Every life is a story to be told
Poems and Readings
There are many funeral poems or readings to be found on google, sometimes the vast amount can be a little overwhelming. It is sometimes helpful to ask yourself a few questions before choosing one.
- What was your relationship to the person you wish to remember?
- Do you want a religious or secular piece?
- Do you want a touch of humour?
- Does it reflect the life of your loved one?
- Would the person have liked this poem and enjoyed listening to it?
I have tried to incorporate poems and readings that relate to a variety of people ranging from simple quotes to William Shakespeare! Hopefully you should find something below that will suit your loved one under the following headings, just give each one a click for quick look:
Traditional Poems
AfterGlow
by Helen Lowrie Marshall
I’d like the memory of me to be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow of smiles when life is done.
I’d like to leave an echo whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
and bright and sunny days.
I’d like the tears of those who grieve, to dry before the sun;
Of happy memories that I leave when life is done.
Death is Nothing at All
by Henry Scott Holland
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Put no difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed at the
little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Immortality
by Clare Harner
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a 1,000 winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sun on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled light
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there; I did not die.
Indian Prayer
Anon
When I am dead
Cry for me a little
Think of me sometimes
But not too much.
Think of me now and again
As I was in life
At some moments it’s pleasant to recall
But not for long.
Leave me in peace
And I shall leave you in peace
And while you live
Let your thoughts be with the living.
He is Gone (Or She is Gone)
by David Harkin
You can shed tears that he is gone
Or you can smile because he has lived
You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left
Your heart can be empty because you can't see him
Or you can be full of the love that you shared
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday
You can remember him and only that he is gone
Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back
Or you can do what he would want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
Remember Me
Christina Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
The Ship
by Bishop Brent
What is dying
I am standing on the seashore, a ship sails in the morning breeze and starts for the ocean.
She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her
till at last she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says:
"She is gone."
Gone!
Where?
Gone from my sight that is all.
She is just as large in the masts, hull and spars as she was when I saw her,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination.
The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her,
and just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"She is gone"
there are others who are watching her coming,
and other voices take up a glad shout:
"There she comes!"
and that is dying.
Funeral Blues
W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Cloths of Heaven
by William Butler Yeats
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Excerpt from Cymbeline
by William Shakespeare
Fear No More the Heat O’ the Sun
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o’ the great;
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak;
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finish’d joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust.
Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look,
the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom.
I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned
Contemporary Poems
When Great Trees Fall
by Maya Angelou
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down in tall grasses,
and even elephants lumber after safety.
When great trees fall in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid,
promised walks never taken.
Great souls die and our reality, bound to them,
takes leave of us.
Our souls, dependent upon their nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always irregularly.
Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
For those laid to rest here
by Fran Hall
Under a soft blanket of fallen leaves,
safe in the hush of the whispering trees
I have come home.
My time here on earth is now done,
all the noise and the clamour, the joy and the pain,
the powerful life force that drove me onwards
has slipped away into the quiet of eternity,
and I am at peace.
From now on, I will dance through your memories
threading thoughts of love through your heart.
The pain of loss will gradually ease, and the sadness will lift.
the days will be lighter, and the nights not so long,
for I am still here.
When you walk through this place, you will feel me
in the gentle touch of the breeze on your face,
in the sunlight dappling the forest floor,
in the murmur of the branches high above you,
I am all around.
I have returned to the place from whence I came,
to the elements that created me.
The earth that gave me the life I so loved
has now welcomed me back to her,
to be at one with all her beauty.
Here, under my blanket of fallen leaves
I have found my resting place.
I have come home.
Never ending Circle
by Gordon Barton
The sun comes out to warm the day
But the wind blows cold with a North East chill
The heavens open, rain, hail and snow
It's nature's gift, the food of life
The sun's the energy
The wind the power
The rain the food
The chain's complete
The never ending circle
That is life
Darling
by Jackie Kay
You might forget the exact sound of her voice,
Or how her face looked when sleeping.
