Write a poem for a funeral
Find your inner writer. 3 simple steps to writing your own tribute for a funeral. You’ll dazzle yourself with a lovely metaphor poem.
Our favourite wordsmith, Stuart Delves, gifted us this idea. It’s a simple way to create a powerful and very personal tribute to someone. He calls it a Metaphor Poem. You can write your own and read it at a funeral. Even if you think you’re not a writer, we’ll prove you are.
3 simple steps
Think about the person you are paying a tribute to… their habits, style, personal qualities, abstract associations.
Fill in the blanks in the statements below – do it quickly; go with the first thing that comes to mind; it’s fresher that way.
Put it all together and read it out loud.
Isn’t it amazing!
S/he was… a colour
S/he was… an item of clothing
S/he was… a form of transport
S/he was… a flower
S/he was… an item of furniture
S/he was… a drink
S/he was… a time of day
S/he was… a sound
Here’s mine for my mum:
Peggy
by Barbara
She was duck egg blue and crimson haze slapped on with a thick brush
She was turquoise lurex tucked into wellies, slapping as she walked
She was a bright red shiny bike, good as new and parcelled up from Santa
She was primroses in the Spring, cheery and daring, braving the cold
She was a 70s music system, all knobs and dials, a party in the offing
She was sparkling Appeltise, clear and bright
She was a dawn chorus, a sunrise, a good drying day
She was a comforting whisper, a peal of laughter and a Tarzan yodel.
Here are others from friends.
Christine
by Fiona
She was peacock purple, shrill and glinting
She was silk in Seventies kaftan, wafting
She was a dinghy – fast flowing, rescuing
She was gladioli tall and sword, sheathed
She was a stool, home-upholstered bolstering
She was a long Martini, sun-drenched, cheering
She was too early in the morning ever present
She was a key in the lock – home renewing
Betty
by Doug
She was the wallpaper from a 70s sitcom
She was a patterned dress, an artist’s smock and overalls with yellow marigolds at the ends of painty sleeves
She was a pony and trap on a holiday beach
She was a bunch of crysanthemums on the windowsill
She was formica and glass, tall stools and kitchen worktops
She was Cremola Foam in a novelty glass
She was lunchtime
She was song, vibrant and bold
Sylvie
by Ben
She was crimson with passion and rage, like her hair and her lips
She was a fake fur coat; warm colourful and attention seeking
She was the TGV, always moving with panache and at high speed
She was a tulip, full of temporary vitality and colour
She was campari and fresh orange – not everyone’s cup of tea!
She was late morning on a Sunday, in the yard with a croissant and coffee, and some sunshine
She was a melody on a piano. Short and sweet.
