#funeral poems

[theophan-o]

Erato złotowłosa i ty, wdzięczna lutni, Skąd pociechę w swych troskach biorą ludzie smutni! Uspokójcie na chwilę strapioną myśl moję, Póki jeszcze kamienny w polu słup nie stoję, Lejąc ledwe nie krwawy płacz przez marmór żywy, Żalu ciężkiego pamięć i znak nieszczęśliwy.

Golden-locked Erato, and thou, sweet lute, The comfort of the sad and destitute, Calm thou my sorrow, lest I too become A marble pillar shedding through the dumb But living stone my almost bloody tears, A monument of grief for coming years.

Jan Kochanowski (c. 1530-1584), Tren XV

English translation by Dorothea Prall (1889-1948)

*Only imagine that in Bohun's lifetime this poem was nearly 100 years old...

[theprettybluedreams]

This is for you

To my mother

Who always took care of my heart

Who walks me through life

Even when we are apart

To my father

Who gave up on his dreams and land

So I could have everything and more

Just at hand

To my cousin

Who is able to tear down my wall

Who picks me up before I fall

To my grandparents

Who gave me my personality and name

Who helped me become the person I am today

To my best friend

Whose love has always been the one

To show me I shouldn't lower my expectations for anyone

To my friends

Who showed me the world

And a piece of heaven

Who make me laugh

On our late night call sessions

I grew up with some of them

Some I got to know

Along the way

I'm grateful for all of you

[eltortaszilvafa]

Let Me Go

When I come to the end of the road

And the sun has set for me

I want no rites in a gloom filled room

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not for long

And not with your head bowed low

Remember the love that once we shared

Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take

And each must go alone.

It's all part of the master plan

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart

Go the friends we know.

Laugh at all the things we used to do

Miss me, but let me go.

When I am dead my dearest

Sing no sad songs for me

Plant thou no roses at my head

Nor shady cypress tree

Be the green grass above me

With showers and dewdrops wet

And if thou wilt remember

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not fear the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on as if in pain;

And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget.

[echosdevil]

these snippets about gemma in rickens book. crying blood

[nenoname]

wondering if we're gonna have stan learning the lesson ford learnt in tbob since it's made clear that stan is still hiding so much...

[lunchboxpoems]

DRESSING FOR THE BURIAL

No one wants to talk about the hilarity after death —

the way the week my brother shot himself,

his wife and I fell on the bed laughing

because she couldn’t decide what to wear for the big day,

and asked me, “Do I go for sexy or Amish?” I told her sexy.

And we rolled around on the mattress they shared

for eighteen years, clutching our sides.

Meanwhile, he lay in a narrow refrigerated drawer,

soft brown curls springing from his scalp,

framing his handsome face. This was back when

he still had a face, and we were going to see it.

“Hold up the black skirt again,” I said. She said, “Which one?”

And then she said, “You look so Mafia Chic,” and I said, “Thank you,”

and it went on until we both got tired and our ribs hurt and now

I don’t even remember what we wore. Only that we both looked fabulous

weeping over that open hole in the ground.

DANUSHA LAMÉRIS

[wolfythewitch]

The proper scholarly way of reading the iliad is to acknowledge that there is no good or bad and that everyone must be viewed with the same complex morality, but my preferred method is to pick out a babygirl or two and cling on for dear life

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of october

alfred starr a dark dreambox of another kind: the poems of alfred starr: "didn't you ever search for another star?

stephen spender new collected poems: "auden's funeral"

marianne boruch keats is coughing

noa micaela fields zoeglossia: poem of the week, may 17, 2021: "echolalia"

kevin young diptych

richard siken real estate

crisosto apache kúghą/home

mikko harvey for m

nathan hoks nests in air: "the barbed wire nest"

john a. holmes noon waking

crisosto apache 37 common characterisi(x)s of a displaced indian with a learning disability

oliver de la paz requiem for the orchard: "at the time of my birth"

zhang xun jiangnan song (tr. bijaan noormohamed)

paul violi fracas: "extenuating circumstances"

tianru wang after "yellow crane tower"

lloyd schwartz cairo traffic: "nostalgia (the lake at night)"

kamiko han the narrow road to the interior: "the orient"

rigoberto gonzalez unpeopled eden: "unpeopled eden"

adelaide crapsey verse: "to the dead in the graveyard underneath my window"

chester kallman night music

alan shapiro covenant: "covenant"

tom clark light and shade: new and selected poems: "radio"

tc tolbert my melissa,

charlie smith in praise of regret

carolyn kizer cool, calm, and collected: poems 1960-2000: "fanny"

julie sheehan orient point: "hate poem"

arthur sze the redshifting web: poems 1970-1998: "streamers"

joumana altallal everything here...in the voice of tara fares

abid b al-abras last simile

w.s. merwin to lingering regrets

george scarbrough music

shout me a coffee

[thatsbelievable]

