Long Obituary Poems
Long Obituary Poems. Below are the most popular long Obituary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Obituary poems by poem length and keyword.
THE NEWS
____________________________________________________________
Life Defined by Moments Blindsided
written by The Broken Hearted
Read the news today. There is blues Obituary
today. Agony in whatever we choose His life was extraordinary.
today. Is there no other way than Proud family, wife named Glory
to escape the day? Why did you have His children Edward and Tory
to end your life this way? Too many Died Monday first of July
have to question there own sanity Police give no reason why
taking your own life, is it vanity? Service will be held at one
Trying to control your own calamity? a potluck diner after it is done.
Why didn't you just converse with ________________________
somebody? Isn't that how it is
suppose to be? No one is suppose JOIN THE ARMY
to feel so alone that they end their
own life. What are we going to do A Bright Future
as society? It is paralyzing to think Awaits YOU!
of what could be, when we take to
the destruction personally. It is not ______________________
suppose to be that way. Pages ripped
away, the book is close and can't be oil change
replayed. A story over and its gone. 14.99
___________________________________________________________
POLICE BEAT
Police arrived on the scene shortly after hearing a gun shot fired on the second block of Hayes Road. A male was found deceased with a self inflicted wound to the head.
Cat in a tree on Main street. Firefighters, paramedics and officers dispatched. Cat is safe without injury.
_____________________________________________________________
WEATHER Lottery Numbers
Partly cloudy with chance of
thunderstorms. 85 degreess 6, 42, 66, 81, 89 01
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Folded away, tossed aside, no longer in view.
Nothing else printed, nothing else said about you.
We'll probably move on, we'll probably heal,
and we'll never have known what you feel.
It’s skin deep evident,
being black is an inherent crime
It doesn’t matter whether we
peacefully
stand our ground,
or be siren subservient —
Hands in the air,
knees bent
We get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
In the back of our mind,
fear is a pride looter
Epidermal evidence suggests,
probable cause is
five fingers of uniform blue grave danger
A click gavel falls trigger quick,
siren verdict be: 1st degree fatal anger
It’s just another casket open-and-shut case,
the latest obituary picture
bearing eyewitness of Breonna Taylor’s face
Like chalk on a blackboard,
we get erased ...
so rap sheet easily
Four-by-for centuries,
our coffin pleas
have been iron fetter ignored
The only asphalt sound
silently heard
are the yellow tape trace words:
“I can’t breathe,”
with our George Floyd face
in the paved dirt
Epidermal evidence historically reveal:
We always got shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Skin color hatred smoking barrel explode
on a trigger reload
Being black was our genetic crime
Wanting the good life
on the whiter side
of the picket fence
Made former slave cotton-picking sense
Our emancipated thoughts
were escaped equality sought
But votes auction bought,
forced us to tragically be
paddy wagon pellet caught
And when suffrage hope died,
it was our fault —
Runaway tears shed for naught!
Morgue blame sent:
Usual suspect motives be
dreams non-violent
Desiring to be integrated legally
into American society
was our heinous offense
No need for more epidermal evidence
It’s just another cell open-and-shut case,
the latest unarmed picture
bearing eyewitness of Jacob Blake’s face
We repeatedly
get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Seems the lawlessness of the land says:
The badge can be
judge, jury
and executioner
Ain’t it blatant epidermal evident,
being black is an egregious, breathable offense
Of which there is no self-defense
We get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Perpetrator exit wombs inflicted on
menace to society ghetto we
Aborted justice is our
perforated epidermal eulogy
Being black is a natural-born crime,
evidentiary,
an umbilical sin
It’ll get you pandemic shot seven times,
by a sick, sick six-shooter
MY OLD BOSSES FUNERAL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Went to the funeral of my old boss
After several speakers I was at a loss
Who was this person they were eulogizing
Kind words and praise was so surprising
I knew him well for many, many years
Despised by family and also his peers
He was a tough boss that never praised
The toil of his workers, most thought him crazed
One speaker after another had bountiful praise
They must be mistaken or in a mental daze
Like I said I knew him well
Being around him was a living hell
His ex wife had nothing to say
His two daughters couldn’t make it today
His son sent a card but forgot to sign
It said” hi mom” are you having a good time?
