Funeral Poem.....? help(17 Posts)
Hoping some of you literary mums can help me out. My grandad died last week... funeral is next Monday... we are looking for a poem to print on his memorial card..... any suggestions? or know any good websites I can trawl through? nothing too long...or too morbid....all suggestions appreciated. thanx
There's been a thread on this before...I'll see if I can find it.
I can't do links but if you look under Other subjects it should be there - the thread was called A Memorial Poem
Why not the do not stand at my grave and weep one??
I have it all if you want me to type it out nbut you must know it:
Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there I do not sleep, I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow .......... (W H Auden I think??)
I asked for help on this subject last year - September 11 anniversary where close colleagues died. Will try to find. Sorry re your news.
Actually it was the W H Aulden one that they read out in 4 weddings - stop the clocks etc etc etc....
I have just read that other friend and cried buckets - some really lovely poems there - also have Tracy Chapman on in the background which isnt the most uplifting music!
This is probably too long, but tis a fantastic poem and may be of some comfort, perhaps you could choose a quote from it?
How long does a man live after all?
A thousand days or only one?
One week or a few centuries?
How long does a man spend living or dying
and what do we mean when we say gone forever?
Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.
We can go to the philosophers
but they will weary of our questions.
We can go to the priests and rabbis
but they night be busy with administrations.
So, how long does a man live after all?
And how much does he live while he lives?
We fret and ask so many questions -
then when it comes to us
the answer is so simple after all.
A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
for as long as we ourselves live,
holding memories in common, a man lives.
His lover will carry his man's scent, his touch:
his children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his arguements,
another will hum his favourite tunes,
another will still share his terrors.
And the days will pass with baffled faces,
then the weeks, then the months,
then there will be a day when no question is asked,
and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
and the puffed faces will calm.
And on that day he will not have ceased
but will have ceased to be separated by death.
How long does a man live after all?
A man lives so may different lengths of time.
A shorter one is this
Though I am dead grieve not for me with tears
Think not of death with sorrowing and fears
I am so near that every tear you shed
Touches and torments me though you think me dead.
But when you sing and laugh in glad delight
My soul is uplifted to the light
Laugh and be glad for all that life is giving
And I, though dead will share your joy in living.
No one knows who wrote Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep, I believe it is supposed to be of American Indian origin.
My Grandads funeral was 2 weeks tomorrow. We had the 'Do not stand at my grave and weep' poem, which isn't maudlin but makes me cry anyway (despite the first line). What I found really hard was his 'send off' music - 'Somewhere over the Rainbow' sung by Eva Cassidy.
Lydialemon, we had that at my Dads too, it ws a few years ago and no one else knew it, but it was the moment when most people broke down, its so poignant the way she sings it.
What about this one we had it on a memorial card and I think it's nice. Sorry about your loss.
Death is nothing at all. I have only
slipped away into the next room.
Whatever we were to each. that we
are still. Call me by my old familiar
name, speak to me in the easy way
which you always used. Laugh as we
always laughed at the little jokes
we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for
me. Let my name be the household
word that it always was. Let it be
spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was; there
is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of your mind
because I am out of your sight? I
am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near just
around the corner. All is well.
Nothing is past; Nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be
as it was before-only better, infinitely
happier and for ever -we will
all be one together with Christ.
Sorry I just found this one that I read out at SI funneral hope they are of some help.
In Time of Loss
Lonely is the home without you
Life to us is not the same;
All the world would be like heaven,
If we could have you back again.
A light from our household gone,
A voice we loved is still;
A place is vacant in our home,
That never can be filled.
May God of love and mercy,
Care our loved one, who is gone,
And bless with consolation,
Those left to carry on.
The happy hours we once enjoyed,
How sweet their memory still,
But death has left a vacant place,
This world can never fill.
How dearly we loved you,
And prayed that you might live,
But Jesus just beckoned,
And we had to give.
God gave us strength to bear it,
And courage to fight the blow,
What it has meant to lose you,
God alone will ever know.
Mez75... thanks....we used 'lonely is the home without you' as it seemed to epitomise what grandad meant to us all... it made people cry...in a nice way IYKWIM....thanks again.
we too had somewhere over the rainbow at my grandfathers funeral in september
but 'sent him off' with 'bring me sunshine' by morecambe and wise -he wold have loved that
sorry for your loss spod - it is really hard isent it
Sorry to hear about your loss. I read this at my father's funeral. It's by George Herbert (1593-1633)
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky:
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight,
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye:
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie:
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
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