Long Family funeral Poems
Long Family funeral Poems. Below are the most popular long Family funeral by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Family funeral poems by poem length and keyword.
Today my heart feels sorrow
Saying goodbye is hard to do
But I will cherish every moment
The memories I have of you
It's been the hardest thing to lose you
You meant so much to me
But to Robert and Evan also
A Great Grandmother always to be
You will always be in my heart Nan.
And that's where youll always stay
I'm so honoured to have been your grand daughter
I count my blessings every day
I did not want to lose you
But you did not go alone
Because a part of me went with you
When heaven called you home
So just remember one thing
We are not apart
You're with me in my memories
And in my broken heart
Loving you always Nanna
7/25/2019
Beside another, recent lain
Dug before the morning rain
Laid in rows midst flowers and grass
Where hand-carved marble speaks of past
Blackbird seeking worm or grain
Eyes the earthen mound again
Whence abundant morsal found
In spoil fresh dug from sacred ground
Brief cessation of the showers
Sunshine gifts it's warming powers
Somber, dressed in wispy shroud
Whispered calls to every cloud
Dampened grass wears tinsel glister
For mother, father, brother, sister
Whose Mourners silent walk the drive
Parting as the cars arrive
Handshakes, kisses, reminisces
Comfort sons and little misses
Gather, solumn ’side the grave
Adults tearful, children brave
Casket edging from its hearse
Nature opts to show its worst
Heavens open, pours torrential
Mourners stoic, reverential
For Gran and Gramps met in the war
Chance encounter Indian shore
Oft to tell despite the warm
Danced till night beneath a storm
Then beneath a leaning palm
Neither heeding risk of harm
She succumbed to young man's wishes
Shared the first of many kisses
Lowered now to Grandpa's side
Grief outshone by family pride
As Grandma grasps the binding tie
Of he in whom she feared no lie
One love, his wife, his children's mother
Never danced with any other
Ever gallant went before
To guide her hand to heaven's door
And like that storm of Asia past
Sun tames cloudburst near as fast
Wispy mists of dampness warmed
Dance ethereal, barely formed
Vapours of the afterlife
Moonlit glimpses, man and wife
Romance colours all our thoughts
Of Gran and Gramp's eternal waltz
She’ll always be our family’s valedictorian of sight…
For
She was the no nonsense type of woman who gave all of her love and insight to the world…
That was her gift, her sight and God’s sun that shinned through her… known as the light.
Hattie is our family’s pillar of strength;
Our educator of many lessons learned…
The type…
Who’d go the extra mile, the width, the distance and length; in insuring our family’s security, history, legacy; as well as other lesson’s passed down through the years …and now she leaves us with a scale from one… right down to her last lesson of the tenth.
And As
We come together as a family in the memories of Hattie…
We’ve all come to the conclusions of being blessed in having our own personal relationships with her that was meant to be; and with that in mind…
Her eyes of beauty will always shine through and within us; for all to remember and see.
And now that
She’s looking down upon us proudly… she’s happy to have engraved her individual and personal memories down within your hearts, minds and souls.
For
This is the biggest lesson that she leaves behind; her own personal legacies of personal stories with you to cherish; her own personal touch for which she alone and personally chose.
And now,
The heavens have opened up for Hattie and now she’s received her wings; with the angels rejoicing and singing.
Can’t you all see?
For this is what she envisioned her legacy, vision and happiness of memories with you to be;
A wonderful spirit of the wise
With the glimpse of looking through her eyes, so you can see
Her touch of class that will never die…
And lastly, “THE BEAUTIFUL EYES OF HATTIE”.
There's not much to say.
I knew her, know some things,
but certainly not all.
I know how little she put up with fools,
how her cooking surpassed so many others',
how simultaneously sweet and hard she could be.
I know about her smoking,
about her jewelry, her faith,
all these I'll hold close to me.
Every single spark, every star,
shines with such a glow, such a marvelous radiance,
that we can't gaze too closely at it,
lest we cause ourselves pain.
And yet, despite ourselves, again and again,
we do;
because it's not within us to resist
the sheer beauty of it all,
of stories and of life.
A bouquet of tulips for you.
We all miss you already, Grandma.
I miss you.
I know Heaven's got you, taking no guff as always,
making sure we're all doing alright.
I love you.
