Demised Creature
So far beneath the surface
The coffin surrounding
Air slowly escaping
Mouth going dry
Eyes glazing over
The dream feels surreal
Crying out so loud
No one hears a thing
Ignoring her every scream
Blood in her veins slow
Skin peals from her pink cheeks
They were the death of her
Where have you been?
Your late to my funeral
How could you?
When you put me in this coffin
My life was nothing
Not even a tear of remorse
You broke me down
Brought me back as a creature
heartless, soulless, breathless
Then my existence was ripped
Just kill me, put me out
My flame has already died
Where have you been?
Your late to my funeral
How could you?
When you put me in this coffin
poem by Jennifer Ottinger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I wanted to make a human monster. His name is Coffin Baby. The idea is based on a group of people from Pasadena whose names I can't mention. His mother died and during the funeral, this baby came out of her in the coffin.
quote by Tobe Hooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My own funeral, I'd like to be laid out in a coffin in my own house. I would like my coffin to be put in the double parlor, and I would like all the flowers to be white.
The Old Miser and his 3rd Wife
1
The Old Miser
my husband is dying
and he makes me promise
I must put all his money in his coffin
when he dies
“O my legal third wife
the only one surviving -
you must put all my money
secretly in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring away all the money
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
2
Now, he’s dead
and I’ve arranged for his funeral
and while everyone’s busy
with all these preparations
I dutifully take all his money
from the hiding place
which he whispered to me
with his last breath
and he bit my ear and he snarled:
“Put all my money
in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
3
So I take all his money
and bring it to the bank
and deposit it in my name
and make a cheque out for 10 million
and put the cheque below his head
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you can take all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harder Than A Coffin Nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Bend the heaven up into hell
Harden than a coffin nail
Hahahahahaha
Harden than a coffin nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Hahahaha
Harden than a coffin nail
Hahahahaha
Harden than a coffin nail
Avril Lavigne
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song performed by by Papa Roach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Forget to Write Your Funeral Plan
Michael Jackson's 'SMILE' played, as the coffin entered everyone stood tall
Mum's poem was read and felt by all
The Mourners were smiling at the photo's of Mum
As the DVD played, no one was glum
Happy pictures were played of Mum's life with a tear
To the tune of the music 'If I Lay Here'
Friends got up for the Eulogy
Wonderful Words spoken of Mum... Now free
Free to move on, to follow a new life
Happy if Dad, finds a new wife
Everyone looked like they were enjoying the moment
In a room full of love; as if Heaven sent
For Mum was so kind and by all adored
Yet sadly the Funeral Conductor looked everso bored
He looked like he had something better to do
This was just a job and he really didn't care just who...
Who had died Or who was grieving
About the life of this person or the world they were leaving
So... Make sure you write.. Your Funeral Plan
It saves pain for the family, A real helping hand
You can choose your Funeral Home, coffin, Cemetery and your music too
It will take away some pain Of losing you
In the Dead of night
In the dead of night, a Sufi began to weep.
He said, 'This world is like a closed coffin, in which
We are shut and in which, through our ignorance,
We spend our lives in folly and desolation.
When Death comes to open the lid of the coffin,
Each one who has wings will fly off to Eternity,
But those without will remain locked in the coffin.
So, my friends, before the lid of this coffin is taken off,
Do all you can to become a bird of the Way to God;
Do all you can to develop your wings and your feathers.'
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coffin Car
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
People watching her with tender eyes,
Friends whispering in kindly words,
Children running, waving hands,
Telling each other, how pretty she is.
Coffin car, she likes to ride a coffin car.
Friends making ways for the first time,
People throwing kisses for the first time,
Showering flowers, ringing bells,
Telling each other, how nice she is.
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
Wives showing tears for the first time,
Husband taking their hats off for the first time,
Crushing their handkerchiefs, rubbing their nose,
Telling each other, how good she is.
Half the world is dead anyway,
The other half is asleep.
And life is killing her,
Telling her to join the dead.
So evry day, she likes to ride a coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
Pretending she was dead.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffin Car
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
People watching her with tender eyes,
Friends whispering in kindly words,
Children running, waving hands,
Telling each other, how pretty she is.
Coffin car, she likes to ride a coffin car.
Friends making ways for the first time,
People throwing kisses for the first time,
Showering flowers, ringing bells,
Telling each other, how nice she is.
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
Wives showing tears for the first time,
Husband taking their hats off for the first time,
Crushing their handkerchiefs, rubbing their nose,
Telling each other, how good she is.
Half the world is dead anyway,
The other half is asleep.
And life is killing her,
Telling her to join the dead.
So evry day, she likes to ride a coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
Pretending she was dead.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Coffin
Deeming that I was due to die
I framed myself a coffin;
So full of graveyard zeal was I,
I set the folks a-laughing.