I had an eerie feeling throughout the service
These lauding comments were making me nervous
I had to make sure I was in the right place
Walked up to the casket and stared at his face
I had to touch him to see if he’s cold
Lipstick and rouge made him look old
Underneath the makeup he was turning gray
Get him underground don’t wait another day
Sure enough the old codger was dead
But I couldn’t believe the plaudits said
He was a bitter psychotic misanthrope
He was cheap a bigot a total mope
He was intolerant abusive and never approved
To belittle and disarm was his every move
The praising went on like a marathon
It sounded as if they’re sorry he’s gone
It must be that he had more than one side
They’re talking about Dr. Jekyll I knew Mr. Hyde
BOSS’S FUNERAL (2)
Later I learned what the praise was all about
He left a fortune for his rep to dole out
Total discretion for his rep to give away
To anyone that had something real to say
Everyone here and others previously chosen
To say a few words about the recently frozen
They all praised and offered exaltations
Expecting a big payoff for their commendations
But when the will was officially opened
Not a thing awarded to those who had spoken
Instead everything was willed to his son
Cause he was best to continue his fathers run
Of all of my kin and friends it was easy to see
My son is a son of a ***** just like me
So he gets my wealth and also my genes
He’ll succeed using unscrupulous schemes
When its his time to turn from ecru to gray
He can expose the hypocrites as I did today
It has been twelve years
Every one of those years
I have been turned away
by officials of the city
Twelve long years
of being on the housing waiting list
Being the only breadwinner
Times got tougher
To my children I imagine
that to them
I am a failure in many ways
No where for me to seek refuge
The only way is inside my head could convince me otherwise
What do you say to a
man living with cerebral palsy?
Who has to proof himself on all fronts
Spiritually it becomes draining
in a one room flat
He becomes out of touch
with those immediate loved ones
Wife then kids or vice versa
All freedoms are compromised
Specially the kids
As a physical impaired man
I am not much affected
Considering my boarding school days
It becomes tough
when it is an all female club
And I am the only male
and physically impaired
Mentally the impact takes its toll
There is a heaviness within me
I cannot seem to find an outlet
That's why I'm living on a page
Out of control
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
If you see me smiling
It is a front
this is how I deal with my pain
Many second job attempts fail
I am beginning to doubt myself
I sometimes stare at myself in the mirror
My wife's take on it
is that I am full of myself
That may be the case
It runs much deeper than that
Maybe I am taking her
too much along with me
But I can't help it we are close knit family
The Lord has blessed me
With three daughters
They could write
a book about me
one day if they are aspiring authors
along with my wife as their editor
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
I silently wish for all those material things
Things that is out my grasp of understanding
Why some of us
gets it easy and others hard
Is there a lesson
to us that are disenfranchised
or are we nearing our expiry date?
Hey, it is just a thought
along with my perception of things
Who gets to build us up?
When you hit rock bottom
What is the bottom line?
What if we get to that helpline too late?
What will they say in your obituary
Were you worthwhile living with
Or were you known to be a prick
Only time will tell
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
Ask and remember
Every time I think of you.
Ask your friends, they say to remember your kindness, your dimple, and your smile given to everyone you met from a store clerk to the governor.
Ask your friends, they say to remember how charitable and optimistic you always were whether winning or in defeat.
Ask your friends, they say to remember, how you helped so many yet you didn’t ask for anything in return.
Every time I will think of you.
Ask your brothers and sister and me, to remember, all the football scrimmages in the yard or basketball half courts or viewing either on tv.
Ask your brothers and sister and me, to remember, your consoling words of “get over it” when we were lonely or sad.
Ask dad, your brothers and sister, and myself, to remember, all the times you lifted him up, gave him support, and cared about his daily needs.
Every time I will think of you.
Ask your teachers, they say to remember what a good student you were and how you were awarded to Boy’s State to learn how to govern.
Ask your coaches what they say to remember, what an amazing golfer you were, and how you continued to play even after the accident that would have left others unable to walk again.
