I saw their funerals.
Plath.
Sexton.
And somewhere near the back,
mine.
Not my body—
not yet.
But something softer,
more urgent,
more invisible.
The girl
who wrote like them
just to feel seen—
she’s in the box too.
I saw her hair
was finally unbrushed.
Her hands no longer gripped a pen—
they were just hands now.
And no one cried,
because no one knew
she had been dying
this whole time
in silence.
I stood there,
dry-eyed.
Because I knew
this grief
was not for mourning—
but for releasing.
And still,
something in me wept
like a ghost
watching its own
unfinished life.
two families
with different viewpoints
same loss same grieving
Young people
don't understand
funerals
The next time a natural disaster strikes…whether it be a tsunami or
hurricane from the oceans, a flood from the rivers…or a tornado from the skies
notice how, all over the world, you see the same sadness…
the same sorrow, the same tears in everybody’s eyes.
And when we kill each other because of our differences…
our different countries, different lifestyles, the different Gods in whom we believe…
at the funeral of those we’ve killed…or who’ve killed us…
notice….how similar we all grieve.
When a bomb or a bullet kills a baby…whether in Palestine or Tel-Aviv
notice, as you watch the mothers at the funerals,
how similar they all grieve.
All the tears we cry are the same…
whether it’s a natural disaster…or an unnatural disaster we create…
no matter our religion, our politics…if we are gay…or we are straight.
Grieving is universal…it’s something we all share…
in every corner of the world…both near and far….
I only wish….
before the funerals…
we’d realize
how similar we are.
Last goodbye given to your loved ones by family and friends-the beginning of a new and different life after death
Look out you might see them
scuttling down your street
patting the neighbour’s dog
nodding to people they meet
They lurk on hospital corridors
wearing their black shiny shoes
then scour obituary columns
for all their latest news
They follow people on stretchers
to sickbeds, funerals, and wakes
asking for extra cups of tea
turning their nose up at cake
They might just take an interest,
if you should start to feel ill
checking on your temperature
your welfare and your will
So, keep your curtains closed tonight
lock all your windows and doors
the graveyard groupies are coming
it’s you they’re looking for…
Time to pay respects
enjoy stories of their past
while eating good food
Must we cry at funerals?
Or might we stand there motionless-
Clutching fists or hands at rest
Between the mourning generals
Must we drown our eyes in tears?
Or might we simply look away-
Weigh the rain another day
And feign to hear some hollowed cheers
Must we hide a torrid cry?
Or might we hold a paper piece-
Hear a sermon shushed by peace
And empty hearts as they breathe dry
Might we look up at the bird
That disappears amongst the trees
Pulled back to earth by the breeze
And finds the roots to hear its word
We should whisper our prayers tonight
before we go to bed tonight
our souls shall slumber onto the brink of eternity
in God’s home filled with his many mansions
tomorrow morning is coming
time to plan our burial
our hollowed bones and mundane flesh
will be incinerated into a rubble of floured ashes
diffused into the bowels of the ocean’s depths
the residue of our mundane mortality left behind
on the pastures of this broken down, sinful, sadistic world
It’s both a bitter funeral for freedom
and the birth of new crime.
We don't discuss death
Civilized folk use funeral parlors
Funeral at home? Why on earth
We're good, clean entrepreneurs
The next generation never learn
How death is life, too, recycling
Part of life, why fear it, discern
God gives us children to go on living
For crying out loud, the flowers are gorgeous,
Fresh, happy, young, alive, and vivacious.
Regrettably, we, humans, cut their lives short,
From time to time, from events to events.
For God’s sake, let the flowers live like the monuments,
Let them enjoy a long life, like the statues in the court.
Almost every event, like birthdays, weddings and anniversaries,
Is the end for those petals, which are sinking in past memories.
Even the funerals are not sympathetic to the beautiful lilies.
In lieu of flowers, why can’t they write beautiful poems,
Make memorable cards or fake flowers with dead leaves?
Let the flowers live in the garden, and plant them in the cemeteries,
In lieu of flowers, send meaningful poems that inspire dreams.
For crying out loud, please end the customary bereaves.
Copyright @ March 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
with the corona virus upon us
I am bracing to hear the news
that so and so has died
I reflect back
on all the people in my life
that I have already lost
part of being older
is that you lose people
close to you along the way
I lost my father due to cancer in 1985
and my sister due to a freak illness in 2007
and my mother due to Alzheimer's in 2005
and my father-in-law as well in 2007
Demel Tucker
high school debate teammate
dead of HIV in 1995
Julian Bartley and his son
one of my favorite bosses
died in a terrorist bombing
in Nairobi in 1998
Jon Weber college roommate
dead due to prostate cancer
in 2000
Paul Simon friend from the visa line
dropped dead of a heart attack
in 2004
Ted Halstead
one of my best bosses
died of heart attack
in 2007
Chris Richard one of my former bosses
dropped dead of a heart attack
shortly before we were due
to have lunch in 2014
and so many others
I have lost
along the way
and soon there will be
so many more
as I get old
in the corona era
writer. com daily dew drop prompt to write an elegy poem
Grandpa got a twenty-one gun salute.
I shivered, knowing how much he hated guns
After Viet Nam
The last time he picked one up was in a jungle.
Fifty years ago.
They are playing taps now.
Sad dirge sound.
Grandpa liked Johnny Cash and Elvis
Both would have been better at his funeral
I glare at the soldiers playing taps.
Why is this so sad? Grandpa liked happiness.
Felt a hand on my shoulder.
My grandpa’s hand.
No one else ever did this to me.
I knew that he knew what I was thinking.
We were close.
He had taught me to take apart cars
And how to be a man.
Funerals no longer sad to me.
White Weddings and Wet Funerals Final
When I was young,
And the world crisp,
Through the crystalline cold
Of November Morning
At the parade
And we were all caught in the sacred gear grit,
Grinding motion
Of life in abundance,
Pushing crowds out of bounds
It was always Thursday morning
and the endless invitations
in the mail spoke of
carousel steeds
and white weddings
Laughter does not carry like it did,
When we were children
we are grown old, now,
into our parents and grandparents
No cause for gathering
but for the formality
Of informing
On the sick and the dying
All the white weddings have ended
And now, walking with a cane,
I grow tired
of being mired in the mud
Of wet funeals…
John tansey
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