You might forget the sound of her quiet weeping
Curled into the shape of a half moon,
When smaller than her self, she seemed already to be leaving
Before she left, when the blossom was on the trees
And the sun was out, and all seemed good in the world.
I held her hand and sang a song from when I was a girl –
Heil Ya Ho Boys, Let her go Boys
And when I stopped singing she had slipped away,
Already a slip of a girl again, skipping off,
Her heart light, her face almost smiling.
And what I didn’t know, or couldn’t see then,
Was that she hadn’t really gone.
The dead don’t go till you do, loved ones.
The dead are still here holding our hands
The Journey
by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
When I Die I Want Your Hands on My Eyes
by Pablo Neruda
When I die I want your hands on my eyes:
I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands
to pass their freshness over me one more time
to feel the smoothness that changed my destiny.
I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep,
I want for your ears to go on hearing the wind,
for you to smell the sea that we loved together
and for you to go on walking the sand where we walked.
I want for what I love to go on living
and as for you I loved you and sang you above everything,
for that, go on flowering, flowery one,
so that you reach all that my love orders for you,
so that my shadow passes through your hair,
so that they know by this the reason for my song.
A Life that Matters
by Michael Josephson
Ready or not, someday it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies will finally disappear.
So, too, your hopes, ambitions, plans, and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived, at the end.
It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant
Even your gender and skin colour will be irrelevant.
So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success, but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that
enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence, but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance, but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.
Brian Cox quote
Our story is the story of the Universe.
Every piece of everyone and everything you love, of everything you hate,
of everything you hold precious was assembled in
the first few minutes of the life of the Universe,
and transformed in the hearts of stars, or created in their fiery deaths.
When you die, those pieces will be returned to the Universe
in the endless cycle of death and rebirth.
What a wonderful thing to be part of that Universe.
And what a story. What a majestic story!
The Dash
by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
From the beginning…to the end
He noted that first came the date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years
For that dash represents all the time
That they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
Know what that little line is worth
For it matters not, how much we own,
The cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering this special dash
Might only last a little while
So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash…
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent YOUR dash?
Family Members
These can incorporate all sorts of titles, Mum/dad/nan/grandad.
Forever
by Charly Cox
Can you be related to a soulmate?
Can you be born into fate?
Can two nodding identical profiles
Bear such growing worldly weight?
I sympathise my all
With those who need to find the one
When all of my searching
Stopped when I begun
Because the child in me has always known
The only one I need
Will always be my mum
Your Mother Is Always With You
by Deborah Culver
My Mother, My Friend
by J. Allen Shaw
Mom, I wasn’t prepared for you to pass so soon,
There was so much more I had hoped we’d do.
I wanted to thank you for loving me again and again,
From the day I was born, I always knew my best friend.
No matter how many times I said, “You don’t know what it’s like.”
You knew what I needed to hear and would always be right.
Now you’re gone, I wish I had listened more and talked less,
I would have handled things better, with much less stress.
Missing You Nan
by Sarah Harrison
The years will always roll on by
and time will always pass,
but every memory I have of you
will definitely always last.
I like to smile when I think of you.
I try not to be sad.
It’s pretty easy to do
with all the good times that we’ve had.
But sometimes I can’t help it,
and memories leak out of my eyes,
and I quickly try to brush them away.
I know you wouldn’t want me to cry.
I don’t know how it’s possible,
but I love you more now than I did then,
and I really cannot wait until
the day that I see you again.
Because, Nan, I know I would take hold of you
and never ever let you go.
Every day that passes by
I miss you more and more.
Sleep Now Nanna
by Alexandra Burrows
Although I cannot see you,
I feel your presence near.
I will hold you close in memory,
Till I drop my very last tear.
So sleep now with the angels,
And your golden heart let rest.
Although our hearts are broken,
We know GOD took the best.
So dance beyond those golden gates,
And join your loving mum.
I’ll see you when I’m sleeping,
And pray for you to come.
And although this pain is painful,
And I really don’t wanna let you go.
I’ll wait for death to take me Nan,
So we can together one day glow.