I made it snugly to my fit,
My joinering was honest;
And sometimes in it I would sit,
And fancy I was non est.
I stored it on my cabin shelf
Forever to remind me,
When I was tickled with myself,
That Death was close behind me.
Let's be prepared, I used to say,
E're in the Dark we launch us:
And so with boding day by day
I kept me coffin-conscious.
Then came that winter dark as doom,
No firing wood had I;
My shack was icy as a tomb
And I was set to die.
But e'er the losing of my wits
I saw that coffin there,
S smashing the damned thing to bits
I made a gorgeous flare.
I never saw a flame so bright,
So goldenly divine,
As starred the blackness of the night
That boneyard box of mine.
And now I go forth coffin-shy,
With no more carnal fears,
For radiantly sure am I
I'll stack a hundred years.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Skeletal Man In A Big Town!
He smells Varnish!
Because he works as a wood-polisher
To a Funeral Caretaker.
He nicely polishes
The Coffins
With his stained hands.
He's the owner's pet
The old underdog not paid well.
There he takes
Three meals free and he sleeps
In an old coffin at the Embalm room.
Shrewd Boss loves him very much!
And given him a promise
That he offers the very best Casket
For his going away!
Poor Man in a late evening
Mutters after gulping an illicit liquor in the town.
'I polish their coffins and see my wrinkled face.
As per the Boss's promise the expensive coffin
I never see while I am going
And if he shows when I am alive
I could have polished it well than others?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Nailed Coffin - Life? English & Japanese
Coffin pounded nails
Economy of air
Survive, never complain!
No wasting any air
Be happy you still have
the freedom's scent!
With own blood
-color of love
feel free to paint
on the coffin walls
a million hearts!
a mountain, a river
a sea, the sky,
whole world! !
Keep happy, smile:
-only a coffin, could not
make you feel alone,
Right? ! ?
釘 打 た れ た 棺 桶 - 人 生 ？
釘 を 打 た れ た 棺 桶
空 気 の 節 約
生 き 残 れ 、 不 平 を 言 わ ず に ！
わ ず か な 空 気 も 無 駄 に す る こ と な く
自 由 の 香 り を 感 じ れ る だ け
あ り が た く 思 え ！
自 ら の 血 で
-愛 の 色
ど う ぞ 自 由 に お 描 き な さ い
棺 桶 の 壁 に
百 万 の 心 臓 を ！
山 、 川
海 、 空
す べ て の 世 界 を ！
ず っ と 幸 せ に 、 笑 顔 で ：
-た か が 棺 桶 な ん か で
孤 独 を 感 じ る こ と な ん て な い
そ う で し ょ う ？ ！ ？
poem by Elena Sandu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rise after Dusk
Out of the Coffin and into my hearse
I'm hunting for your blood you can be my first
Don't try to run honey, you're as good as dead
I'm gonna dye you're milky skin a pretty shade of red
I'm gonna leave you lifeless, you're blood so priceless
and now you're mine, don't even try to fight this
Now in this darkest hour, you're blood I will devour
I love every minute of this, and I love this power
Out of the coffin and into your bed
haunting all your dreams, honey you're the undead
Walk into the night baby, this is your life
You've got the taste blood, now the make the whole world die.
poem by Justin Schock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reburying the skeleton
A skeleton thought it time for his wake,
He was in fact a hundred years too late,
Since he was unaware of his mistake,
He went off in search of his old flatmate,
When he found his way to the right address,
The occupant sadly abhorred her guest,
She gave out a scream to show her distress,
And people came to inspect the unrest,
They deemed that they did not quite like his kind,
And then schemed to bring about his demise,
One of the men hit him hard from behind,
Then took him to where they thought it most wise,
They then went about reburying him,
So as to confine him to his coffin,
But in their haste they left out a forelimb,
So had to open the coffin again.
poem by Christian Lacdael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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John Betjeman, Poet
Six distinguished men, soaked to the skin,
others with the ladies following,
a coffin, underslung,
a walk of half a mile along a rough churchgoing path,
the coffin swinging like a cradle,
in driving Cornish rain;
an almost merry funeral,
green and flowered with thought,
full of the memory of laughter
There’s a photo – he's
about two or three years old –
this is a child born
with fear on his face
at having been born
to death; (the cradle
swinging like a coffin) :
instead of looking at the
birdie in the camera, it’s the void he sees.
how to fill the intervening years?
walking just as Pooh Bear walks,
(his beloved, patched teddy bear
which accompanied him for life
had taught him how to walk)
solemn, careful, tubby, smallish steps,
hopping across a road
as if civilisation had taken him by surprise;
squashed pork pie hat concealing
lugubrious face, immobile, melancholy
when not exploding into laughter;
laughter, beauty, won the day.
how to fill the intervening years?
with the gaiety of company, love of women,
declarations of love and offers of marriage,
love affairs for all of ten minutes, sometimes lifelong;
with beauty, observation, comedy; the gift
of finding life one long party is perhaps of those
who've not forgotten death;
a sad face walking so alone,
leaving behind him in the lightest verse,
which won a nation's laurelled love, writing of
the absurdities of class, the built beauty of
a nation’s heritage, washed by sea and custom,
wind and Cornish rocks and shore;
an unspoken magnificence; hints of eternity;
joy; delight, and eloquence; and laughter.
