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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Related quotes
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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Blues For The Widow Of The Victim Of A Racist Attck
Mourn, and mourn hard
Your tears shall fall wasted and uncollected
On this damp slab of concrete
Mourn though young widow
Weep because your husband is dead
Cry because the crowd has left and you're alone
And ganged up against by the priests and the
Celebrity pastors who piously tell you
To forgive and forget
Sob because you're surrounded by the officials
Whom the wise state has instructed to order you
To accept reconciliation without justice
Cry the river of your tears because
Your dear departed husband is dead
And your lovely children will know what it's like
To miss the soothing voice of their father
So brutally snatched away from them
And dragged behind a speeding vehicle and fed
To the lions for the sick amusement
Of a deranged and kaffir hating racist
Mourn for yourself mama
Now you'll face the world alone
With the dubious title of a single parent
Hanging on your fragile and emaciated neck
Mourn and cry and weep for the widows
Of the victims of genocide
Mourn and cry and weep for the sisters
Who are cornered and raped by their xenophobic neighbors
Mourn and cry and weep for the victims of the hurricane of
The internecine strife of ethnic cleansing and tribal warfare
Mourn and cry and weep for they
Who die unlamented in the flower of their youth
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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A pitiable glory
A man ninety died.
Turn out was thin.
Who knew his glory
Are in the grave.
Who came to mourn
Knew little of him.
A pathetic funeral.
01.10.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.
quote by Stephen Evans
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Elegiac Stanzas On The Death Of Sir Peter Parker, Bart.
There is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!
A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
The present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth
The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?
And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherish'd name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
October 1814.
We mourn the death of the forest universal
The town outside my window moans.
We mourn not for the death of Industry
Nor for the ghost of the English gentle men
We lament for the stars that have been hidden from gazers.
We lament for dead rats trapped electronic cages.
Have we learnt nothing through the ages?
We mourn the death of the forest universal
We mourn the death of culture as media vultures
Prey upon the minds of the young.
Outside the rain takes its toll upon the pavement
Washing away the reminents of Autumns presence.
He awaits in hibernatuin, a soul ready for consideration.
I dreamt last night of a gleaming crown, An Angel
Came forth to say. ‘Embrace the child don’t shoot her down,
Make love throughout the day.
poem by David Lacey
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Go To Hell
Im not going to wake up today
Theyve pulled my plug the picture fades
And as my body decays mold begins to fill my grave
The smell of death permeates the silk within my coffin lays
Go to hell
As they bury me now six feet there my body lies
Still feel like Im giong down I hear a distant wailing cry
God something mustve gone wrong
And much too late I realize
Go to hell
I saw my funeral that day
I know who didnt show to mourn
My judgement was life in hell
Pillars of pain and thorns
My only friends the goat
With 666 between his horns
Go to hell
Place all your trust here in me
Rest assured these things I know
And as charon sails the sea
Your journey too shall end below
Ah yes youre all sitting ducks
Its true you reap what you sow
Go to hell
Now I lay me down to sleep
Blah, blah, blah my soul to keep
If I die before I wake
Ill go to hell for heavens sake
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By Callimachus
At morn we placed on his funeral bier
Young Melanippus; and, at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,
By her own hand his blooming sister died.
Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,
Nor son could hope nor daughter more to embrace
And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe.
poem by William Cowper
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15th August to Bengali people
Mourn
It's a command I demmand you
mourn, fool and so ignorant
you must mourn
History is clear, amazingly open
and you still say you don't know that
a pity, I must say you should mourn,
you deserve no sympathy, you lost all
In this caged race, they will dominate, a few
and you so enormous don't understand
what you lost, your root
you must mourn, you want deception, prefer ambiguity
afraid! I have no sympathy
my poor fellow, beloved countrymen
you must mourn.
Note: Bengali people still today say they don't know the real history of their liberation war. What a shame! Actually everybody knows the history because there is no two story. we faught and liberate our country. And then some collabratore killed the Father of the nation Sheikh Mujibur Rahman in 15th August 1975. To confuse all they say we do not know the real history of liberation war. but actually there is no real history, as history is one. And it is, Sheikh Mujib was the mastermind of our leberation. A handfull of Biheris and west pakistany settlers and their sympathesizers run the country after 1975 and still conspiring against Bengali people. they speak in Bengali, but they hate Bengali. and Bengali people do not still understand this and do not realize what they lost. Alas!
poem by Humayun Nasir
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God give Them Strength
God give them Strength
like you did me God
bless those who were related
to the people of flight 3407
please bless those
because they
mourn Love them
and my heart goes
out to them
god give them
strength and
bless them so
Those they
Mourn and
Respectively so
Bless them with
Health and strength
As they continue on
In their lives
God bless to all of
You and remember
There in heaven.
poem by Khilil Perry
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Electric Funeral
Reflex in the sky warn you you're gonna die
Storm coming, you'd better hide from the atomic tide
Flashes in the sky turns houses into sties
Turns people into clay, radiation minds decay
Robot minds of robot slaves
lead them to atomic rage
plastic flowers, melting sun,
fading moon falls upon
dying world of radiation,
victims of mad frustration
Burning globe of oxy'n fire,
like electric funeral pyre
Buildings crashing down to a cracking ground
Rivers turn to wood, ice melting to flood
Earth lies in death bed, clouds cry water dead
Tearing life away, here's the burning pay
Electric Funeral
Electric Funeral
Electric Funeral
Electric Funeral
And so in the sky shines the electric eye
supernatural king takes earth under his wing
Heaven's golden chorus sings,
Hell's angels flap their wings
Evil souls fall to Hell, ever trapped in burning cells!