Until that day I’ll close my eyes,
And see your smiling face.
I’ll lock you up inside me heart,
Until we again embrace.
So rest now my beautiful Nanna,
I’ll never forget how much you have done.
So until my hand meets yours again,
Sleep now in the sun
My Grandmother
by Victoria L. Payne
In my Rose Garden of memories
I see you standing there
An angel in disguise
Who taught me how to care
I long to hear your voice
for real not in my dreams
I am missing you so much these days
how empty my world seems
People say time heals all wounds
that someday the pain will subside
But Grandma I can tell you
I think they must have lied
The emptiness I am feeling now
is strong and I am weak
These days go by without you
so dreary and so bleak
In my Rose Garden of memories
I know you’ll always be
for though you’re gone
from this mortal world
In my heart you’ll always be.
Granddad
by Fiona Bourke
Granddad,
We know you can no longer stay with us,
you fought long and hard to be with us.
We know you now watch over and protect us.
Although we cannot hear your voice or see your smiling face,
We know deep down in our hearts that you have not left us.
Instead every day you surround us with the singing of the birds,
the rising of the sun and the falling of night.
So many broken hearts are left behind,
But in our deepest despair our greatest comfort lies knowing
that you are now at peace with the angels and God.
So as times passes our tears will dry,
our hearts will mend,
but our love for you will never end.
Cold
by Carol Ann Duffy
It felt so cold, the snowball which wept in my hands,
and when I rolled it along in the snow, it grew
till I could sit on it, looking back at the house,
where it was cold when I woke in my room, the windows
blind with ice, my breath undressing itself on the air.
Cold, too, embracing the torso of snow which I lifted up
in my arms to build a snowman, my toes, burning, cold
in my winter boots; my mother's voice calling me in
from the cold. And her hands were cold from peeling
then dipping potatoes into a bowl, stopping to cup
her daughter’s face, a kiss for both cold cheeks,
my cold nose.
But nothing so cold as the February night I opened the door
in the Chapel of Rest where my mother lay,
neither young, nor old,
where my lips, returning her kiss to her brow, knew the meaning of cold.
Grandfather Kept a Garden
Unknown Author
Our Grandfather kept a garden.
A garden of the heart;
He planted all the good things,
That gave our lives their start.
He turned us to the sunshine,
And encouraged us to dream:
Fostering and nurturing the seeds of self-esteem.
And then the winds and rain came,
He protected us enough;
But not too much because he knew
We would stand up strong and tough.
His constant good example,
Always taught us right from wrong;
Markers for our pathway that will last
a lifetime long.
We are our Grandfather’s garden,
We are his legacy.
Thank you Grandfather, we love you.
As We Look Back
Unknown Author
As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering. . .
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us,
To celebrate our successes,
To understand our problems,
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgment,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.
Only One Father
by George Cooper
Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
Hundreds of shells on the shore together
Hundreds of birds that go singing by
Hundreds of birds in the sunny weather
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn
But only one father the wide world over.
Funny Poems
A Long Cup of Tea
by Michael Ashby
Death is too negative for me
So I'll be popping off for a long cup of tea
Do splash out on two bags in the pot
And for my god's sake keep the water hot
Please pick the biggest mug you can find
Size really does matter at this time
I'll pass on the lapsang with that souchong
And that stuff with bergamot
And stick with my favourite friend
You know the English breakfast blend
Breakfast! thanks for reminding me
There's just time before I fail
To stand on ceremony
Two rashers of best back, Should keep me
Smelling sweet up the smokestack
So, mother, put the kettle on for me
It's time, mother, for my long cup of tea
Here lies a woman
Unknown
Here lies a poor woman who was always tired,
She lived in a house where help wasn't hired:
Her last words on earth were: 'Dear friends, I am going
To where there's no cooking, or washing, or sewing,
For everything there is exact to my wishes,
For where they don't eat there's no washing of dishes.
I'll be where loud anthems will always be ringing,
But having no voice I'll be quit of the singing.
