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Cry of the fatherless son
I will not mourn my father's death
I won't even be struck by his death.
I will not contribute a coin to buy his coffin,
Or for the funeral which I won't even attend.
As is the custom,
I won't name my first son after him.
My children won't ever see photos of him.
I will not tell them tales
that my father supposedly told me.
His name in my house will never ring a bell,
Neither will he ring my doorbell -
For if he does I will let my dogs loose on him,
no matter how old and frail he'll be.
His name in my house shall be forbidden.
But how could I mourn your death?
How would your death strike me?
How could I contribute to your funeral?
Or attend your funeral?
As is custom,
how should I name my son after you?
And how would my children see your photos?
What tales did you tell me,
so I can tell them?
How could your name even ring a bell,
Or you ring my doorbell?
How would I let my dogs loose on you,
An old stranger that I haven't
My eyes set on?
Forgive me.
poem by Kimani wa Mumbi
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The Knight of the Grail
Lully, lully; lully, lulley;
The fawcon hath born my mak away.
He bare hym vp, he bare hym down;
He bare hym into an orchard brown.
In that orchard ther was an hall,
That was hangid with purpill and pall.
And in that hall ther was a bede;
Hit was hangid with gold so rede.
And yn that bed ther lythe a knyght,
His wowndes bledyng day and nyght.
By that bedes side ther kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both nyght and day.
And by that beddes side ther stondith a ston,
'Corpus Christi' wretyn theron.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Funerals are a Festival
An old lady was dead. She was my father’s
Mother’s elder sister, who brought him up
After his mother’s death when he was at seven.
I went with him to attend the funeral.
Then I was fifteen; no sadness engulfed;
Not aware how much it engulfed my father.
My funeral will be a festival to
Most who would come there for connections.
21.01.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Warning Signs
If years have passed and your children are grown
The mortgage is paid and you have a second home
And in the garage are Mercedes’ and Jag’s and parked
At the dock is a yacht.
If you find your wife in a black tennis dress
Her face all covered by a gossamer shroud
At the funeral of an old friend,
You had better check around for emergent webs,
And a bright red spot on a shiny black bug
The next funeral your attend
Could well be your own...
poem by Stephen S. Yeandle
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I did not attend his funeral, but I wrote a nice letter saying I approved it.
quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They attend a funeral robed in white, and a wedding in mourning.
Diamond In My Crown
(Emmylouy HarrisPaul Kennerley)
As each long day rolls by and falls behind me
In the lonely night there's a peacefulness I've found
Tho' I'm weary even then
When I rise to start again
Ther'll be a diamond, a diamond in my crown
I have wasted all that life has laid before me
I have watched as all the green fields turn to brown
But I shall not disavow
All these ties that bind me now
Ther'll be a diamond, a diamond in my crown
Shinning down some day I know
Brighter than all their streets of gold
When the burdens that I carry I will lay down
And the sorrows I have known
I'll see them all be overthrown
Ther'll be a diamond, a diamond in my crown
Through the passing of the years I will grow stronger
Just as sure as this old world keeps spinning 'round
Then the closer I will be
To my sweetest victory
Ther'll be a diamond, a diamond in my crown
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dying is a Heavy Responsibility
Dying is such a huge responsibility
I'm not sure I'll even attend.
Will there be sad tears
or none at all;
or worse approbation
and the silence of the resentful
or will there be laughter and love.
Who will do my eulogy
and will it be someone
I would choose
or will it be some hated brother in law?
Dying is such a responsibility.
Will they dress me in dignified black
could I have a last cigarette
or a last run around the block?
Will I lay there
surrounded by hypocrites
who never lifted a finger in life to help
now tearfully they genuflect;
for some of them
I just might
reach out my hand
and slap a face
that would shake up the congregation.
But who would have to pay for the services?
Dying is expensive, at least 5,000 dollars or so
probably more.
Why waste all that money on
hungry worms?
Dying involves financial decisions
Who will attend my funeral
who will the pallbearers be?
Perhaps I will slink off to die alone
and save myself
and others a lot of trouble.
I think I rather leave a few bucks
and have the mourners have a party;
after all
who says a solemn mass
and boozing don't go together,
even Jesus
liked his wine.
So if I go
by disease, accident, lifestyle, or crash
it would be nice if I could get some help
with all that responsibility.
Wonder if I could get someone to die for me
and save me all the trouble;
It could happen.
You can get anything, I understand, for a price.
Besides who really wants to go to a funeral?
Me least of all
especially
if it is my own.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Not There To Indict
They were cousins and thick friends too.
One of them died at fifty-five.
The other didn't attend the funeral,
Minding the overnight journey.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Gust Becos I Cud Not Spel
Gust becos I cud not spel
It did not mean I was daft
When the boys in school red my riting
Some of them laffed
But now I am the dictater
They have to rite like me
Utherwise they cannot pas
Ther GCSE
Some of the girls were ok
But those who laffed a lot
Have al bean rownded up
And hav recintly bean shot
The teecher who corrected my speling
As not been shot at al
But four the last fifteen howers
As bean standing up against a wal
He has to stand ther until he can spel
Figgymisgrugifooniyn the rite way
I think he will stand ther for ever
I just inventid it today
poem by Brian Patten
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Some they avoided a poor ant's funeral
No drums, no marching and no bugles,
Not much crowd as expected
Only few relatives behind the anthill.
