Funeral Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Funeral Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Grandmother Funeral poems written by international poets.
I look to my right
And there’s a bin of stuffed animals just like the one you bought me
I look to my left
And there’s your favorite flavor of ice cream
I look down
And I see your Nebraska sweatshirt I couldn’t let them throw away
So I think maybe
Just maybe
And I look up.
But there's no trace of you in the sky
Just the harsh grocery store lights
Reflecting off the tears streaming down my face.
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
Grandma Lulu loved to knit.
She was the knitting queen.
She has been doing this for ninety years.
Click. Click. Click. Click.Click.
She lived in a house full of yarns.
Baby yarns, skinny yarns, fluffy yarns, shiny yarns.
Yarns of many colors, light yarns, dark yarns, balls and skeins.
Knit purl purl knit; knit purl, purl, knit.
For Christmas we relatives got slippers.
Blue, yellow, orange, red, green, gray slippers.
Our babies got knitted layette sets.
Click. Click. Click. Click.Click.
She also created knitted Christmas ornaments.
Penguins, socks, or ruffled candy canes.
If you visited her, she never looked up.
You heard the constant click of her knitting needles.
The first thing we noticed after her funeral
Was the sad silence of her house; no longer a home.
Letter of the past,
Now a treasured piece,
Letter of gone years,
Now a keepsake.
She wrote it to show her love,
She wrote it to tell me how proud she was of me,
It had words from the depth of her heart,
It had words from the string of her worries.
She had just lost her elder sister
and was preparing for the funeral,
It was the end of the year
and things were quite expensive,
She wanted to give me a bigger Christmas gift but couldn’t.
Now that she’s gone into the night,
The letter remains my light in her room,
It’s a door into sweet yesterday,
It’s a mirror into a memorable moment.
From my grandmother,
A letter with love.
April 25, 2024.
While the tree on Allen street stand tall
It suddenly remind me of you and the glory of god
Sadly when the seasons change the leaves may fall
But the tree still remain because the roots where unflawed
The truth is grandma
You are my heart
With no permission I climbed that tree branch by branch
That same tree created switches for my discipline
You are the soil that created generations ahead
You are the faith of a mustard seed I’m puzzled
Like the book in your hands
I understand god is in charge
So I pray like Joseph & Moses
My favorite story is Noah’s ark
We don’t notice as our tears flowing down the river
Flowers blossom and trees are growing bigger
We owe god redemption
Ms Connie Wallace is the definition
Of loving someone with no conditions
There were crows at the funeral,
cawing to their hearts' lament,
it rained at the burial,
a hollow shell of blank torment,
faces weeping tears of black,
it doesn't seem it's gonna last,
these memories, they fade so fast,
a smudge upon a crystal past
I can hear her choking back tears, soft silent sobs echo through the phone as she tells me
“If he were still alive, we’d have been married 50 years today”
I sat there in silence on the other end of the phone, not knowing what to say back
How do you come up with words to say, a response that sounds appropriate?
50 years, so close, but just out of reach, not quite there yet
49 years of memories replaying in her head as she remembers.
She tells me of her regret from all of the years they shared
If she just would have spent more time not worrying about the little things
Not complaining about the things that really didn’t matter in the end
Then maybe she would not have this burden weighing her down.
Now she has had time to think about all of these things since he’s gone
And she sits alone, crying to me on the phone, angry at herself.
She never cried at the funeral, but she cried in her room
Next to the dimly lit lamp, late at night, under the TV light
As she thinks about what life could have been like if only
They made it to that milestone, 50 years…Almost, so close.
The sun lights ablaze the insides of the church
And colours the aisle for a girl to waltz down
Clutching a carved dress sashaying over stone
She reaches the end and is dropped to the ground
Her girl hands to her a tarnished black bouquet
Of damp chrysanthemums and roughly cut hay
And weeps on her dress, hoping that she will say
“I’m here now my sweet, so put those tears away”
She sits there in silence as the pastor stands
And pulled to the side are her daughter’s pale hands
He blesses the dress, and each last tear is shed
And prayers reach the ears of each bowed down head
Each eye minds her shell when at last she stands up
And pictures her dancing, might that be enough!