Ask your fraternity brothers, and they say to remember how you were able to plan, set up, and attend a party and still make your grades and graduate.
Every time I will think of you.
Ask your employees, they say to remember you gave your time and money when anyone didn’t have something to eat, a car to drive, or a place to live.
Ask your MDA volunteers, and they say to remember, you shared the spotlight with all that helped any event succeed.
Ask your coworkers, they say to remember, you always gave encouragement and said the way to answer the phone is “It is a GREAT day at the Lake of the Ozarks!”
Every time I will think of you.
Ask your daughter, she will say to remember all of these things because you were her father, our brother, a son, and a friend.
Ask your daughter, she will say to remember that you were able to love and care about her the best you knew how.
Ask your daughter, she will say to remember how proud you felt because of the woman she had become and her ability to help others as you had done.
Every time I will think of you.
The following is a tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, the amazing artist who died of his own hand in 1890. He died, tragically alone, and in obvious pain, unrecognized and unappreciated by the people of his day. But, in 1972, a talented young recording artist, Don Mclean, wrote and recorded a beautiful and stirring tribute to the artist, Vincent. The following are the lyrics to the song, featured on the American Pie album. I hope you will appreciate not only the sentiment so beautifully expressed, but the marvelous imagery and flawless poetry. It moves me; I hope it will likewise move you. And now, Vincent:
Starry, starry night,
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand, what you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night,
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue,
Morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I understand,
What you tired to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you,
Though your love was true,
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life as lovers often do,
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night,
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken in the virgin snow.
Now I think I know,
What you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen,
They're not listening still...
Perhaps they never will.
~M
My epitaph writ large...
courtesy third person singular.
Mise en scène pour décès
pardon his feeble attempt at French,
a unilingual English language
quibbling, and scribbling mensch
strongly advises applying
left handed monkey wrench,
which custom designed tool
assigned impossible mission
to discern sense and sensibility
regarding following poetic thread
subject of a fool's errand.
Mein kampf witnessed, punctuated,
and evinced courtesy final breath
automatically triggering (tumblr
to activate) final curtain call
and unremarkable death.
As stipulated in the living will
cremation of his lifeless body
cremated into soft gray powder.
A prerecorded hashtagged obituary
downloaded to individual smartphones
and simultaneously appeared on
the following poetry websites:
COSMOFUNNEL, Hello Poetry,
Neopoet, My Poetic Side, Poetry Soup,
PoetryNook, PoetryVibe, Prose|
A community of readers and writers,
and All Poetry.
He hesitated and lost out
on game of life big time
even fumbling crafting reasonable rhyme
noshing, spending, and whiling
inordinate amount of hours
squirreled away in his bedroom
surrounding himself with reading material.
He amassed fountainhead of knowledge
quietly engorging cerebral gray matter
whereat noggin swelled up
rivaling globe, but Atlas shrugged
at him, whose head
resembled the first Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea.
Odd his voracious appetite
to buzzfeed with one
after another binary byte
zealous precocity to engross himself
with storied reading material
that does extremely excite
(at the expense of healthy socialization)
where his imagination took flight,
nevertheless myopic eyes of his
did glean insight
keeping his cute button nose
between pages of choice morsels
to appease hunger
keeping himself awake
drinking high test coffee
during darkness aided by jacklight
processing meaty material with might
experiencing abundant, exultant,
intoxicant, over-extravagant
joie de vivre day or night,
a balm, elixir, inebriate... quite
the panacea to abet emotional incapacitation
which entails crafting poems
oftimes spending efforts
with efforts undertaking rewrite
unwittingly garnering a fanbase
courtesy ideology doth unite.
Tribute to Maradona
TO SKY HIGH
Small structure in five feet five frame
flashed in fabulous fame.
Little Argentinian Golden Boy
Bullish, buoyant, graceful with eyes angelic,
Rustic, over confident, playing magic.
Appeared an exceptional footballer
Nonparallel on strut and swagger
with tangled disarranged hair.
Careful yet without care.
mesmerizing spectators.
Promising skill on challenge of arrogance.
