Long Pallbearers Poems
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(Elizabeth II 1926-2022)
Are we - crow, blackbird, sparrow -
aware of what's occurring?
We cannot tell, they assume,
but gape and gaze from up here.
This is a land with a departed monarch.
We - sparrow, blackbird, crow -
flit or sit above the richness
of that marching red regalia.
Thousands of arms stretch, sinews strain,
cameras are held aloft
to catch the start of this queen's obsequies,
such elegance, such grace.
We - blackbird, crow, sparrow -
observe orb and sceptre on the magnificent pall,
witness the splendour, the spectacle,
delight in the sound of vocal souls.
Millions have viewed that coffin.
We - crow, blackbird, sparrow - see them gaping, gazing,
with its eight pallbearers, in their blood-red flame,
as this Abbey welcomes what they carry.
(Sep 2022)
(You may wish to see also "Trooping the Colour" of June 2022 and "Coronation for a King" of May 2023)
Hanging almost angelically.
Praying for a breeze at the perfect pace.
Too soft, and it risks being exposed for being too fragile.
Too hard, and it risks being labelled too harsh and too cold.
The wind chime is singing so softly today.
It has mastered the art of veiling grief.
A bird on the blue bush tilting a beak is listening closely,
A brief reprieve from the hive of ever-hungry beaks.
Here comes that hurricane again, tangling the wood and strings.
Whisking sanity away. Strays gather in clusters of desperation,
Where children are told not to play, they rarely listen.
Then comes that prolonged lull.
Jagged thoughts gather themselves in spectacular futility.
The stillness is framed in a rugged mud,
An endless procession of pallbearers' deep gray.
Cherubs are trained to wade into hopelessness,
At the risk of getting graffitied. They always listen.
Then bumble home with wings sprayed in blood and a harsh lesson.
Yesterday everybody quietly slipped away.
Searching for a fresh melody of optimism.
Nobody fancies being swallowed up by the gray.
Nothing is salvaged from a windchime after a hurricane
Just the vicar
four pallbearers
and nine mourners
gathered at the graveyard
for the funeral of my husband’s best friend
In line with strict regulations
we stood apart wearing masks
whilst the camera rolled recording the service
for those who were unable to attend
I had to fight the urge to go over
to give his distraught wife a hug
as she bent down to kiss the coffin
before saying her final farewell
Then ... I couldn’t stop the flood of tears
at not being able to comfort her
My heart aches
that we couldn’t console his wife at her time of great need
that his son and daughter had to watch via zoom
that his many friends couldn’t gather to say goodbye
and we couldn’t give him the send off he truly deserved
Just nine mourners allowed to attend ...
my heavy heart still aches
Writing Prompt - Ache - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
04/25/21
9/22/1983
I drove your shining,Cadillac, Daddy!
The lead car to the cemetery.
A stuffed bear, your Borsalino,
In the August, back window,fino!
You, in the hearse, a few feet behind..
Tears on the, wheel, almost went blind.
Silent pallbearers, waited, white gloved.
Upset was I,.into earth, you'd be shoved.
Priest stands in prayerful solemnity,
Oh,God, take not my Father from me!
Family, friends around the grave stood,
Then, gone, into the silent, earth's hood.
You, who presented me as a debutante.
Beside myself, now, not nonchalant.
You left me to a world,full of want.
For your lost love, I always have sought.
A few days later, I came to sing you, your song.
The one you sang, though many years long!
"Daddy's Little Girl", you sang to me,
When I, was still the star in your tree!
Lyrics
Bobby Burke and Horace Gerlach
1949
" You'e the end of a rainbow, my pot of gold.
You're Daddy's little girl, to have and hold.
A precious gem, is what you are!
You're Mommy's bright and shining star.
You're the Spirit of Christmas, our Star on
the tree.
You're the Easter Bunny to Mommy and me!
You're sugar, you're spice, you are everything nice...
And you're Daddy's little girl!"
"""""""""""""
Song is also on. You Tube
Still love you, Daddy!
Panagiota's First Elegy
Dedicated to you, Dad!
when a leader of the pallbearers stands high
on the front of a funeral palanquin recites a dirge
ringing a bell held in his hand
the pallbearers’ response to the dirge
stepping one on forward and two backward
echoes more melancholically in the air then the leader’s
because their response is so monotonous and simple
and in this melancholic air a nil life’s last journey
goes as a lonely soul
i wonder how did the soul on the palanquin live his life
the leaves fall on the pallbearers’ feet by a hillside slope
though there is no wind to sway, the day with no tomorrow
goes with the lonely soul
Note: A Palanquin is a covered litter or box used to carry a person of high rank. Although two or four men with ropes carried the palanquin, the funeral palanquin, Korean traditional, is larger in its size, decorated with flowers and colorful ornaments and covered with an awning and carried by ten or more men. Nonetheless, depending upon the funeral size, the number of carriers increases.