Don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never,
I am going to do nothing for ever and ever.
The Dead
by Steve Halliwell
They’ve got a nerve, the dead,
with their insufferable absences
while we are left to dig
deep for the funeral director’s
order of service -
coffin, music, incomprehension -
at the wake
distant cousins devour
pleasantries and leave early for trains.
They are never alone, the dead,
their unholy alliance with
the loved relative,
the stolen friend,
the young, the beautiful, the doomed,
injustice like
a blind scythe whistling in the high field
while we, resigned,
fill in paperwork for
doctor, registrar, florist,
poet.
They’ve got places to go, the dead,
behind veils they steal,
mysterious, incorporeal,
a conspiracy of silence,
raised and translated
to grandeur,
to questions no answer.
Pressing your head against cold stone,
you cannot move
at the thought
of clearing her room.
The Last Journey
Well it’s sure been a bit of a week,
but don’t sit there with that tear on your cheek,
as while you’ve been crying,
since you heard of me dying
for me things have never been bleak.
So I wrote you this rhyme
to tell of my time
at the Undertakers since I’ve been dead.
I’ve had so much fun,
even had my hair done,
And I slept in a nice wooden bed.
They looked after me awfully well,
Washed, and dressed me,
and ‘boy’ I looked swell
though I felt a bit silly,
cos their gowns were quite frilly
but they covered my modesty well.
Then they fastened my box,
with a lid and some locks,
on the top was a shiny gold plaque.
Then they lifted each side,
for my final ride
in the hearse with the smart men in black.
In procession we rode,
to my final abode,
in a sparkly black limousine car.
The journey was slow, although not far to go,
and I felt like a real superstar.
When we got to the Chapel, I listened with glee
of all the great stories they told about me.
So please don’t be sad now my journey is done,
but remember my humour, my laughter and fun.
Have A Nice Day
by Spike Milligan
'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.'
'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore.
'Help, help, ' said the man. 'I'm not clowning.'
'Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.'
'How long, ' said the man who was drowning.
'Will it take for the Doc to arrive? '
'Not very long, ' said the man with the disease.
'Till then try staying alive.'
'Very well, ' said the man who was drowning.
'I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.'
'Help, help, ' said the man with the disease,
'I suddenly feel quite ill.'
'Keep calm.' said the man who was drowning,
' Breathe deeply and lie quite still.'
'Oh dear, ' said the man with the awful disease.
'I think I'm going to die.'
'Farewell, ' said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, 'goodbye.'
So the man who was drowning, drowned
And the man with the disease passed away.
But apart from that, And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day
Warning
by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Pardon Me for Not Getting Up
Anon
Oh dear, if you’re reading this right now,
I must have given up the ghost.
I hope you can forgive me for being
Such a stiff and unwelcoming host.
Just talk amongst yourself my friends,
And share a toast or two.
For I am sure you will remember well
How I loved to drink with you.
Don’t worry about mourning me,
I was never easy to offend.
Feel free to share a story at my expense
And we’ll have a good laugh at the end.
Difficult Lives
If I had a voice
by Caroline Wilkes
If I had a voice now, it would be loving,
And I would say thank you for all of your care.
If I had a voice now, I'd want to tell you
I'm sorry for not always wanting to be there.
My life, it confused you. It did so to me,
But I am released now and my heart is free.
The heart that was hidden beneath all the pain,
It felt so much more than I could explain.
And if I had a voice now, I'd say out loud,
I love you, I wish that I'd made that clear.
And in my lifetime I need you to know
That I was much more than I did appear.
These are the things that I'd say through choice,
if I had the chance...if I had a voice.
Blessing for one who has taken their own life
Author unknown
You decided
to leave us
but we can never
leave you,
not in our minds,
not in the inner
recess of our
wondering hearts,
nor in the long twilight
horizon where you
will always walk
in our memory.
Above on
the mountain
the lark will rise
from the summer grass
to the sky above your home
and the song it sings
will forever carry
the mystery
of your going.