Andrew James (McGillicutty) Sprouse
Poem for Dad
Of flesh and blood
that nature gives to our breath
must one day be given back
for life was lent by Earth's hand
and now it is returned
Dad though lives always in us
He is the movement of the swaying tree
The light that dawns our day
He is the sparkle glistening on the sea
The energy of the wave
He is the melody of the singing bird
The notes that flutter down
He is the rustling leaves that can be heard
The greening of the ground
All that was
that nature gave
became our love, our life, our friend
All that was
that nature gave
through us need never end
Dad, we return nature's gift
with the privilege such a gift was given
--------------
Origingal Version: (by Clive Culverhouse)
Pagan Eulogy
[He/She as appropriate]
Of flesh and blood
that nature gives to our breath
must one day be given back
for life was lent by Earth's hand
and now it is returned
(The Deceased) though lives always in us
She is the movement of the swaying tree
The light that dawns our day
She is the sparkle glistening on the sea
The energy of the wave
She is the melody of the singing bird
The notes that flutter down
She is the rustling leaves that can be heard
The greening of the ground
All that was
that nature gave
became our love, our life, our friend
All that was
that nature gave
through us need never end
(The deceased) , we return nature's gift
with the privilege such a gift was given
We started on a common path,
But not one of our choice.
In time we went our separate ways,
To hear or find our voice,
And so traversed the wilderness
With joys and dangers fraught.
The path I chose, not best or worst,
Just mine, or so I thought.
I did not scale that rocky cliff,
Nor cross that deep crevasse;
I found the briars and the thorns,
And verdant, pleasant grass.
Yet here we’re called to take a rest,
Again, not one we chose.
The way is forward; that is clear,
Yet to where no one knows.
Shall we recount where each has been?
Do bygone ways still matter?
Or shall we share a common time,
Again before we scatter?
How will I know about that scar,
Those flowers in your hair?
Or you about my painful limp,
Those wrinkles there and there?
Come, let us simply rest a while,
Tend sore and calloused feet,
For He alone knows when our paths,
Divergent, wandering, meet.
—————
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written 03/15/2022
Your years have been long and beautiful
You Ruled with Power and Might
Your majesty and your reign were not in question
Because God made you our greatest pride
Unfortunately, today you disappeared in the middle of the unknown
But forever, We your people will remember you Our Beloved Queen,
Queen Elizabeth, Long Lived Your Reign,
For you have delivered us from evil
And make us a family,
Although you left the throne
You will always live in our hearts
'Cause you swore to lead us with truth and integrity
Oh Dear Queen what you have done
But now you're gone
What a bitter pain
What an unpleasant reality
Our Beloved Queen is gone,
Together in unity,
We England honor your reign
The mother of our nation you were
The main soul of England
Forever your reign will be engraved
And celebrated for generations to come
Rest in Peace My Beloved Queen
England's Greatest Pride
No Getting Back to Normal, a 9-11 Poem
by Michael R. Burch
for the survivors of 9-11
Intrude upon my grief; sit; take a spot
of milk to cloud the blackness that you feel;
add artificial sweeteners to conceal
the bitter aftertaste of loss. You’ll heal
if I do not. The coffee’s hot. You speak:
of bundt cakes, polls, the price of eggs. You glance
twice at your watch, cough, look at me askance.
The TV drones oeuvres of high romance
in syncopated lip-synch. Should I feel
the underbelly of Love’s warm Ideal,
its fuzzy-wuzzy tummy, and not reel
toward some dark conclusion? Disappear
to pale, dissolving atoms. Were you here?
I brush you off: like saccharine, like a tear.
Keywords/Tags: 911, 9-11, 9/11, terror, terrorism, terrorist, attack, aftermath, victims, survivors, consolation, consolers, condolences, comfort, comforters, memorial, tribute, sacrifice, sacrifices, grief, loss, heal, healing
Amen
Don’t say that word!
That filthy curse!
It breaks my heart to hear it.
Such finality, to the thousands of lives touched.
No sacrifice should ever cost so much.
For they are no longer here, to live happily beside us.
So I beg you please, do not speak that word of dust.
For this is not the end of love,
So there shall be no Amen, at the end of this poem.
You are forever in my heart;
You are simply there to make us smile.
When this world becomes too dark;
You creep out of the blue inside me
And once more I can raise a smile.
For I see you watching over us,
At your funeral of love.
I see your love in each of us,
Now the tears have been replaced, with memories of love.
So God, you take good care of her,
Or she will put the world to rights.
Just make sure she’s there to meet me,
As I walk through those pearly gates.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we never overcame her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only managed with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things, arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes,
we sniffed her scent, which, more
than her familiar face, identified our mother --
a smell we never could mistake for any other.
It went quickly as her body cooled.
The rouged and pickled carcass they
displayed was more a statue than a person.
We planned to bury her with homely tokens,
like an ancient mummy: a family photo,
a brooch she liked, a pink hairbrush --
and the brass bell she rang to call
her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not
bear to see her leave so finally.
I took the bell from her metal box.
Now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.