Funeral Flower Poems | Examples
These Funeral Flower poems are examples of Flower poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Flower Funeral poems written by international poets.
she told me she wanted her flowers
while she was still alive and well
her children collected bouquets, offerings
meant for her finicky nose to smell
she told me love was the reason
for this life she lived before saying farewell
her heart was filled with such kindness
a love that no one could buy or sell
she told me to bring her my flowers
because only time could tell…
when her time on this earth had passed by
her spirit would leave her body, only a shell
I miss this woman I called granny
I miss how her light would swell
glistening like the stars in heaven
now, she’s the hope I’ll always tell
friends, family, those I love - because
she’s still enjoying God’s carousel
Painted daisies, baby's breath beside roses
Chrysanthemums, carnations beside roses
Red roses beside pink roses
Still, Rose is gone; Petals fresh, ... dried, and crushed.
Dawn and dusk, and melted musk
Settle upon the dust-covered roses, covering Rose
the flowers were gorgeous
yellows pinks oranges
with a pop of white and a sliver of green
something mother would have loved
if they had given it to her while she was alive
funeral flowers seem like a waste, for she is gone
can she see these? Does she know they are here?
I resolve to bring flowers to my aunt
before her final hours
A collection of flowers-House becomes a funeral home
Throughout our lives, Dad and I have done many things together.
From coloring books to fishing, from wiffleball to hardball
To tune-ups on secondhand cars, casinos, and funerals.
In the parking lot after one particularly salty service:
Dad and I ended up holding a pair of funeral vases
The eulogist barked, "Don't forget to pour out the water".
Side by side and on cue,
Dad and I clownishly poured the flower water
onto the funeral home parking lot.
The water hit with a surprisingly cartoonish smack...
Getting our shoes soaking wet. We both laughed, then said our goodbyes.
I like to think Brother Angel was giggling with us, once again.
After poor old Mortimer was dead
by his grave ~ a flowerbed
The poetry of the sapphire in your stirring eye's
oceanic grace,
a strand of pearls on your regal neck of a
soft swan,
on a lake of symphonic dreams splendor
gliding in your grandeur.
Our Diana, your presence of ladylike style
and fashion,
you spoke in feminine melodies.
The people's princess, we loved you
from afar,
your sandy colored hair coiffed elegantly,
charitable and caring humanitarian.
Tiara of silver and diamonds,
of a demure humility.
You sleep, dear beauty,
in Britain's sorrow that swept through
many nations.
How we wept as the cathedral bells pealed
the mourning day of your funeral.
Your legend of love for your sons,
of your triumph from tears-
our Diana, lovely as a summer garden,
blushing English rose eternal. ~
A flower at the budding stage which
Will never now reach full bloom,
This flower’s potential left unfurled,
A flower cut much too soon.
January pouring
flower-adorned umbrella
during funeral
Written: September 25, 2021
My two granddaughters sent a spray of sunflowers to my mother’s funeral. I took them home and snapped pictures of the fading petals. Consolation, the grieving of my heart over the passing days, I captured in pictures. Love-hate relationship. They brightened and comforted. I threw them in the trash when they hurt more than they helped. Still sunflowers will always be meaningful to me.
DAYS OF MOURNING
withersome
poem
on a stem
browning sunflower
enduring
days of mourning
comfort
like tenuous light
of candle flicker
bittersweet
petals like lashes
folding
into the night sky
-endless-
bereavement of stars
9/16/2021
Cold snow covered all tombs and lanes,
Still he strewed the coffin with sprays
of flowers, to lessen his pains.
He uttered a few words of praise.
But snow showers
Buried flowers.
He recited poetic strains
Could only look down in a daze.
Hot tears fell upon her remains
Yet snow veiled all in a cold haze,
Irked and harried,
All sprays buried.
Rancid lilies stream the rim
of wicker baskets
like wilted soldiers rank and file
Fatigued and sweaty
They salute a mournful throng
with dampened pistols
and burnished brass.
Hate every passion screaming
for a drink of water
in the searing heat of attention.
Stack their arms and fall
in blessed oblivion.
[Paraphrase-translation of the song from Lady Snowblood.]
Bright dusk buried in snow
Only the sound of a baying hound
And my wooden geta break the silence
I stride with the weight of Heaven on my mind
I embrace these nights
My paper umbrella is more than it seems
I have walked this path of a woman's life
But my tears will not again
Damp the ground where I must go.
Ah, the winding river path
A path under lamplights
Cranes stand frozen in the weeping rain
Unable to move
My silhouette upon the ice of a frozen pond.
I show no emotion
There will be no more tears
The paper umbrella falls from the blade
I stride the bitter path of a woman
Dragging my heart upon this journey.
Her funeral day came; friends and family were there
All through the service I cried, I just did not care
The flowers on her white coffin were beautiful to see
And that has always stayed with me in my memory.
(Taken from 'My Only Valentine'
Written on 14 February 2018.)
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
A rose by any other name
Is disgraceful to the rose
No other flower has such fame
Among all those seen in shows
Whether at a funeral or a wedding
The rose stands out more
At a birth, or a special setting
The rose is sure to score
I have no doubt about this gem
To bring joy to whom it is given
A single rose on one long stem
Is like a small touch of heaven
What's in a name, you say
It's just another flower
It will die and fade away
Yes, but it's the flower of the hour
20 October 2019
Writing Challenge, October 2019 -Flower Challenge-
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode