Funeral And Poems

Funeral And Poems

Funeral is a highly emotional event and the thought so losing the person you loved so much is always bearing heavy on the mind and heart. However in a funeral everyone and especially people who have been close to the person who died is given a chance to speak. At the time what you say matters so much to you and others. You can recite poems about the dear one you have lost.

Here are some funeral poems which you can modify to suit your needs.

I had "specialed" him,
Coming in when off duty
With the odd comic, a bar of chocolate.
He would lie with his eyes closed
But twitching a little
Like a snared rabbit.
His hands soft with disuse.
Even his hair slipped away
So each day we’d find
Brown threads on the pillow.
All this so long ago
I forget his name even.
In the end he could only sip
From a feeding spout.
When it happened
I told the parents.
She had an odd little hair
Skew-whiff over her forehead.
The knot of his tie
Too small, too tight,
Like their hands.
"Thank you nurse," they said,
As if I had told them the time.

Ron Butlin - The curtains were closed

The curtains were closed when I entered your room:
The day was shut out, the night was shut out
And you weren’t there.
I looked down at your face, your mouth and your eyes:
I tried to remember your mouth and your eyes.
The walls were as mist when mist disappears;
The door falling rain that no longer falls-
The corridor ran the length of the world
And you weren’t there.

Stephen Parr - Passing Place

Flies in mid
Wasps full of sleep
Over the burning quilt
Of leaves.
You’ve been dead
Two days.
Already a small spider
Has built his net
From rim
To handle
Of your white enamel
Shaving mug.

Jane Duran - Stillborn

This hurt has beat so long,
Turns up with the tide
Each month – memorial.
The midwife waits by the bed.
A hand rests on my belly,
Trails its design
With sympathy.
Who weeps with me?
I do not recognize
The long white hair.
Bygone a fire escape
A point of entry
A wedge.
The fire hand is austere
All night long
All labour long
I touch your foot
Before you go
Stepping blindly off
No toehold, no notches
To catch at
Nothing binding, nothing soft
Our child
Dropped down through time
Through the slats
Like a dime.
Here in my bed
I exchange coinage with the night.
The curtain whisks up – seagull edge,
Its white barely flaring.
The roof is smitten with rain
And the ends of stories.

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Funeral And Poems