Death Family Poems | Examples
These Death Family poems are examples of Family poems about Death. These are the best examples of Family Death poems written by international poets.
I am the child,
that emerges from the womb,
and merges with the light!
I am a speck of dust,
on an endless horizon,
that sinks with the sunset!
I am that quiet calm,
and yet, the broken glass,
that's shattering my scone!
I am the juggernaut,
remiss of any restraint,
that rattles and chafes my bones!
I am a beacon,
against the swelling tide,
I "am" that safe harbor at night!
I am the ghost,
of my past and present,
I am your...whispered delight!
I am the vision,
amid this lustrous illusion,
that binds or blinds my sight!
I am all these things,
encompassed in a closet,
surrounded by whitewashed walls!
I am...all of you,
I am...the stained stitch,
we "are" all one!....w e a v i n g a w o r l d w i d e w e b !
After being born,
After learning the word,
And learning to understand.
First there was my mother,
Then my dad,
Then my brothers and sisters.
Each one
Had a say,
As they listened,
As they spoke,
And helped shape my day.
I remember the four brothers.
I remember the five sisters.
Each alive in memory,
And each remembered in death.
Then there was me,
Number nine,
And a sister,
Number ten.
Now one question
Rests within my heart:
The voices have grown quiet,
The years have passed on by,
Yet their names still live within me.
And as I walk the path remaining,
One question follows still:
Will we meet again,
Beyond the reach of time?
Synnøve
Life is a journey
with many possibilities along the way
– each chapter brings unexpected turns,
ups and downs at every step.
*Carpe diem* is a Latin phrase
meaning "seize the day"
– a quote you often used.
The day your heart ceased to beat in rhythm
with nature’s own pulse.
A sigh that became your last.
"Do not stand at my grave and weep"
I cannot...
it is a sorrow
that no tears can lighten.
Dewdrops of silence speak a language of their own
– Rest in Peace
Crying comes when I turn tender
for framed faces under glass caress-cleaned
while whimsical mind measures
shift sadly towards lonely longings
heart held for family.
Tears task their deaths to my well worth
with wee sobs shaking my gleaned grace.
I miss you so much
but you are not in
the fore front of my
mind like you were
when you first
said goodbye, why?
I had to learn to go
on without you!
I had to learn to live in
world that we no longer
occupied together.
Although I don’t cry
every day like I did
when you first left,
I’ll hear a song or recall
a memory and the
tears begin to fall.
I could never forget you!
You’re part of me,
imprinted on my
heart and soul.
Although grief wears
a different face as time
goes by , just know
I live for us both!
it rained
and I stayed
not to pause in remembrance
but to wash away
what grief couldn’t
it didn’t matter
that my heart was breaking
what else could it do?
you lie beneath ten feet of dirt
after the slow battle
cancer claimed
and I disappear a little more
each day
healing is a dream
it lives in the stars
or in a glass jar on the mantle
healing
that’s for time to deal with
if I can’t hold your hand one last time
or tell you everything I forgot to say
then time is pointless
right now
rain drowns my sorrow
it stings my skin
and gets in my eyes
no need for tears
but tomorrow
shall start the pain
all over again
and this rain
will be waiting for me
Dad was a drunk,
belligerent when he drank whiskey ;
sloppy when he drank beer.
Mom lived in fear,
but until death was more than a key,
it was happy homemaker funk
that didn’t consider it takes two
to make dreams come true,
with no nightmare brew
putting things askew~
broken nose
with purple bruises,
and no amount of poet’s prose
could fool the muses
or the small town gossips
who offered no consolation prizes
A box of memories deep,
a shoebox where the inside makes me weep.
Photos, and things of those above,
all of my family . . . . that I still love.
I trace images with my finger,
and my memories of them still linger.
Death cannot destroy our bond,
though, they are in another realm beyond.
I heard an old Irish refrain
rising to make my heart long,
bringing me some kind of solace
and kinship in a sad song.
Tree climbing to where I belong -
by God, I have Irish roots -
Roddy McCorley, breathing
my dead last breath in my boots.
I’ll reunite with my sister -
see her in heaven so sweet,
buying fresh cockles and mussels,
my Molly Malone to meet.
But let us not rush to judgement -
just like Tim Finnegan said,
I’m not ready for the Devil.
Don’t you decide that I’m dead.
Drinking
beer and more beer
adding bottles of wine
leaves the alcoholic body
Dying
As I am watering your withering white roses,
I wish I had separate simple tall glass vases
To share each and every white rose with family
Who loved you as their mother and our granny.
But really symbolically this glass vase is rather
As transparent as we are when we're together,
So I never want to see us separate nor shatter.
Times we shared are the stems of each flower.
Just as we come and go thru life and death,
I'll water these roses until their final "breath."
Though your suffering lasted until the winter,
News of your final night pierced like a splinter.
I'll water these roses and your cactus plant.
I'll think of you as I sing to songs like a chant.
I still love you, I wish I could know if you know
I have a lot of self-growth I am going to show.
Family, friends, food and wine
We all laugh as we celebrate
What is actually beyond description
The feast, a placeholder, symbol
And vehicle for all our thanks.
The morning after we wake refreshed
As Sun rises bright in a clear sky revealing
Fresh snow brilliant on surrounding hills.
So much joy, so much sadness
All around this whole we celebrate…
(11/28/25)
A a cultivator you hope he might just listen.?
A man who knows how valuble time is'
When other cockys, take the mission
Just to show the wofkings.' Look mate.)
They are not asking..You to just agree.!
They know as do I the, land lie planned
And its where, you never want to go ya'see? Look up (agenda 2030) and think
Of the Burma campaign.' The blood and
Sweat, of your protectors, fighting in swamp and gunshots rain.' Some made it
Back to keep a farm.' Yet others never did.! Though you; enjoyed such freedom
That card, now under the deck is being slid.' And the death card is being shuffled'
In the bush city..? Why not check out the
Game.' Break out some..Bickys and tea
Old mate.? And your? Or our? Cockys, will
Make the any confab; real plain.'
Hand gun
Shoot Theory
Bullets aim
Victims with names
Totally lame
Kill instance
Never stand nor rise
Close to the heart and hitting home
Each door becomes harder to roam
Families who mourn
Freedom that’s said, but hard to believe
Pistols and the hands behind
Wonder and yonder of hope
A world on hate that needs to think and cope
Guns are no joke
Lives cut short
When will guns finally end?
It’s up to Washington to respond in gun’s disappear
Living in Gunsmoke
Away with guns and let’s communicate
Families would love to see guns pull back
Let’s us all associate and appreciate
Guns have no place
Senseless murder a waste.
My parents said I could not keep the black, stray cat.
They explained our canary would not survive that.
Parents out, a sitter, and my four-year-old mind
let the cat in while hoping birds were numb designed.
I am ashamed to have plotted murder when four,
sad an innocent bird died cause I liked cats more.
The whole family loved that sweet cat, “Little Bit”,
plus, I swear, I never planned another death hit.
At twenty-two, I confessed to my family.
Shocked, they did say my child-self deserved a grammy.