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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Related quotes
I Wrote You A Letter
I Wrote You A Letter
But Its A Lie
But I Promise You'll Never See Me Cry.
Will You Come To My Funeral When I Die
Or Would You Look In My Lifeless Eyes
And See I Died Because Of You
Because Of The Things You Didn't Do
poem by Dayna Verhulst
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Michael
She wrote dear michael
Youll probably never get this letter
Michael, I wrote you a hundred times before
Knowing how I feel
Ill write a hundred more
Dear michael, every time your records on
(michael michael)
Michael, I close my eyes and sing along
Dreaming youre singing to me.
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
And then she wrote:
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Michael, I love you
I held the tears back long as I can
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Im sealing my feelings in this envelope
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
cause I wanna be more than just your number one fan
Im gonna answer your letter
(michael michael)
Ill start beginning with the abcs of loving you
(I love ya)
(she wrote)
(michael michael)
(I love ya)
Your letter really touched my heart
(she wrote)
Ive been dreaming of meeting the picture
That you send along, signed with all your love
(michael michael)
(I wrote ya)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back, ouuh, I promess you that
(wont you write me back? , please write me back)
Girl, I think I love you
(michael michael)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter, tell her I love her
(she wrote)
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
(she wrote)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter tell her I love her
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
Yeah,
(I wrote you)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back
I promess you that...
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eating A Bullet
Speaking to ghosts
Sitting next to the soldiers of the past.
Where did we go so wrong?
Why is it taking so long?
A new discovery.
A new dream.
Building something not as dull as it seems.
I wrote it all down in a letter.
Sent it in a red envelope.
That has been stained by these hands.
To quick to the conclusion.
Where did the time go.
Speaking to the ones I love most.
Telling them I did the best I could.
Knowing that it no longer even matters.
I'm of the wrong time and age.
A hippie at heart.
Loving the world as its being torn apart
Divide and conquer.
That is what I see today.
Playing all their silly games.
I will not par take.
I wrote it all down in a letter.
Sent it in a red envelope.
That has been stained by these hands.
To quick to the conclusion.
Where did the time go.
I want to take in all your pain.
I want to take in all your hate.
I want to take in all your anger.
Just let me eat all this suffering in one gulp.
Swallow it all down.
Hold it deep inside.
And just maybe I can make it to the other side.
A place where I can rest my head
Without worrying about all of you.
And what you must be going through.
I wrote it all down in a letter.
Sent it in a red envelope.
That has been stained by these hands.
To quick to the conclusion.
Where did the time go.
The after life must be nice.
But at what price.
Will my helping hand ever suffice.
Everybody wants something and nobody is willing to give up anything.
So take it from me.
Give me the lashings.
Make me wear the crown of thorns.
Inflict every evil known to man.
Just leave them alone.
Let me be the victim of your ignorance.
Hate me because I want you to.
I wrote it all down in a letter.
Sent it in a red envelope.
That has been stained by these hands.
To quick to the conclusion.
Where did the time go.
I will never stand for it.
I will jump in the middle every time.
Not to pick sides.
But to lye defenseless for someone else.
Me before the child.
Me before the mother.
Me before the father.
A savior of none, but a victim from it all.
My daily life will not be measured by thing I did for myself.
But instead what I did for you.
Not because you asked.
I don't care if its what you wanted.
A forced sacrifice.
Solid as a block of ice.
I wrote it all down in a letter.
Sent it in a red envelope.
That has been stained by these hands.
To quick to the conclusion.
Where did the time go.
I'm sorry just run.
I take the brunt of it.
Its not my fault but I don't even care.
Sometimes you have to do things out of love.
Even if it means I will die.
It's not even my fight.
That's why I will just be another punching bag.
As the lights dim.
I know soon my life will end.
I wrote it all down in a letter.
Sent it in a red envelope.
That has been stained by these hands.
To quick to the conclusion.
Where did the time go.
song, lyrics by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Viola Lee Blues
The judge decreed it, the clerk he wrote it.
Clerk he wrote it down indeed-e
Judge decreed it, clerk he wrote it down
Give you this jail sentence youll be nashville bound
Some got six month some got one solid.
Some got one solid year indeed-e
Some got six month some got one solid.
But me and my buddies all got lifetime here
I wrote a letter I mailed in the air, mailed it on the air indeed-e
I wrote a letter I mailed in the air.
You may know by that Ive got a friend somewhere
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alternatives
Wouldn't it be nice,
If others did what we liked.
With a taking of advice,
To do what it was.
We chose and approved.
No one then would be offended.
And everyone would live as we wished.
No one would have a need to defend,
A life like this,
In an unquestioned bliss.
But realities as they are,
Have many in conflict.
Those with certain beliefs,
Refuse to comprehend.
Why their perceptions are not adopted.
And those who express they accept alternatives,
Are the ones despised.
Because their lives lived like this,
Has delivered a happiness!
And for many that happiness for them does not exist.
Wouldn't it be nice,
If others did what we liked.
With a taking of advice,
To do what it was.
We chose and approved.
With a doing done we too.
Would not find the time to debate and argue.