Six distinguished men, soaked to the skin,
others with the ladies following,
a coffin, underslung,
a walk of half a mile along a rough churchending path,
the coffin swinging like a cradle,
in driving Cornish rain;
an almost merry funeral,
green and flowered with thought,
full of the memory of laughter.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Japanese Fisherman
A young Japanese fisherman was killed
by a cloud at sea.
I heard this song from his friends,
one lurid yellow evening on the Pacific.
Those who eat the fish we caught, die.
Those who touch our hands, die,
This ship is a black coffin,
you'll die if you come up the gangplank.
Those who eat the fish we caught, die,
not straight away, but slowly,
slowly their flesh rots, falls off.
Those who eat the fish we caught, die.
Those who touch our hands, die.
Our loyal, hardworking hands
washed by salt and sun.
Those who touch our hands, die,
not straight away, but slowly,
slowly their flesh rots, falls off.
Those who touch our hands, die.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
This ship is a black coffin,
you'll die if you come up the gangplank.
The cloud has passed over us.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
Don't hug me my darling,
you'll catch death from me.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
This ship is a black coffin.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
The child you have from me
will be rotten from a rotten egg.
This ship is a black coffin.
This sea is a dead sea.
Human beings, where are you?
Where are you?
poem by Nazim Hikmet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Learned To Stutter/coffin Car
Recorded live 3 june 1973 at the first international feminist conference, harvard university, cambridge, ma.
While john is setting up the amp...
What happened to me was that I was living as an artist and, who had relative freedom
As a woman and was considered the bitch in the society.
Since I met john, I was upgraded into a witch and I was...and I think that thats very flattering.
Anyway, what I learned from being with john is that the society solely treated me as a woman, as a woman who belonged to a man who is one of the most powerful people in our generation, and some of his closest friends told me that probably I should stay in the background, I should shut up, I should give up my work and that way Ill be happy.
And I got those advises, I was luck, I was over thirty and it was too late for me to change,
But still, still, this is one thing I want to say, sisters, because, with the wish that you know
Youre not alone, i...because the whole society started to attack me and the whole society wished me dead, I started accumulating a tremendous amount of guilt complex and in result of that I started to stutter. and I consider myself a very eloquent woman and also an attractive woman all my life and suddenly, because I was associated to john, that was considered an ugly woman, ugly jap, who took your monument or something away from you.
And thats when I realised how hard it is for woman, if I can start to stutter, being a strong woman and having lived thirty years by then, learn to stutter in three years of being treated as such, it is a very hard road.
Now the next song is called coffin car and this is a song that I observed in myself and also in many sisters who are riding on coffin cars.
Okay
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car,
She likes to ride a coffin car.
People watching her with tender eyes,
Friends whispering in kindly words,
Children running, waving hands,
Telling each other, how pretty she is.
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car,
She likes to ride a coffin car.
Friends making ways for the first time,
People throwing kisses for the first time,
Showering flowers, ringing bells,
Telling each other, how nice she is.
Coffin car, she likes to ride a coffin car,
Shes riding a coffin car.
Wives showing tears for the first time,
Husbands taking their hats off for the first time,
Crushing their handkerchiefs, rubbing their nose,
Telling each other, how good she is.
Half the world is dead anyway,
The other half is asleep.
And life is killing her,
Telling her to join the dead.
So evry day, she likes to ride a coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
Pretending she was dead.
Coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My fears...
I am not afraid of dying,
But ' twould be no falsehood to say I am afraid of death;
This is my life, this is the irony, the satire-
I can be nude and plain in the concluding embrace of death,
Yet I cannot don the funeral attire.
I am not afraid of committing sin,
Yet, I am afraid of forgiving those who err (and then admit) -
I condemn hypocrisy and all that lies within,
But yet I fear I am a hypocrite.
I am not afraid of the flags in a funeral procession,
As long as they drag behind a coffin within which it is I who is sheathed;
But if I were the driver of the hearse of another,
The flags would signal the toll of one's victory and the silence of another's defeat.
poem by Samah Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As At Thy Portals Also Death
AS at thy portals also death,
Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,
To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity,
To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,
(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,
I sit by the form in the coffin,
I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks,
the closed eyes in the coffin;)
To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life,
love, to me the best,
I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,
And set a tombstone here. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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