Strong sturdy solid sense of balance
pivoted on self-belief.
His real relief
to sky ball high playing on loops of eyes
with magic of swift feet showing miracle.
Public was marveled on blink less glance.
Excitement, emotions to enhance, not perchance.
Sometimes tagged by adverse label
as Sport’s misguided rebel
or misdirected: Full of flaws,
violating norms and laws.
Fair-fine or foul play,
Right or wrong! Useless to say.
Legitimate or illicit! No way.
Maradona, World Celebrity
charmed populace with same intensity.
Extremely impatient cocky,
Yet He was the STOCKY
NUMBER TEN
reaching heaven.
Beyond football ground crossing cheekiness
Maradona proved his splendid sunniness.
Amazing talented player touching excellence.
Left too early the high heroic spirit.
An athletic genius touching summit.
12/01/20
First Place
'Obituary Maradona' Contest by Mohan Chutani
Poetry in Motion
Contest by Matt Caliri
She was a tiny angel of a woman
mindlessly moving, in a chemical faze
her heart baracaded, tormented
from her long, lonely days
while dancing on the edge of a pin.
Dreaming images with her feet, twirling
oblivious on a pole,
trying to live a shoddy role
stripped of dignity, ripped of grace
imposed upon her lifeless soul
Her teardrops falling, slowly slipping,
silently dripping, leaving behind
their clear, salty trace
as they slide down her cheeks,
like icy blue, watery veins
on her tear, stained face
She dances mindlessly
from one seedy cloud to another
in faded memories blurred by her past
Through hazy, watery depths she bleeds
tying to quench a thirst so deep
in her hemorrhaged, sedated heart,
so worn, so torn,
by her dreams that did not last
As she slides down the pole~
she floats in a hazy, igneous swirl
of aqueous diluted anesthesia.
Demons eat and devour through
her darkened descent of amnesia
Painful depths that turn and twist
in her hazy, muddled reality
of unspeakable memories
that cannot exist,
lest they drive her deeper....
to a shattered demise
Her childhood dreams
stripped cruelly of their parts,
allowing her mind to wander
in an unconscious state of grace
from hungry teeth marks
left on her innocent, delicate skin
Cheap neon lights bathed
the trashy, shoddy floors
that smell of stale cigarettes
and booze in seedy, darkened bars
Dangerous, dingy, low rent neighborhoods,
leased by lurking, slovenly men
who try and grope her every move.
She sits on a bar stool
sipping amber, colored water
from a dirty, shot glass
waiting for drunk, greasy men
to approach, handing her
their rumpled, grimy cash.
Two dollars a dance~
to the tune of one weary, old song.
Or ten dollars an hour
to some bleary eyed man
for an endless moment
she'll dutifully belong.
Shadowy features, biting at her heels
Unnamed creatures
gripping, ripping her heart
into clawed, broken shreds of steel
from many wounds that cannot heal
One sad morning,
the headlines of the daily news
printed one more obituary
of a life badly abused.
Her parents were sent
a note from the club
that said:
"Your daughter used to work here,
will you please stop by....
and pick up her clothes and shoes?"
Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,
perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden scrivener
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human
specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:
call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions
see following website for further details: https:
//www.scientificamerican.com/article/co2-
emissions-will-break-another-record-in-2019/.
Impossible mission to uncouple accountability,
(no matter minuscule - veritable drop within
figurative bucket when quantity contrasted/
compared alongside industrial waste courtesy
major corporations), yet helplessness prevails
survival (mine) inextricably bound trappings
twenty first century allow, enable, and provide
exploiting even dollop so called nonrenewable
resources, I could sacrifice corporeal entity -
body, mind and spirit within eyeblink exhales
last breath before becoming repurposed - inert
cremated ashes randomly scattered across all
points encompassing terrestrial world wide web.
Obituary -
Despite havoc primate species did wreak
from the afterlife I figuratively speak
and applaud millennials whose peak
performance accorded courtesy
your token "aged hippie,"
and long haired pencil necked geek,
whose disembodied spirit
now volunteers as Halloween sideshow freak
incorporating gallows humor tongue in cheek.