Wouldn't it be nice,
If others did what we liked.
And isn't it wonderful.
To know we can be ignored.
To then share in the receiving.
Others exchange from their adventures explored.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Funeral Pen
My Funeral Pen writes for me
All of these words that set me free
The pen that I shared for Mourners to sign
The pen that I wrote to turn back time
The pen that I wrote the Funeral Plans
While Families cried I held their hands
This pen has been held ever so tight
By many seeing darkness yet others seeing light
This pen holds memories dear to my heart
Bringing togetherness
Yet Families torn apart
Blue Parade of Death
The mask of survival is falling off, shivers and shudders,
The blue parade of death is marching,
Cremation celebrations, wives and children
Are cast upon the funeral pyre,
Everything is burning to extinction,
Love is the last letter I wrote to you
Becoming indistinguishable from ash.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Your Dear John Letter
When you wrote me a letter
To tell me I'm better off without you
A tear ran down my face
I wiped it away
Before I thought anyone would see
I ripped the letter in little pieces
So no one would read it
But now I wished I didn't
I have nothing but your memory now
But that's slowly slipping away
And if you died
I probably wouldn't cry about it
Because I cried enough for you
In the last couple of years
I guess when you told me
I was better off in the letter
I didn't believe you then
But now I know
That best thing you ever did
Was to write the letter
That broke my heart that fateful day
Lost poem
It was on this page, then gone
Like feathers blowing in the wind.
Where is the prose I wrote?
Not a letter is in sight.
I am looking with all my might.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?
Today I wrote a new poem,
Was it lost in cyberspace?
I hope not for I might not know it,
Even staring at me in the face.
Give me a break, my memories are at stake.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?
Confetti In The Wind
He wrote a letter in his mind
To answer one a maid had sent;
He sought the fitting word to find,
As on by hill and rill he went.
By bluebell wood and hawthorn lane,
The cadence sweet and silken phrase
He incubated in his brain
For days and days.
He wrote his letter on a page
Of paper with a satin grain;
It did not ring, so in a rage
He tore it up and tried again.
Time after time he drafted it;
He polished it all through the night;
He tuned and pruned till bit by bit
He got it right.
He took his letter to the post,
Yet long he held it in his hand.
Strangely his mood had veered, almost
Reversed,--he could not understand.
The girl was vague, the words were vain;
April romance had come to grief . . .
He tore his letter up again,--
Oh blest relief!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Better Be Good
If I ain't cool
My daddy gonna send me
To Military School
If I ain't nice
My girlie gonna freeze me
With cold shoulder ice
If I'm real late
My teacher gonna use me
For alligator bait
So, I better be good
I better be good
If I jump on the gas
The cops are gonna jump
All over my back
If I smoke too much
Doctor says he's gonna
Put my lungs in a crutch
If I'm caught without my pants
Consuelo's dad is gonna shoot
Until he sees me dance
So, I better be good
I had better be good
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
You better be nice tonight
If I spray it on the seat
Lady gonna tie a big knot
In the meat
If I spewey too fast
Lover's gonna stick
My Wrangler in a cast
If zipper grabs skin
I'll know I had it out
When I shoulda kept it in
Ow.
I better be good
I better be good
I better be good
Ooh.
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
I'd better be nice tonight - yeah
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Well, I actually wrote her a letter a couple of days ago congratulating her. The tone I tried to convey in the letter is, look, you are a part of a great American historical process.
quote by Bruce Babbitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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A Ode Poem To You
My mother gave me an ode poem, oh how I love that poem
The scene of her perfume on it, the picture of me in her arms
This letter I keep with me all the time, I love it so much I sleep with it under my pillow
To her nice hand writing, to the black ink she wrote in, she wrote until her ink went low
My poem is great, my poem is wonderful, to the white paper she wrote on it’s beautiful
To the green words of the title, my poem she gave me is the best
I love how she gave the lip stick print on the top of my poem, sad to say she's at rest
I will always love the poem she gave to me before she passed
To the words in the poem she gave me will always endure
Word by word my lovely poem is speaking to me gratefully
This ode poem was from my mom and for only me sincerely
I love my poem, oh how wonderful it can be
Its so wonderful do you want to read,
Take a look, take a look and you will see
poem by Twilight Simmons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Night's Letter
[Verse 1]
I was sittin' at home
Thinkin' to myself
I started thinkin' bout you
How much I do love you
I really do
I would never trade you
Never forsake you
cause nothin' could be better
That's why I wrote you this letter
I love you always lady
[Chorus]
Last Night
I wrote a short letter
And it went this way
Dear baby I love you just thinkin' of you
Love always
(repeat)
[Verse2]
Now I know I could've called
But it seemed much better this way
Cause I'm missin' my baby
I'm so blessed your my lady lady
Now I know I can't wait till tomorrow
When your in my arms again
Holdin' and kissin' you doin' thing thing we love to do
But till then
[Chorus]
Last Night
I wrote a short letter
And it went this way
Dear baby I love you just thinkin' of you
Love always
(repeat)
Ooo
song performed by by K-ci & Jojo from Love Always
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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