You turned away
from all our help,
so that we have to
ask for your help
now, not in answers
but in asking
the difficult
and beautiful
questions your life
bequeathed.
We are still not sure
if you ever asked
for the helping hand,
but still we hold
our hands out now
to take yours in ours,
to reassure you
in the quiet of the morning
or the silence of the night
and in all the days
to come
when in our minds
you still need our care
to help you go on
where we can’t go,
to see you safe
beyond the quiet line
of our understanding.
To walk with you now
arm in arm
with our regrets
and our affection
that one last mile
along the way you
wanted to go, the quiet
in which we wave
goodbye, only the sign
of our secret promise
to you, the continued
and helpless testament
of our unspoken love.
Lost my Voice
Author Unknown
How I live and how I die, is it down to choice,
How I feel deep inside, I find so hard to voice.
You may often think I’m high,
But so low inside and want to cry.
Is it just my stupid pride?
The real me I try to hide.
At times I want to end it all,
So I’m not there when they see me fall.
This burden that I carry, those dark nights on my own,
Can’t remember when it started, but just how much its grown.
Will I ever feel those pleasures, feel the summer breeze?
When in truth I’m empty begging on my knees.
Just to hear the birds sing, just to smell a flower,
But at night each lonely second, seems to last an hour.
The day ahead’s a battle, I’ll try to battle on,
And hope and pray one day I’ll wake to find the demons gone.
Too Cruel for Words
Author Unknown
Why is life so cruel, it truly can be rough,
Don’t know how we can get through,
when things get oh so tough.
Tough and hard to understand, how much can we take?
None of us are perfect the decisions that we make.
You can set the right example, do the best you can,
But the road they choose is down to them,
each woman and each man.
You can only try to guide them, hoping for the best,
But some of us can’t handle things, and find it all a test.
But the grief I feel is, testament,
to the love we once did share,
But even though departed, I know you’re always there.
There inside my memory, there inside my heart,
And forever while I’m breathing, you’ll always be a part.
The Demon in a Bottle
Author Unknown
When life can seem unbearable,
and you feel you just can’t cope.
You look for a solution to try and give you hope.
Many find salvation, through friends and family,
It may be good for others, but it wasn’t good for me.
I found mine in a bottle, well least that’s what I thought
People tried to help me, but to stubborn to be taught.
It gave me lot’s of confidence, to cope with life outside,
But then the demon’s gripped me, and there was nowhere left to hide.
Hiding in a bottle, is such a lonely place, waking up hungover with the day ahead to face.
But once you’ve drunk the first one,
the problems they seem less.
But by the sixth or seventh, you’re really in a mess.
You’re on a downward spiral, heading for the floor,
One bottle used to solve it,
but you now need more and more.
In life we’re dealt a hand of cards,
my hand held too much black.
I played the cards held badly,
and there was no turning back.
I’ve gone too far for help now, though many may have tried,
Some have given up on me, others stayed and cried.
I have much guilt inside of me,
for the suffering I have brought,
People did their best for me
and solutions they have sought.
So, I hope I leave a message,
a lesson I can send,
I knew where I was heading;
soon coming to an end.
No one could have stopped me,
no guilt for you to bear,
And it did bring me some comfort,
to know that you were there.
Judge Gently
by I. H. Plemmons
Pray don't find fault with the man who limps,
or stumbles along the road,
unless you have worn the shoes he wears,
or struggled beneath his load.
There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,
though hidden away from view,
or the burden he bears, placed on your back,
might cause you to stumble too.
Don't sneer at the man who's down today
unless you have felt the blow
that caused his fall or felt the shame
that only the fallen know.
You may be strong, but still the blows
that were his if dealt to you,
in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,
might cause you to stagger too.
Don't be too harsh with the man who sins
or pelt him with word or stone,
unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,
that you have no sins of your own
for you know perhaps if the tempter's voice
should whisper as softly to you
as it did to him when he went astray,
it might cause you to stumble too.
