Sunday Inspirations: Funeral Blues

After several failed attempts at sharing my feelings on this Father’s Day with the absence of my son Bryan at my side, I happened across a fitting post by Wayne Hicks and his first Father’s Day without his father at his side. My feelings are being indirectly reflected through Electronic Village as my tears are blocking my way this morning.


By the Villager


Today is Father's Day. It is the first time in the past 49 years that my Dad has not been around to celebrate this day. He passed away last October.

I heard this poem today. It brought tears to my eyes as I thought of my father. I share it with you now...
Funeral Blues

by Poet W.H. Auden, 1936, Great Britain

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 woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Reach out to your father whereever he might be today...

(sourced by Kanani on 6/16)