.
OJ wanted to hire me.
But he didn't like the million dollar fee.
I always got repeat business from the Mob.
I fried those corpses when I turned the knob.
You'd better believe that when I cremated a body, it was much hotter than a sauna.
I'm extremely surprised that nobody ever wound up hiring me to cremate Madonna.
When I got through burning a corpse, there was never even a trace of evidence.
But the Police broke down my door as I was frying somebody and it was intense.
After being sentenced to fifty years in prison, people nicknamed me 'The Baker'.
If you need to get rid of a corpse, you'll have to call another crooked undertaker.
(This is a fictional poem)
My favorite wrestler is the Undertaker
He's the real deal never a faker
And a awesome casket maker
Also a soul taker
He doesn't mind giving a powerful choke slam
Without saying thank you maim
High in the air he delivers the last ride
And he's known world wide
He don't care about making his opponent tap out
By showing them what he's all about
And with that devastating pile-driver
There are very few survivals
He's well known as Dead-Man walking
Does alot more fighting than he does talking
6'7 in height he's a bad man
And I'll always be his #1 fan
He's on his way to the Royal Rumble
And his opponent will crumble.
The hole- so wide and lonely,
Is so unjustifiably small,
I imagine her decay slowly...
The crowd weeps at the door,
But I must not cry-
I am the undertaker.
The service- monotone,
The crowds grieving groans,
The shovel makes my hands ache,
But my heart must not break-
For I am the undertaker.
The rain falls,
And living is a chore,
Meaningless words emerge,
As unknown faces converge,
The many condolences I take,
And the consolidation I must fake-
Because I am the undertaker.
The coffin is lowered,
Dull Petals drifting …
But I must not lose my gripping-
I am the undertaker.
The clouds are gray,
The grass yellow,
My mask cannot stay,
And my tears are mellow,
Because I am the undertaker-
My mothers undertaker.
The undertaker anticipates a better day
His plans include some needed lawnmowing,
He winds up two ne'er-do-wells stowing
Without resources their expenses to pay
The mere cost for a proper putting-away,
While his grass continues to grow knee high
As he waits for a moneyed man to die
Someone to keep his creditors at bay,
Such a day does make for sleepless nights
Hoping for the best, needing the worse
To make the payment on his brand new hearse.
Written September 8, 2022
The magnificent visage of the moon shines on
Even if it is almost dawn
The music is playing with melancholic tone fallowing mc’s baton
Its late everyone wishes to go home not aware what they would spawn
The music is short and carless the air is muggy and it’s dark
Only loyal trees whisper in the park
The undertakers make a final ark
On the coffin there is no flag even if there should be two or any other mark
Next day undertakers’ daughter puts fresh flowers on the grave
They smell nice like oceans wave
There is no prayer for that soul would save
On the tombstone no engrave
But in the pupils of undertaker’s daughter so deep grave could fit in those
There are tears as on the grave she puts blood red rose
As she does that cold wind blows
Smelling like raging sea full of billows
Undertaker’s daughter don’t you dare weep for me
Only my mother and moon can do it you see
How dare you think you can control my destiny?
How dare you say deformed when addressing me?
Don’t bother me and take your flowers back they are a wreck
Or dead or not I’ll snap your neck
I don’t want you my grave to check
My soul is to make my own and per maximum trek
You have noting on my soul
And your paradox will not stop it from ascending to greatest hall
I will not be stopped by grave wall
You can fade away like mere autumn leaf that is about to fall
he lives in his own world
through choice of demonic desire for power
inside he hides through reason of his own
with a dark desire for fresh bodies
alone he hides through the silence
amidst the violence
there is a great hold on his soul let the truth be told
cadavers he will hold in his crypt doen below
many are taken away to him
on a dimly lit candle the undertaker works non stop
eager to labor for the legal tender
within his dungeon of gloom
at night he hears voices with foot steps
a long duration of masked zombie creatures vacate his premises
yet he continue his work on his prized possession
Satanic laughter in the window with a shutter
feeble minded mutants running wild in the street
a whole host of circus like frenzy invades his domain
he keeps a jar next to his crypt with blood
the fangs of each zombie drip blood from each side
maggot infested embalming fluid permeates throughout
many skulls of discarded cadavers are left in his closet
still many do not know what he realy does only that he's the undertaker
one dreary evening while sleeping the undertaker arose
only to find his skull collection of gone missing
a narrow passage way was leading to his room
voices were once again to kill the undertaker
shaken yet still he returned to his work
a loud clapping noise was heard and the undertaker fell over
there on the ground were the skulls all clasped together dripping blood
a hand kept his from escaping only to encounter a blow to his head
the creatures sucked his vile extremties through & through
the undertaker was then no more
long accustomed to his morbid profession,
where the slightest hint of genuine sorrow
is taboo deserving only derision,
he's in total control of his emotion;
but now, a sensation from deep inside him
surges upward like a relentless deluge
at the sight of a shaking, grieving mother,
humming a lullaby to her dead daughter;
something filmy in his eyes, and the room melts
in watery shapes tinted in fluid colors;
he can't believe it, must be perspiration,
ah, but tears blur the undertaker's vision !
A diabetic to his steward
On the table is your sack letter,
Beside my unfinished tea, no better;
Four photocopies of it in my file,
Their original to be collected by you;
Sure evidence that your stewardship was all rubbish
And that, henceforth, I would to you be snobbish.
Your offence was the many sugar cubes in my tea,
For which I had painfully continued to pee;
A bizarre blood sugar level from the lab!
Pictures of my grave finished off with a slab!
Yours was a clever murder move,
My ceaseless tremors there to this prove.
You‘d tried to my door unbolt to an undertaker
And my journey begin back to my maker.
You may now go to my sitting room
For your last wage
But don’t fail to storm my bedroom
For your luggage.
And, please, do forget my clothes in the Laundry,
For even now, they badly sense my quandary.
Ahead of a just fixed funeral
He'd started counting its numeral:
Negotiator of the fairest price.
For twenty five bags of Thailand Rice...
Negotiator meets, too, Mortician
And relates to him as Beautician:
One is as good as partaker,
Who goes around as undertaker
"Well, he's for badly frowning corpses
Owners pay thousands for cleaned lapses".
Man wants his wife's corpse to start smiling;
If this can't be time away whiling.
If possible her lips archly grinning:
Guests sometimes cough for face in linen...
The discussions he will not linger,
Mortician to at price point finger...
All corpses have interest to protect,
Job of the living to them detect.