Funeral Poems | Examples of Funeral Poetry

Twenty-Four Notes

A bugler stands silent and alone
Deep within the garden of stone
And as the first three notes sound
Echoing across this sacred ground
Resounding in the mourners’ ears
Stir each soul and summon tears
The bugler plays soft and slow
Twenty-four notes we all know
That in our souls resonate
They honor and commemorate
The Veteran we lay to rest
By whose service we were

Angola Silence

Angola Silence  (Renku)


In a silent mood
Await the pure white horses
To draw the carriage 

Someday comes my turn
Laid amidst the other graves
Angola will reign 

Carry a brother 
Dispense final dignity
In this place of pain 

Louise

We know she was born that
blissful July, perhaps sooner. But we never settled

on a time of death, so the tombstone 
sits on my nightstand for now

I water daffodils with
black coffee—I want to plant them

next to her grave, where I'll
never visit. It's the least I can do since I

can't visit her, as you'll be there 
to

The monetisation of black death

The greed of the white man knows no bound
It transcends life, it transcends death
Their eyes gleam with profit
Their mouths salivate at another black death
Prices heightened on a casket
Won't be too long till another black body fills it
Money earned from this purchase
Used to pay their rent
If there is anything left they'll use it to pay for

Reunited

In crescendos and surges of light,
Beneath the somber, crimson sky,
Beyond the shadow's line,
He stretched his wings in haste
He found and swept an angels heart;
They shine and struck embrace
And onward flew the angels,
By crimson flame and flash
We simply stood and stared a while,
And heard the trumpets blast.
We saw it singed and scorched in light
And in the

Christmas In July

I'm sorry I didn't bring 
roses to your funeral. 

I brought a Christmas 
wreath instead. 

I didn't want to symbolize 
your withering, 

I wanted to represent your 
eternity, 

and the joy you brought 
others instead.

For Felix

I went to drink 
coffee at one of those 
cute little coffee-drinking 
places, and I couldn’t 
help but think of 
you. 

I tried 
not to. 

But then, 
the waiter/ 
barista/ whatever 
you call them had to 
come and give me 
my drink. 

It had a flower in it, 
a tulip - 

made out of 
whipped

Recycled

Born out of time, 
I felt different from mankind. 
As a child I would fly at night 
and leave the body behind.

Soaring like an eagle
I am dust upon the wing.
I am atoms in the morning air
I am part of everything 

I am deep within the soil
I am one with giant trees 
I am in between

The Eulogy 1994 to The End

I am here for a short time 
Sadly luckily my time has come. 
I am not sick or anything. 
But death is close to me all at once and suddenly. 
I felt his breath all around me
I fear I am dead; I gave up on me. 
None of you  really did believe in me
You

To be black in a white world

The price of being black In a white world 
Is the cost some of us can't afford 
A currency we don't own
Not because we don't have affluence 
But because they stole the wealth that inhabits our land

The price of being black In a white world 
Is the unreachable expectation of measuring up to something we

Funeral

She left at the yawn of dawn
Between fog-densed waking hour
And rain-soused grey morning.
Veiled, her image was laced in silhouette.
She stood behind the fog-rain, a dark
Painting, sketched in black crayons of
Languor.
Her breath, one streak of ink
Of a satanic fresco on a dingy subway.
And the breath of the rain was heavy,
Brewed in hauteur -
So was the world

What becomes of a world?

The trees ache with a pain only those who have witnessed true horror 
The swinging rope moping for it had been turned to a killer 
The threads unravelling trying to escape 
A maze with no end 
Running, running, running Away
Yet still can't escape its fate 

A fallen leaf a tear of the tree
Weeping for a

Funeral

Personally, I Love
The Idea Of A Wake
A Lot More;
But I Never
Could Get In To
The Spirit.

Don't Say It.

-Gray Squirrel

07-23-25

A funeral for myself

It was a funeral for myself 
And I still haven't buried her yet
The sky opened up and released its anger 
Rained down in grief and sadness
The only other witness to her multiple deaths
The world built her to break
It was too late to save her 
For she was now unrecognisable 
In a casket crafted from pain

In One City

I know a funeral when I walk into one
I can tell between a funeral and a burial
They are two entirely different artworks
One is done on grand canvas, with drunken strokes
Of sashaying brush and bleeding paints;
The other is done on mere sand, with foot and hand,
Forming sandcastles built by toddlers.
I know too well because I have

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bereavement, burial, celebration of life, cremation, condolences, death, epitaph, eulogy, in memory of, last rites, life, memorial, memorial service, sympathy