[ruth-fleming]

my fiance @stephanie-lauter drew me this for my birthday. i was thinking about ruth's funeral :( and i thought that pete would pick out this poem for her funeral, but he would be too distraught to read it so stephanie would read it on his behalf.

[theprettybluedreams]

I'm better now

I wish I had gotten to know you better

Not just your favourite colour

Or how many siblings you have

But also the thoughts

That kept running through your head

When you were lying in bed

I know I messed up

I had tried to put you in a position

You weren't supposed to be at

But I was broken and you seemed whole

I was healing; it was wrong

I hope you can forgive my heart

It never meant to break yours apart

I'm better now

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Hey. Can I request a web weave about thinking you're not someone people can love? Thank you. Take care.

-if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more. but you know what i am.

i hope this is what you were looking for !!

Sue Zhao / Fatima Aamer Bilal my heart has claws / Julien Baker Funeral Pyre / pinterest / Chen Chen Nature Poem; When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities / Silas Denver Melvin Love as an Act of Merciful Conquer (via @sweatermuppet) / pinterest / Clarice Lispector The Stream of Life / Jane Austen

[thegirlintheplaidskirt]

the sun was out and i let it spill in to the room a whole hour before i needed to.

there was a feeling

and i let it wash over me with the morning.

i was still smoking half a pack a day

and using marijuana like sleeping pills,

but still,

i could breathe better, this peculiar morning.

my bed was no longer a boudoir

splattered in tones of melancholy.

it began seeming,

more and more like it was a tomb.

i was half-wishing ivy would spring forth from the marbled floor and wrap around my bed,

and mourners would bring hyacinths

or lilies or daffodils to leave at my crypt.

evidence of the death

of one who’s life was well-lived.

but alas,

morning turned into afternoon,

and nobody knew

that i was sepulchred by this feeling that the new day brought.

i suppose

you only grieve for those who lived well,

and the me that was entombed

had left claw marks on everything she had touched.

so she died in silence,

with no prayers to let her go to heaven.

and i went to the market

and bought hyacinths, lilies and daffodils,

a perfunctory gesture,

but a gesture all the same;

she was brave,

even if we all thought her insane.

she was still a part of me,

no matter how dead or decayed.

- i am a mosaic of all my mistakes; every girl i have ever been is eulogised in me.

[lunchboxpoems]

SWEETHEARTS

One day

either you

or me

as if drugged

will be staring

at a collage

of photos

in an unfamiliar

foyer,

the other

sleeping

in the next room over

inside a shiny box

like a saw-in-half trick

where everyone

seated in rows

is waiting for something

to happen.

I know

I’ll be stuck

in that first room

where old friends

who knew

you briefly

but remember your smile

will hang out,

away from family.

I’ll be there,

almost

out the door,

alone

waiting as if for you

to come out

of the bathroom,

so we could

stand again

like we did our entire lives,

together

in the darkest corners,

making

dirty jokes,

not knowing what to say

to sadness,

eager to leave

when nobody’s

looking,

out across

a silver parking lot

like geese

breaking off

a lake.

C. L. O’DELL

[timetravelsong]

𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥.

excerpts from a book I’ll never write

[crmsnmth]

Funerals

I've been to a lot of funerals It comes with the lifestyle I've had

I didn't go to your funeral I couldn't bring myself to see you cold and made up and in a wooden box

I regret it I wish I would've come even if it was just to say goodbye and then I could go on my merry way

But that's not what I did I sat in my room in silence a piece of rubber tubing lays on the bed And I look as if I'm dead too

I think about you every day Even though you've been for years I can still hear your laugh I can still feel your hands cupping my face

Like when you made me tell myself that I liked myself.

I've been to a lot of funerals and I should have been at yours.