Undertaker Poems

My Mothers Undertaker

The hole- so wide and lonely,
Is so unjustifiably small,
I imagine her decay slowly...
The crowd weeps at the door,
But I must not cry-
I am the undertaker.

The service- monotone,
The crowds grieving groans,
The shovel makes my hands ache,
But my heart must not break-
For I am the undertaker.

The rain falls,
And living is a chore,
Meaningless words emerge,
As unknown faces converge,
The

Frowning Corpse To Start Smiling

Ahead of a just fixed funeral
He'd started counting its numeral:
Negotiator of the fairest price.
For twenty five bags of Thailand Rice...

Negotiator meets, too, Mortician
And relates to him as Beautician:
One is as good as partaker,
Who goes around as undertaker
"Well, he's for badly frowning corpses
Owners pay thousands for cleaned lapses".

Man wants his wife's corpse to start smiling;
If this

The Undertaker

The undertaker anticipates a better day
His plans include some needed lawnmowing,
He winds up two ne'er-do-wells stowing
Without resources their expenses to pay
The mere cost for a proper putting-away,
While his grass continues to grow knee high
As he waits for a moneyed man to die
Someone to keep his creditors at bay,
Such a day does make for sleepless nights
Hoping

A Diabetic To His Steward

A diabetic to his steward

On the table is your sack letter,
Beside my unfinished tea, no better;
Four photocopies of it in my file,
Their original to be collected by you;
Sure evidence that your stewardship was all rubbish
And that, henceforth, I would to you be snobbish.

Your offence was the many sugar cubes in my tea,
For which I had

Undertaker

At the corner of my eyes,
Tears subside, left from the high,
Fueled by melancholic memories;
No time for goodbyes,
Likewise---forever they lie,
For the final rite, let me bury.

edited-12/4/2019

The Undertaker

he lives in his own world
through choice of demonic desire for power
inside he hides through reason of his own
with a dark desire for fresh bodies
alone he hides through the silence
amidst the violence
there is a great hold on his soul let the truth be told
cadavers he will hold in his crypt doen below
many are taken away

Jerry the Undertaker

There’s an old undertaker named Jerry
Who frankly refuses to bury
The newly dying
Since he’s been dying
To be first in the new cemetery

The Undertaker

The undertaker
A vile cruel man 
He that rots in the depths a foggy abyss 
Chained by the sinful sorrowful
He only slightly emitted into a netherworld
His makings of the undone
His scythe piercing the heart
Of the two people 
I loved most in this world
Sadly I wasn’t invited in this ordeal
I’m sure they were great for the feast
Though

The Undertaker of Time

As sure as the sun comes up to emblazon the sky,

it will travel up to reach its peak then down its path;

For without the sunset to mark the end of each day

on the horizon, and herald the coming of the night,

how can man acknowledge the passing of time?








08 August 2015
The Answer Contest
Sponsor: SKAT A

Crooked Undertaker

I owned a funeral parlor and I earned a lot of bread.
I got paid a whole lot of money to cremate the dead.
Each cadaver that I got rid of earned me five hundred grand.
I cremated murder victims and for years I was in high demand.
OJ wanted to hire me.
But he didn't like the million dollar

Undertaker S Daughter

The magnificent visage of the moon shines on
Even if it is almost dawn
The music is playing with melancholic tone fallowing mc’s baton 
Its late everyone wishes to go home not aware what they would spawn

The music is short and carless the air is muggy and it’s dark
Only loyal trees whisper in the park
The undertakers make

Message For the Undertaker

Yo bro.  . . got what you said,
look in to put us poets to rest,
I've got news for you home boy,
This turf ain't big enough for the 
two of us! 

Get down and get your feet wet. 
ain't no gods gonna help us and 
that's a fact,
Play  time is over Mr. Gravedigger,
Bring it

Am I the Assassin Or the Undertaker

Am I the Assassin 
        or the Undertaker

                   For Palani 

                   

Undertaker Blues

reminds me of the funeral job,
at the morgue 40 tables, i logged,
one of a hundred jobs id see,
blood n guts an misery,
macarbe on mentality...

but id come to get ol Marge,
suspended on 3 chains, was large,
stiff as iniquity,
came flying though the air,
 6 feet up  without a care,
no bloody dignity,
as naked as a Jaybird she,
but

The Undertaker Weeps, Too

long accustomed to his morbid profession,
   where the slightest hint of genuine sorrow
      is taboo deserving only derision,
         he's in total control of his emotion;

but now, a sensation from deep inside him
   surges upward like a relentless deluge

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