Funny Funeral Poems | Examples
These Funny Funeral poems are examples of Funeral poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Funeral Funny poems written by international poets.
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.
Here lies little Bill –
He took such a bad spill…
It happened at his still,
Making liquor was his thrill
Here lies gentle Jim –
His heart was never dim,
He died after losing a limb –
Drowned because he couldn’t swim
Here lies smiling Ruth –
Who always had a sweet tooth,
She died – it is the gospel truth,
From the extraction of a wisdom tooth
He was always
Known to everyone as
Uncle Albert,
He used to sign all
My birthday cards as
Uncle Albert,
He used to turn around
When I shouted
Uncle Albert,
He was who we visited
When we went to see
Uncle Albert.
But I'm sorry to say,
He's now belated,
Sadly passed away,
Dead and cremated,
And what I
Can't understand,
And what I am
Eager to learn,
Why has everyone
Stopped calling him
Uncle Albert,
And started
Calling him
Uncle Urn?
Gosh-o-Roonies, said the Moonies,
Drag you out into the boonies
Watch you be cut up by loonies
Feed you to the starving goonies.
Flippancy
Projects held together,
with tiny threads of hope.
Cut with sharp scissors,
a knife, or razor-blade...
Putting hard work into a thing...
each giving their all,
days without end.
Trying to make it,
turn out...
right.
And...
Then at the very last,
one side not the other,
does a funny action.
Just,
leaving a small mess,
making new marks from carelessness...
chipping the dishes, or at least just one.
Placing books out of place,
cards out of file.
Anything at all to make it,
less than it should be.
How sad...
How true...
How real...
No answer at all
that makes any sense,
as to the "why"?
Ann Foster BooksbyAFoster
His dear wife Daisy, wheelchair-bound
Had a sis who thought him lazy
Perhaps she's glad he's in the ground
For now he's pushing Daisy
* This did NOT place in the "An Epitaph To Make Us Laugh" Poetry Contest, Jesse Rowe, Judge & Sponsor. *
My relatives came in droves to stare at my dead body.
And it ticked me off.
I flitted and fluttered and tried to signal them with a cough.
The only one who saw me was my little granddaughter Ashley.
Age two.
A baby who lived far away,
Who when I was alive I barely knew.
I thought it was strange they could come to my house now.
When I could no longer cuddle them or laugh or be seen
Just a dead body.
To stare at
I truly think this was pretty dhrammned mean.
POETIC JUSTICE
There was an old man from Fontaine
Who walked with aid of a cane
One night he was mugged
By a wannabe thug
In the graveyard, the thug was lain
11 April 2018
For the contest sponsored by Viv Wigley
A brand new funeral home just opened,
Well that’s what my neighbour said,
He told me “We now have a brand new place,
Where we can take our dead.”
It’s in the building that used to be,
A pub for a hundred years,
It was the Old Royal Hotel down town,
Where we’d all raise our cheers,
But now its function’s completely changed,
Same clients, just a different need,
No longer does it enslave the souls,
Instead, it sets those souls to free,
The old pub is now a funeral home,
With closing time now at seven,
Final drinks are now spirits on the house,
Where closing time sends them to heaven.
the crowds taking the subways
enter the underground
below upon waking
to rise up
to work
in the clouds above
only to go back in the evening
down through the underground
low upon leaving
to home
to family
to final rest
in the underground
or in the clouds above
The Contest for my Heart
Ah yes, a one time event
Black widows, black roses, red blood flows
Capture my heart
With your affections or the carving knife
Cut and bleed me as you wish
Shower me with your passions
I shall drink to the butchers dream
Of dinner severed for two
Or me served on a plate to you
The table clothe is romantically red
Our love affair left me ending up dead
On my tomb the flowers bloom
The epitaph cryptic under the moon
Here lies a man without a heart
I had the candle
I had the wine
She had the bitchers knife
She committed the crime
I may be buried in the cemetery of the forgotten
However my heart remains ice cold
After all
It’s still in her fridge
1908-1934 Not taken soon enough! Not only the good die young.
For Epigram Contest
By: Richard Lamoureux
While a man was golfing in Fife
a funeral cortege was arife,
his head bowed in prayer
at this somber affair
to pay last respects to his wife!
One thing said about politicians
They can gather money like morticians
Who bring dead for burial
That go to meet Gabriel
While politicians greet contributions
That he planned his funeral is factual
And being a prankster quite actual
He prerecorded his voice
So when we kneeled on the joist
He said, "Hi there! Don't I look natural."