Death Father Poems | Examples
These Death Father poems are examples of Father poems about Death. These are the best examples of Father Death poems written by international poets.
FATHER TO ELDER SON: ONCE MORE AGAIN
I am your father;
Let me not be a bother,
Nor your enemy:
Please come and visit with me;
My time here will soon not be:-
The compass of God,
Has never led one astray;
Satan’s does—each day:-
Be in God’s navigation;
And love’s resurrection:-
Have mercy on me,
And forgive me for my sins
Against God and thee:-
Love you more than you can know;
Forgive me before I go:-
Forgiveness of me
Is not about forgetting;
It’s about mercy:
For the pain you’ve given me,
God knows, I’ve forgiven thee.
I’ll die loving you,
I have lived life loving you:
God guiding me on:-
And as death takes me further,
Pray tell, greets from your brother:-
As blood and flush are falling
through my father's face, gauzy
sheet of death folding over, I
know that I have lost him -- his
sorrow, joy and fire gone out --
leaving but one cinder on the
Victrola.
Fathers,
You learn from them,
For better or for worse.
How to be, or not to be,a husband.
How to be or not to be a parent when it's
your turn.
There are no books, holy or otherwise.
And religion is all but useless,
It has no moral compass
Holy images on walls,stautes,moving or mute
Never,kept a mother or wife safe in her home.
Respect is basic instinct
One either has,or, hasn't got.
' He'll be on his own yet,'
My mother often exclaimed.
When there was nothing else left to say.
And true to her word;he died alone.
The dark cloud lifted,the light broke through.
The voilens played
The mad lady sang.
And I danced around the grave.
Four days ago, my youngest turned 45.
Presently, we live some 500 miles apart,
But have great conversations by phone.
Several months ago, he said, "Pop, how
Does it feel to be 76"? My reply went
Something like this:
I can see and hear very well. I feel good,
And my sleep is great. My memory is a
Cut above. I've lost a few, but my teeth
Are real. My weight is in good order,
And I'm a firm believer in vitamins.
I have had a pacemaker for my heart
Since 2015. I have more than enough
Energy. Each day, I take a heart pill,
An aspirin, multiple vitamins, and extra
Vitamin C.
And lastly, I said to my son who calls me
Pop, "I can walk a lot but please don't
Make me run."
Father Time keeps the exchange
and he does not barter,
a minute spent is not redeemable,
what’s done is done, kerplop!
Into the river it drops flowing ever on and away
until it joins the Styx and crosses over
to the unknown realm of death
and what comes after.
However, Father says good deeds are favors
on deposit for crossover at the end,
and may be exchanged for treasure
of the immortal kind.
Time can never be regained,
but deeds done unselfishly
without regard for a reward,
are Father Time’s most highly placed.
There was a silence then a group gasp
As I bent over the coffin of my dad
He was murdered in Atlanta Georgia
Shot in the head as he left a store
But such details matter no more
I noticed his curly hair and miss his eyes
His humor his smile his stare
I know his complexion should be fair
But for the mortician’s makeup
He was put back together
Like a puzzle with death’s muzzle
Not thinking of that in the moment
I planted a warm kiss on his cold cheek
It would be the last
I had worn the hat almost to death
It was a fishing cap, with a picture
Cannot remember what the picture was now
it had worn off a long time ago
It had fallen in the lake several times
but I always retrieved it, because it was green
My favorite color, and it had been my Daddy’s
It used to smell like him.
The seams had split, and the brim was peeling
It had slashes in it, as if it had been knifed
I am sure it was at least fifty years old
I kept it until it no longer smelled like Daddy.
The shimmering rill stones
The clear babbling waters
The yellow meadow flowers
Dancing in the breezy dawn
He passed this way, he passed away
As thus, the bearded years pass on
The buried bones
The grieving daughters
Passing years fade like hours
On the grassy knoll, a memorial stone
Wreathed with yellow flowers
Below the hill
Lay his daughters still
In everlasting silent repose
The passing years fade like hours
Upon their graves, each; a yellow rose
None to hear them sing
None to marvel their glittered wing
As they’d lay midst, the meadow flowers
The passing years fade like hours
But they still remember
The morning dove, flying
And mortal love, undying
They filed his blood beneath a numbered case—
the marrow went to war without a call.
The VA counted cells, not what took place
in basements where his stare could split the wall.
The cancer knew his secrets—mutiny
against Guam’s humid silence, its red debt
claimed as the twenty-one guns thoomed in key.
We stood. We nodded. No one cried. Not yet.
There’s money now, for toxin’s wrongful death,
Agent Orange crusading through his bones.
But not for years of learning that a breath
is held—not for the legacy of tones.
They pay for what his blood became, not how
it taught us all to disappear. Lie down.
A wellspring of
Eternal joy
Unfolds within
A little boy
He schemes and
Dreams in
Fantasies
Things no man
Could ever be
But somewhere in
His youthful eye
The boy must know
The man will die
The arrival of his departure
(A numb and cruel upheaval starter)
was an emotional core rupture;
a visual goodbye to my father.
I saw his final, last inhale
that would never flow to release.
I saw his life light fade to pale
before leaving to forever peace.
In time, I joyously came to know
his essence was such a strong force,
he could bend love air to a flowing echo
and sound it when I needed him most.
I feel sure my father's echo has limits.
Souls exist in spirit realms, so echo assists
must be supremely granted gifts.
At times I feel soak in the depths his visit.
dreaming daughter ascends starlit harbor....
to her father's biding love
he is as she remembered....jovial in the
way he was on earth
they embrace in the twilight....stars fill
their tearful moonlight eyes
navy dad once....now on god's deployment
awaits final reunion
Butting heads, locking horns
the difficult child of three
if anyone was causing grief
It was always going to be me,
a stubborn chip
from a stubborn old block
never at ease we two
so I left and made a life for myself
far from the one you knew,
you pushed too hard to tie me down
I went and you felt betrayed,
you never saw my need to go
I could never see why you stayed
Glory be to the (Eternal) Father
To the (Eternal) Son
And to the (Eternal) Holy Spirit
As it was in the beginning
Is now and at the hour of our death
Amen
Poetry Form: Free Verse
Date Written: May 18, 2025
Time Written: 7:47pm
Well, Brutus was that sort of chap
As whacked his old man in the Cap.
The senators there,
They’d stab or they’d stare,
With all other business a wrap.