But strapped in her dress she is forced to behave
Tucked under the wood as she walks to her grave
Feel no guilt in laughter for she knew how much we cared
Feel no sorrow in a smile that she is no longer here to share
For it’s the memories that will keep her here
In our hearts and always near
So remember it all
The good times that were had
To never be forgotten,
For all of it we are glad
All memories kept safe and held so dear
Grandma you were so special; to me, you will always be here
For the places I see and the places I go
Always a happy memory of you will show
i remember my grand-mother
when she sang in the choir
at her baby sister's funeral
it wasn't till decades later
that i began to fathom
the depths of her grief
AP: 3rd place 2022
I sit at the ivy gates
Waiting to say goodbye
I should be sad
Filled with hate
It's not sarrow
But joy inside
Though all this sadness
Breaks my heart
You no longer bare the pain
The world will weep in your absence
It will no longer be the same
R.K.H
Ma,
Leaping off the crown of a candle,
A hot bead without hold or handle,
Blobbed as us all on the bee-smell body of a star.
Air,
Shushing from the womb of her shell room,
The leant lung's slow snore looping her loom,
Muddled with the booze which bruised her peaceful as a pear.
Hands,
Holding normal knowings in knot-roots,
Splaying through the spokes of new cahoots,
All gusts must rust and turn to dust ~ as Felixstowe pebbles will wave to wax; fast towed, fed lights, we the festooned elixir of ocean-spanned sands.
Today I heard some news,
which made my heart sing blue.
Grandmother’s, most have two,
I did too and then I had you.
You raised me, with wit few among us have,
I swear the things you’ve said still make me laugh.
The sass you had would drive them mad,
your life crossed mine and I am glad.
To sitting on these benches, sipping them slow,
one after the other, together we grow.
I just wish that I could have let you know,
how much you changed my life,
how much you’re owed.
Although you hurt, you did so in silence,
thinking your burden’s too heavy,
as this world was too violent.
We were right there with you to carry,
but your strength still leaves me crying, in awe.
You are a friend forever,
as those like you are timeless and all.
Although you’re gone, you grow with me every day,
the way I talk, the way I joke, all of me you swayed.
We sip these beers, nice and cold,
laughing at the stories you’ve told.
~~~~Concludes the poem "Dark Angel"
Tones
Speak to me in many waters
Wash away the dirt and grime
Lay my body upon the altar.
Transform me to another time.
May I be in line _ the first.
To press your palm upon my breast.
Quench this dry unending thirst
To calm my impatient heart to rest.
Alas!, You heed my being.
Offer me of your embrace.
For Your face is of my seeing.
Of its form my fingers trace.
Hands of worn callous strong.
Wrap me in salvations grace.
Hear thy name _ as put to song.
For on this virtue, my faith is based.
~~~For my Grandma 11152019
I think I can cry now.....
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/dark_angel_1182586
Grandma
My hands hesitate here… hovering over the keyboard…
Numb, hard to make do as I ask…
This should be happy,
but I am…
crying.
I miss her.
She smoked cigarettes,
like a chimney.
She did not hold to drinking…
Or anything else, God was not okay with…
“Do you hear!” (not a ?)
She picked cotton.
Her hands were still soft.
Her hair was always silk, from birth to death.
She never finished third grade,
but could shoot better than any man in the county.
This was not contested. It was known.
There was an incident… but it was or is no longer talked about.
Well, at least by people that hate the truth of things.
(just winged him… what a coot)
She drove a truck with two sticks off the floor.
The tractor, it drove her. (some times out of control on the hill, wow…)
Canning, sewing, things that hold goods for tomorrow,
learned early,
and then passed it all, on;
to me.