Blithe notes of Twilight's symphony alight
Into occluded abyss spindled cords take flight
Duller shades into harmonious bands unite
Grainy film spreads o'er recess a dank, dingy kite
Initiating eve's wake, ethereal blinds shut tight
Midnight's, chilling vigil stills darkened night
Nyx's, silver, pale orb mystical procession doth ignite
Twinkling pallbearers on flanks shoulder the blight
Ghostly-white planets from distant corridors observe rite
Pleiades' sisters' glowing blue embers provide candlelight
On bended knee, Perseus the glib eulogy doth recite
In the somber parlor, Orion with satin bow stalkers doth fight
Tears from Aquarius's drawn bucket salve Night's dreary plight
Mystical beams from Southern Cross emptiness doth requite
'Round about eight o'clock each evening the massive iron gates are closed.
The moon's mellow glow shines upon spectral scenes that are now exposed!
Phantoms that by day lie peacefully in their graves now freely roam,
Reliving mortal dramas when the earthly stage was their home!
I've never witnessed such things but I've heard from reliable sources,
That nigh midnight a spectral hearse travels about drawn by ebon horses!
Six ghostly pallbearers march behind the hearse chanting a mournful dirge,
As they escort the macabre procession and at a gloomy crpyt converge!
A specter desperado is seen dodging 'mongst the moss-covered stones,
Chased by a sheriff, his moldy funereal shroud flapping about his bones!
"Crazy Bob" Womack who discovered gold up around Cripple Creek,
Sits on his stone guzzling booze and gazing wistfully t'ward Pikes Peak!
Pat Brady, Roy Rogers' old sidekick, races about in his jeep, "Nellybelle!"
Rebel soldiers scramble from their graves and loose a fearsome Rebel Yell!
A gorgeous young wraith clad in white wafts to and fro seeking her lover,
Adding to this eerie scene, perched in ancient oaks, owls hoot and hover!
Ghostly apparitions peer from windows of the haunted chapel on the grounds.
Grinning skeletons rise from musty tombs rattling about making their rounds!
Helen Hunt Jackson, author of "Romana" resides here in her special nook.
She leans against her stone observing all, perhaps researching another book!
*Image of Ghana's Dancing Pallbearers by CGTN.
Dance of Deliverance
Portend looms gravediggers ere dusk
Orange descend skies slipping purple
Their courage ascend embolden husk
Almost finished all extend into a circle
Heart mind soul a godsend arabesque
2021 October 27
*2nd Place*
Something Beautiful 5 line rhyme
~~charles messina: Judged 2021 November 11
*In some cultures worldwide, including parts of the USA, there's a festive theme for burials of the recently departed. A celebration of their lives reverberates ceremoniously in a joyous send-off, giving their loved ones a beautiful transition into the afterlife.
Pallbearers filled the bus
Off to funerals in an angry rush
It’s the wicked; they say who have no peace
That’s why the Pallbearers get their release
They chose to capture all these kind
Stifling fear often & following blind
Praising their maker for the coffee they get
For it keeps them alive and physically fit
Gravestones etched and set aside
For those of them who fought and died
I suggest we find away
To corral the ones who have been led astray
Our focal point has been defaced
By all the ones who claimed disgrace
Let’s satisfy their wants and greed
By doling out just what they need
When tyrannical freedom tries earning its place
It’s the Pallbearers who will be leading the chase
So, lock them again in their pristine sleeping cells
Then pray they don’t remember their path out of hell
Whenever, wherever, I should perish
I’m leaving a wish any individual would cherish
Not dying for any particular sin
But I’m living to bare it
One less burden for my pallbearers to carry
A wrinkle risen to bury
Shamefully condensed in this forbidden merit
In subject of change
Seems I’ve become an object estranged
Sense this emptiness before your mirror
Hidden and wiped away by a treasured name
Like modern day grace
It’s become a blessing
To know that you don’t notice
The stain, that remains, in that picture frame
Do not look for me
For I am buried in cuffs
A struggling gentleman
To bitter to bluff
Promises made
But they won’t remove their self
Porcelain tears
A small intrusion to sooth what’s left