Funerals can truly be augmented by a poem that is apt and fitting for the person you have just lost. The following list of funeral poems about bricklaying are perfect to reflect the skill and handiwork of bricklayers and builders.
A Bricklayer
by Lou Szymkow
He had a keen eye, a quick hand and a skill
To work manually with strength and effort and will
His hard work inspired and was in demand,
not just near home but across the land.
He picked up bricks, mortar and trowel to craft
Barbies and walls, buildings and homes that last
An arch or a curve, all his work set apart,
Because each brick he placed, was a work of art
His bricks though were not just forged in fire,
His family were his foundation and his desire
The mortar was his love, his caring, his skill
He loved you all dearly, and loves you all still.
Bricklayers Lament
by Sylvia Spencer
I know an old tradesman who worked with sand and cement.
Now the story I am going to tell you turned out to be his lament.
His work was done to perfection built from row to row,
and he was the very best brickie, the best you will ever know.
When a job was finished his tools had to be clean,
because he was the boss of a slap-happy working team.
They would put in the footings then forget to build the wall,
and when they did it was neither short nor tall.
They once built an house with an extension on the side;
It was that badly built that no one could reside.
He had a young apprentice who soon became his hoddie,
he never let him lay the bricks because his work was always shoddy.
There were a couple of muckers who mixed up the cement,
they were forever subbing so they never paid their rent.
His labourers name was Dodger who would work now and then,
most of the time was spent at The Bookies placing bets for other men.
He employed an incompetent plumber who always gave him the pip,
Every job he went on he always left a drip.
He was a good Brickie – I would say he was first class –
but when it came to his team, they were just total ‘Arse’!
The Bridge Builder
by Will Allen Dromgoole
An old man going a long highway
Came in the evening cold and gray
To a chasm vast and deep and wide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
The sullen stream had no fears for him,
But he stopped when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting your strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day,
You never again will pass this way,
You’ve crossed the chasm deep and wide,
Why build you this bridge at evening tide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head,
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feel must pass this way.
This chasm which has been as naught to me
To that fair-haired youth might a pitfall be,
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim,
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
An Ode To A Brickie
by Tracey Schoales
Whatever the weather a brickie you’ll find
Tops off and bronzed by the sun
Cut knuckles, cracked fingers, aching lower back,
All part of their lives every one.
Sand and Cement mixed, they’re ready to go
Scaffolding straight as an arrow
Bricks in the hod, the boss shouting for God
And the tools all rammed in the barrow
The flick of the trowel, the skill in their wrists
As brick after brick they lay down
Spreading cement like a knife would spread butter
Tapped down by the heel of the trowel
After each course it’s a fag and cuppa
And the radio plays loudly all day
Then back to work, before the cement dries out
And a straight line of bricks to lay
Grafting, Digging, up and down ladders
and all the carrying they do
Laughing, banter, micky-taking a given
But skill and precision shown too.
From plans to construction, they work away well
Creating our houses and homes
We should be thankful they trained in the sun wind and rain
Their strength in their muscles and bones.
So when up high in the air or down in foundations
We spy a builder at work
We can thank St Stephen for keeping them safe
And making sure they don’t shirk.
Wreckers Or Builders?
Author Unknown
I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town.
With a ho-heave-ho and lusty yell,
They swung a beam and a sidewall fell.
I asked the foreman, “Are these men skilled,
As the men you’d hire if you had to build?”
He gave me a laugh and said “No indeed!
Just common labour is all I need.
I can easily wreck in a day or two
What builders have taken a year to do.”
And I thought to myself as I went my way,
Which of these two roles have I tried to play?
Am I a builder who works with care,
Measuring life by the rule and square?
Am I shaping my deeds by a well-made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker who walks the town,
Content with the labour of tearing down?
To access our full list of funeral poems, click here.
All poems featured on this website are free to use during any ceremony, although it is good practice to make sure the author is mentioned, if known. Should you require a celebrant for your ceremony, be it a funeral, a wedding, a naming ceremony or something else, feel free to get in touch. I am a double award-nominated Family and Funeral Celebrant covering the entire UK, and would be happy to help you commemorate in a meaningful and personal way.