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Electric Funeral
Reflex in the sky warn you you're gonna die
Storm coming, you'd better hide from the atomic tide
Flashes in the sky turns houses into sties
Turns people into clay, radiation minds decay
Robot minds of robot slaves lead them to atomic rage
plastic flowers, melting sun, fading moon falls upon
dying world of radiation, victims of mad frustration
Burning globe of oxy'n fire, like electric funeral pyre
Buildings crashing down to a cracking ground
Rivers turn to wood, ice melting to flood
Earth lies in death bed, clouds cry water dead
Tearing life away, here's the burning pay
Electric Funeral
Electric Funeral
Electric Funeral
Electric Funeral
And so in the sky shines the electric eye
supernatural king takes earth under his wing
Heaven's golden chorus sings, Hell's angels flap their wings
Evil souls fall to Hell, ever trapped in burning cells
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Worlds Apart
Two worlds apart, Heaven and Hell.
Fire and Water, Depth and heights.
Hills and Valleys, Earth and Ocean.
Winds and storms,
They are two worlds apart!
Two worlds apart,
The poor and the rich,
Glory mocks shame,
Peace challenges war,
Health gapes at sickness
Death in a tag of war with life,
Joy on banquets, sorrow on funeral rites,
Evil tempts, righteousness calls
There are people who live at the other end
They cry and mourn,
They see no joy; the world is darkness to them
They stretch their limbs in hunger
And lift their hands to the sky
They toil in a darkness of sorrow
While, the rest rejoice.
There two worlds apart, too far apart
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Mosiah 18: 8
I do not share his feelings -
not that I don't care, definitely not.
It's just that he's crying for something
I'm happy about.
How in the world could I feel sorrow
for something I rejoice of...
How can I conceal the smiles
in the midst of his pain-
and mourn, yet deep inside I just but feign?
Surely, I feel sorry for him
but I don't share his feelings.
I want to give him comfort
but how, I know not.
I'm afraid that in this moment of his life,
my face would fail me...I hope not.
Tell me, is it really that easy
to mourn with those that mourn?
23 October 2010
San Nicolas
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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A Disagreement
You say 'That man was made to mourn.'
Would you have me believe it—
Believe earth holds no recompense
Until death bids me leave it—
Believe there is but misery
And toil on toil, in store for me?
No. I do not, cannot believe,
While heaven smiles above me,
That I was doom'd on earth to mourn
With naught to cheer or love me.
Wise Bard, although your dirge rings true,
I do not agree with you.
poem by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
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Why Is It…
You ask;
“Why is it Ray you always dress in black?
Do you mourn the dying and the dead?
Is it because soldiers come home in sacks,
Or on TV see jihad Muslims behead? ”
“Do you mourn Mother Earth they trash?
For laying waste to once lush forest lands?
A greedy few who sell their souls for cash,
Who on Liberty’s apron wipe bloody hands? ”
I answer;
Today and more tomorrows, I’ll wear black
Till peace upon a troubled Earth prevails
When evil ones let go and give power back
When balance returns to “Justice Scales”
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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I had a thought on your funeral...
Eighty years of life
on this Earth
Was it worth?
I had a thought on your funeral.
Eighty years ago in heaven
when you were just the soul
and wanted to forever become
a part of this whole
You urged God to grant you a life
And promised
you would this time achieve your goal
But did you keep your promise at all?
I had a thought on your funeral.
The aim of your taking birth was
Service, contribution and asceticism
You instead chose
Hoarding, platitude and hedonism
God prescribed
Love, joy and compassion
On your life you inscribed
Jealousy, gloom and repression
I had a thought on your funeral.
Childhood’s dawn wiped out in dependence
Lust devoured on the morning of adolescence
Youth’s noon you squandered
due to fear and apprehension
Dusk of old age got totaled in
egotism, vanity and pretension
I had a thought on your funeral.
I asked myself
Was I any different from you?
Was I keeping my own promise to God?
The response from within came in negative
My heart did not give the nod
Seeing you sleeping in God’s lap
with a performance that was dismal
Your funeral appeared to me
as God’s signal
And I realized I had a chance to change
before I reached my own burial.
I had a thought on your funeral.
(30.08.2011; New Delhi; India)
poem by Anshul Gupta
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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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Solitude Of Loss
Behold thy sister - on a journey so long
behold she leaves to return no more
behold thy sister - thy only companion
remember your times for there'll never be more
wipe your tears 'cos leave she must
no matter the wail she ne'er return
begin to mourn - for your sister is dead
oh this lad shall wail but the deed is done
silence and seethe have crept in to stay
oh the emptiness of loss and sorrow to bear
to carry the load all - all alone
and pigments of grief his face to smear
his life alone - a thing to learn
his morn of mourn shall be of darkness
the pain of loss shall be his own
and his nights shall be of torment and coldness
oh! the grieving psyche of him
death has failed to complete his work
the spiritual bond is not severed
his life to mourn forever locked
poem by Mbanaso Samuel
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