When I’m Gone
by Lyman Hancock
When I come to the end of my journey
and I travel my last weary mile
Just forget if you can,
that I ever frowned and remember only the smile
Forget unkind words I have spoken,
remember some good I have done
Forget that I ever had heartache
and remember I've had loads of fun
Forget that I've stumbled and blundered
and sometimes fell by the way
Remember I have fought some hard battles
and won, ere the close of the day
Then forget to grieve for my going
I would not have you sad for a day
So on sad occasions just gather some thoughts
and recall the things I would say.
And come the shade of evening,
when the sun paints the sky in the west
Sit for a few moments and think of me
and remember only my best
Dementia
The unravelling
by Vivienne Anne Mackenzie Ward
Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease.
Like a much loved jumper.
One that you have had forever, a security blanket.
Then one day, you notice that it’s beginning to get holes, that the buttons are falling off.
It doesn’t worry you at first because you expect it.
Then the loose threads appear,
slowly at first, then gradually faster.
And even if you try and re-stitch them,
you realise that your beloved jumper is
Actually unravelling faster than you can repair it,
that it is losing its shape, its form and eventually its purpose.
That all you have left is a pile of yarn – and you can’t find the beginning or the end.
Yet you know it is in there, somewhere…
Together, but apart.
Two Mothers Remembered
by Joann Snow Duncanson
I had two Mothers - two Mothers I claim
Two different people, yet with the same name.
Two separate women, diverse by design,
But I loved them both because they were mine.
The first was the Mother who carried me here,
Gave birth and nurtured and launched my career.
She was the one whose features I bear,
Complete with the facial expressions I wear.
She gave her love, which follows me yet,
Along with the examples in life she set.
As I got older, she somehow younger grew,
And we'd laugh as just Mothers and daughters do.
But then came the time that her mind clouded so,
And I sensed that the Mother I knew would soon go.
So quickly she changed and turned into the other,
A stranger who dressed in the clothes of my Mother.
Oh, she looked the same, at least at arm's length,
But now she was the child and I was her strength.
We'd come full circle, we women three,
My Mother the first, the second and me.
And if my own children should come to a day,
When a new Mother comes and the old goes away,
I'd ask of them nothing that I didn't do.
Love both of your Mothers as both loved you.
The Long Goodbye
Author Unknown
We join today to mourn your death,
But the losses began long ago.
Although your body stayed a while,
Your mind didn’t really know.
For you had got Alzheimer’s,
You failed to comprehend.
Your body went on living.
But your mind had reached its end.
So we've already said, "Goodbye",
To the person that we knew.
The person that we truly loved,
The person that was, "You".
And so we meet again today,
To toast your body’s end.
For it was true and faithful,
Until right at the end.
And now, when we remember,
We'll think of all the rest.
We'll concentrate on earlier,
And remember all the best.
For in the real scheme of things,
Your illness wasn't long.
Compared to all the happiness,
You brought your whole life long.
We think of you as yesterday,
When you were fit and well.
And when we're asked about you,
It's those things that we'll tell.
And so we meet in remembrance,
Of a mind so fit and true.
We're here to pay our last respects
To say that, "We love you".
A Fantastic Football Fan
by Anthea Ballam
What’s with this game
That made you feel so high?
Was it your team
Your mates
The offside trap
And then that lousy shoot-out
Nearly made you cry?
What’s with this ball
That they could kick so high?
It meant the world
To you and them, so why?
It’s all about expecting
And then throwing in
It’s all about the winning
But not whining – not giving-in
The square, the short and long ball
The pals, solid as a rock
The unexpected tackle
Sudden shock
You felt the roar
And saw the lucky chip
The crossbar stopped the goal
That you were willing in
And in the end
At injury time
When you went deep and deeper
You didn’t find the goal
Or spot the sweeper
Then at the very end
When they were on their knees
You still walked tall
And like your mates
You claimed to take it all…
The penalty and the strike, your way
The win that set your heart aflame
The game, the pitch, the offside rule
The love that took your heart
Your final match at home — your ball.
The Train of Life
Life is like a journey on a train, with its stations,
Change of routes, differing scenes, and accidents!