The President of ants has sent a deepest sympathy
That's saying; 'Sorry, I am not able to attend your funeral
As I have to be present in an Elephant's wedding.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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An orphan death
When one died as very old,
Sons and daughters get relieved,
Their children gather for chit chats
And their kids for a play together>
The sisters and brother, if alive,
Are invalid somewhere, to attend.
A festival like funeral, it will turn.
03.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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At Our Funeral
Have you been to a funeral yet, after The Lord you have met?
A special funeral for all of us, who have come to Christ Jesus,
A funeral of your independence, as your heart, to God relents,
When indeed, you die to self, now alive in The Savior’s wealth.
Even though we died, we live, so now our life to God we give,
Earthly desires are all we lose, in accepting God’s good news,
Thus being saved by Jesus Christ, we give Him our earthly life,
Since He died for us at Calvary, to let our captive heart go free.
So believers are now free to die, for Jesus who reigns on high,
Yes free to die to our old ways, as we live out our earthly days,
Living without what we don’t need, as God’s Word we do heed,
While living for a future friend, which when it comes has no end.
The life with God, we now begin, guides us away from dark sin,
We die to sin so we can start, a brand new life with a new heart,
A new heart which now is purified, by the One, Who for us died,
Christ died to cleanse you and me, all with His blood at Calvary.
At this funeral that you attend, it’s just a beginning, not the end,
As you begin life brand new, with The Lord, to see you through,
With The Savior by your side, for He now lives, though He died,
With death swallowed up in victory, believers shall live Eternally.
Funeral Becomes a Must
Funeral of the Mind
becomes must though should not
Aggregation-and-Aggravation
be in halt.
Funeral of the Heart
becomes must though should not
Affliction-and-Abjection
be in halt.
Funeral becomes a Must!
poem by Roseville Nidea
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From A 9-year Old Child To His Mama...
I was the one who
uprooted your
blooming red African daisies
that morning when
you walked to attend the
funeral of
Uncle Aldong
when you arrived that afternoon
from the silent city
all the African daisies
have already wilted
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Never Mourn At My Funeral
Never mourn at my funeral
Because i'm not dead but sleeping
And relaxing on Abraham's bossom
Never mourn at my funeral
You that come in view to mourning
But within you, you're here to mock
Because my poetry has once expose your secret-deeds
Throw my body where you please
Or let it be dismembered
Never mourn at my funeral
You the insect that bites my daffodils
And you who want my fish to swim on a dry earth
Throw me on a stormy sea
Where Jonah fell
But its a glorious shame
I can never sight the river bank of Joppa
Never mourn at my funeral
You that come in my maker's name
Just to bless my end
Go thy way and search for lust souls
Wear them a garment pure as snow
Before they lie low with me
And journey hell eternal
Never mourn at my funeral
But mourn for we're debtors of death
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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Marriage. It's a hard term to define. Especially for me--I've ducked it like root canal. Still there's no denying the fact that marriage ranks right up there with birth and death as one of the three biggies in the human safari. It's the only one though that we'll celebrate with a conscious awareness. Very few of you remember your arrival and even fewer of you will attend your own funeral.
quote by Andrew Schneider
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Unrequested
The lady across the road had beautiful grey hair, thick and
glossy, I admired her mane because she was eighty five.
Her hubby about her same aged died, I attended the funeral,
open casket, in death he looked handsome, old man asleep.
When people get old some do not realize how old they are,
and the old lady, since I had admired her lovely hair, thought
we could be a couple; only I was fifty two at the time and not
overly interested. The lady took offence felt humiliated since
she already had told the villagers I loved her.
A day when I was doing a bit of weeding around the house
She came out; called me a womanizer hit me with her umbrella.
Well I´m not heroic, fled into the house and bolted the door;
and the villagers were greatly amused. She moved to a rest
home and I could go out without being assaulted. I read in
the paper she had just died at hundred and five, but I will not
attend her funeral….I think.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Writing The Words
I’m writing this at your funeral.
As I watch all the people in tears.
I wish I could join them,
But I know I have to be strong.
I’m writing this on my hand,
No paper to get it down on.
I want to remember your funeral,
So I’m writing this to honour you.
I’m writing the thoughts that pop into my head,
Making sure they are only the best.
I have to remember,
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I ever forgot.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
As people dropp flowers onto your coffin.
I stand up to dropp my own,
Blue, unlike the others, because I know it’s your favourite.
I’m writing this through the ceremony,
Because if I listen to the words I’ll cry.
And I know I can’t, for you,
I have to keep it together.
I’m writing the words I want to say,
To make people remember how much love you gave.
Because I want them to know,
How much of it you gave to me.
So, I’m writing this at your funeral,
To stop myself from shedding a tear.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
So that I never ever forget you.
poem by Rachel Brewer
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Lilacs At My Funeral
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs when I’m dead
Lilacs in my coffin
Placed gently by my head
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs when I’m gone
Lilacs to help send me
On my journey home
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs for my grave
Lilacs instead of roses
Think of the money you will save
1978
www.dakotaraeaustin.com
poem by Dakota Austin
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