Funeral Father Poems | Examples
These Funeral Father poems are examples of Father poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Father Funeral poems written by international poets.
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.
His days he spent pleasantly
as befit his soft upbringing
running the family business
counting the money pouring in
leaving the real work to his brother
One day their father passed –
deciding to attend the burial
he was startled to see a rabbi presiding
father was not Jewish, was he
Does that mean, he wondered –
could it be that I’m Jewish
But he dismissed the preposterous thought
buried it deep in his conscience
bride in mourning for father
his last wish for her to not postpone her wedding day
wedding two days after funeral
delicate white moth arrived
led daughter down the aisle
daddy’s shop was the place we dreaded to go
the funeral was over, and his friends had gathered there
we knew we had to do it
we were hugging and crying
how could we go there without thinking of daddy?
it had been a sad day
He had died quickly
Some said it was a blessing.
Not for us.
We were orphans now.
We got into cars and drove to daddy’s shop.
Look! My seven-year-old niece Charla said.
We stared.
A rainbow was clearly circling daddy’s shop.
He’s here! Charla announced.
A sign from heaven
Exactly what we needed.
The cold damp day seemed so awry
as rain was falling from the sky;
the thoughts within his mind distraught
with memories of times gone by.
His hopeful dreams were filled with fraught
as reasons deep within he sought
to understand the meaning of
the lessons that his dad had taught.
But now no lessons preached thereof
the meanings of this life and love
for somewhere deep within the mist
his father watched him from above.
Alone with no one to assist
begin the struggles to exist
he now must face within his spheres,
and all his inner strength enlist.
He’s hidden all his deepest fears
as raindrops mixed with salty tears
cascading down his pallid cheek
while mourning all those long-lost years.
May 18, 2022
sad faces
final waves goodbye
nope, not at
funeral
last child leaves home
makes her Dad...
an empty nester
Give Me A Shadorma Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
Date written: 02/25/2022
I walk amidst the lonely path and cry
I will never see my dad since he died
Think, how I never said my last goodbye
Gazing up I see birds flying, I stride
In one direction, they swoop towards his grave
Bending down on my knees, I kneel down; pray
Wishing that I could be the one to save
Moving thoughts like clouds, that I can’t convey
There is only one direction we face
Oneness in the Creator the Sublime
Facing our mistakes, we are all disgraced
Now, I fall down to the ground then I climb
Loneliness sharpens my senses clearly
Standing amidst the lonely path, I wept
Thinly lined eyelids seal the window to his soul.
His cheeks sink in, countenance concealed and dull.
His still lips wrinkle down to a frown, without tone.
With undoing infirmity, his breath has turned to stone.
Feeble flesh has overtaken the strength that he knew.
This mail order cadaver looks nothing like you!
In this velvet-lined box an imposter is displayed!
Daddy, where are you in the midst of this trade?
11/13/19
Writing Challenge 2, November - A Poem Meaningful
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wisshkobi Ode
Rifles cracked
A bugle played
I stood in the grass
Beside your grave
My eyes were dry
I couldn’t cry
My lack of grief
Was justified
In your presence
I treaded soft
Never knowing
What’d set you off
A life free of frolic
A life melancholic
Life living with
An alcoholic
Why am I here?
Why did I bother?
Simple really
You’re still my father
Dear Son
even I am long gone
dead and buried
please son take heed
the good lord will plead
good deeds do matter
sin will land you in the hereafter
down under where the co!cks and roosters crow
now in hell fire's, son, please I wish you not to go
travel light my son, carry a heart of love
beware those, friends that make you less
I am looking up from above
no more disgraces
or shadow traces
chat not with
ham or pork
in teeth
delusions
I see all
be kind
in the sky
When my father passed away
images of hugging him,
listening to his sermons in church,
floated through my mind.
At the eulogy,
it reminded me he was heaven’s gain.
But I sat there in shock,
my heart a lead weight.
It was like a dream, but unforgettable…
Lining up In front of the church
for the funeral procession to the cemetery,
cars pulling to the side of the road in respect…
We made the slow journey to bury my father,
Hearts aching, eyes full of tears…
At the cemetery I could not tell someone
today what was said.
I tried not to think
that they were going to lower my father
into the ground,
for his final resting place.
Fathers
A son desires – requires a little of the fires –
that some fathers places upon funeral pyres.
Lost to ghostly shadows prowling the hallways of ones mind.
Catching glimpses of, drifting past the corners of, one will find
little in them, of substance to tell one just what kind
of man – this man called dad – was / is and no sign
that a day will come, when his light, his essence will define
for ones aging soul, the empty places left in the passing of time.
I wonder about my Daughters, will they dig deep into the past ?,
for the gold, find fools gold ?, find stories untold, having passed
into history and into their presence, as part of the whole ?
Will I become fodder for a funeral pyre ?, or buried in a hole ?
B. J. “A” 2
April 1st 2004
White Roses
unparalleled splendor and a glow of peace
white roses were my choice
a funeral with festive, colorful displays
how out of place they seemed
color blind, Dad couldn’t appreciate such arrangements
though he was surrounded by heaven’s radiant hues
white seemed more fitting as we said farewell
gentle beauties, white roses, were my last gift to him
Dedicated to my father who died January 6, 2009.
Written January 5, 2014
Men don’t cry,
Or so I’ve been told
So the tears well up
But inside them I hold
My black suit matches
My jet black tie
I just stare straight ahead
So I won’t start to cry
The casket is not heavy
But my heart is weighed down
I am who I am
Because this man was around
My tomorrows will never be the same
But the yesterdays we had will always remain
As I bid farewell to my father, my friend
I’ll hold the tears inside until I see you again
When Dad died, I wrote a poem to read,
a tribute to the love he bestowed.
Tears fell as, at jet speed,
I scribed emotions that overflowed.
Before the funeral I showed it to you,
hoping you would allow me to share.
“Amateurish,” you said and I didn’t pursue.
For rhyme and meter, you didn’t care.
Just three months later I’d compiled a book;
a publisher said she was impressed.
How I loved that expression, that look
you gave me when with it was published.
*For Michael’s “I’m More Than What You Thought” contest
by Carolyn Devonshire