At birth we boarded the train and met our parents,
And we believed they would always travel at our side.
However, at some station down the line our parents stepped off,
Leaving the train and us alone to continue on our own.
As time passed, other people boarded the train;
And they were significant: siblings, friends, children,
And even the Love of our life.
Many will step down and leave a permanent vacuum.
Others will go so unnoticed that we didn't realize
That they had vacated their seats.
This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy,
Expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and farewells.
Success consists of having a good relationship with all the Passengers .
Requiring that we give the best of ourselves.
The mystery to everyone is: we don't know at which station
We ourselves will be asked to step off.
So we must live In the best way - Love, forgive, and offer the best of whom we are.
It is important to do this, because when the time Comes for us to exit, leaving our seat empty, we should Leave behind beautiful memories for those who wil
Continue riding the train of life without us.
I wish you a joyful journey for the remaining years on Your train of life.
Reap success, give lots of love, and Be happy. More importantly, be thankful for your journey!
Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers On my train.
Fans of Gardening
Trowel in hand he stood there proud,
Of tomatoes that he'd sown.
Of Courgettes, Carrots, Beans and Herbs,
All of which he'd grown.
A lifetime spent with earthy hands,
from planting all the seed.
Providing for his family
A feast from which to feed
Veggies grew in great abundance,
Of every colour bright
He cared for them most tenderly,
He cared all day and night
Always proud but often strict,
This gardener had a way
Of helping little seedlings grow
So none would ever stray.
(Name) loved his allotment,
His veggies were his life
It was always somewhere to escape
When in trouble with the wife.
Think of me next time you stand.
Where a veggie garden grows
For there I’ll be in sun and earth
And in the wind that blows.
A Biker
By Dick Underwood
Biking oil was in their blood,
Petrol flowing through their heart.
Throttle revving but the flood,
Meant their engine Wouldn't start.
The exhaust sounding rather rough,
Its noise as cutting as a knife.
The gallant spark not quite enough,
To fire their engine into life.
The key was turned, the button pushed,
Expecting now a biking roar,
But the engine ... knackered ... bushed,
Wouldn't function any more.
The biker (name) has died but still,
Their soul rides onward to the west.
Their wheels role onward, vale and hill,
They soon will find eternal rest.
So we'll mount up and onward ride,
Remembering well the one who died.
Towards the sunset on our road,
Our biker friend who's gone before.
Poems for Children
Little Snowdrop
Author Unknown
The world may never notice If a Snowdrop doesn't bloom,
Or even pause to wonder If the petals fall too soon.
But every life that ever forms,
Or ever comes to be,
Touches the world in some small way
For all eternity.
The little one we longed for
Was swiftly here and gone.
But the love that was then planted
Is a light that still shines on.
And though our arms are empty,
Our hearts know what to do.
For every beating of our hearts
Says that we love you.
Child Gone too Soon
Author Unknown
Loss it is so cruel,
A sadness that can burn,
Little things can haunt you,
With darkness at every turn.
Your heart though knows that you are good, You did your best each day,
And though time it may have been brief,
It was special in every way.
You are struggling right now,
But that’s perfectly okay,
Life is cruel and so unfair,
There is little more to say.
But please try to remember,
Why it hurts so deep inside,
Why every day’s a struggle,
Why at times you’ve simply cried.
If you didn’t love or care about,
Those that are now gone,
You wouldn’t feel the pain inside,
Or question what you’ve done.
It’s because you cared so much for them,
And because you gave you’re all,
That it feels like it hurts much more now,
You simply had further to fall.
So all that love and care you gave,
Wasn’t wasted, not one bit,
You gave the best life to your child,
No question about it.
We thought of you today
Author Unknown
We thought of you today,
But that is nothing new
We thought of you yesterday
And will tomorrow, too
We think of you in silence
And make no outward show
For what it meant to lose you
Only those who love you know
Remembering you is easy
We do it every day
It's the heartache of losing you
That will never go away.
Contact me
Kathryn Day
07595 434510
enquiry@ceremonia.uk
