Missing You

I could swear
I heard your voice today.
It made my head turn,
but I knew better.
I could swear
I saw you standing in line
at the grocery store.
After doing a double take
I realized it wasn’t you.

So many things happen
during each and every week
making me wonder if it’s you.
The sound of a voice,
the look of an outsider,
the feel of your spirit.
You are so far away,
but so close.
Strangers,
people that don’t know me,
always reminding me
that you are so near.

Maybe tomorrow
I won’t see your hair
falling on the shoulders
of a stranger,
or hear your voice
from the mouth
of the outsider
I don’t recall.

Your spirit though
seems to appear
at the right time.
Every time I remember
your special smile,
or your loving words,
my heart sinks.
You always appear
when you’re not there.
I’m just missing you.

©Copyright 2011 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

Her Perfect Love

She glances at him
from across the room.
No words are spoken between them.
Her mind races back in time
to when they first met.
He was a soldier in the army
and was home on leave.
She met him at a church function,
and the two were inseparable after that.

Picnics in the park,
swimming in the lake
and many other memories
whip her mind into a frenzy.
She waited for him
when he was sent overseas
during the war,
but he never returned.
Rumor was he died,
but nobody knew for sure.

She glances at him once again
from across the room
and starts to cry.
Sixty years have gone by
and she still has vivid memories
of him.
Sometimes over the years
she catches herself
thinking about the old days,
and how she ended up with
no words,
no children,
and no lifetime together.

He sits behind glass
surrounded by pewter
never knowing
that he was
her perfect love.

©Copyright 2008 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

It Lies

It sits in the smog
off the shore of Galveston.
It lies in the mouth
of the pet dog.
It’s a fog that sits at 6am
on the local pond.
I can see it
coming from your mouth.
It sits in a jail cell
with a release date of today.
A man or woman with a drink in hand
while driving.
It sits in the sunrise you will see
this morning,
perhaps,
for the last time.

©Copyright 2007 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

Christmas Snow

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Christmas Snow

I can look back
and see the Christmas snow
falling slowly.
It never made a sound,
but chilled my watered skin
to the bone.
A time for family and cheer
was tainted by your words.
I spent the entire day wondering
what I did to drive you to him.
Now I look back at that moment
of walking outside to clear my head.
No moon to light the night sky
and how the beautiful lights
on all the houses,
helped me forget you.
My memory is of that moment
and not of you, or your words.
There is no snow on the ground
this year to remind me,
of how the ice and your words
chilled me to the bone.
Just the beautiful lights
on every house.
They are lit this year
to remind me
that the lights shine brighter
and much clearer this year.

©Copyright 2009 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

The River Rats

river2
You see them
every day.
They stand in line
at the local store.
They also appear
while you are driving.
Once the sun goes down
people say they go home,
but we know their souls
gather at the river.

There is an angel
that has been sitting
at the bridge
looking over the river.
He has been there
for years.
He is starting
to turn black
and his feathers
are starting to
blow away in the wind.
He is trying to find a soul
worthy of taking back to
his master,
but he will not find one here
at the river.

The river rats
show their faces to you
during the day.
They are the ones
in line at the store
complaining of a lighter
being 99 cents
while you look at the display
and see that the sign clearly
states 1.05.
They are the ones
who flip you off while driving.
They cut you off and blame
you for their terrible driving.
They are the ones who argue
politics,
but never have they voted once
for anybody.
They laugh at those
who are less fortunate
and scoff at those that
are different.
They start fights
for no reason,
and verbally assault
those that are kind.

There are those who believe
that when the sun goes down
that the rats gather at the river.
Their bodies stay at home to rest
while their souls get together at the river
and talk amongst themselves
about what chaos they will start
tomorrow.

The angel sits there
and listens.
He waits to hear of
a good soul,
but can’t.
There are none
down by the river.

It will be a very long time
for the angel
to meet with his master again.

There will never be a
good soul
amongst the rats.

©Copyright 2011 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

The Winner

131643258_11n
I was watching
TV today and noticed
a beauty queen on the news.
She won the competition
and there were forty nine losers.
The winner gets called
and she talks about her new book.
The book talks about success.
The girl says that she has been
competing for well over ten years
and that her positive attitude helped her win.

What I want to see
are the forty nine losers
that spent the last ten years competing
and lost.
I want to hear how they deal with the
rejection.
Do they slip into drugs or give up on life?
Nobody in America wants to hear about
the loser.
America has always loved the winner
and what they have to say,
even if that winner isn’t articulate in the way
they speak.
It’s too bad that nobody teaches the loser
how to overcome failure.

It’s not taught
by our churches, schools or families.
Nobody wants to think about failing,
so they don’t talk about it.
We need the voice
for the failing grades
the failing marriages
and for the failing
of ourselves.

©Copyright 2010 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

Backyard

chf-cartoon-kids1
He sits in front of the TV and,
listens to the man on the screen.
Police surround the man
who is escorted out
of the house.
He states how he has changed
and that he should be allowed
to live by the school.

The kid’s eyes are fixated
on the man.
He looks into his eyes as reporters
keep asking the questions.
The kid can tell
the man is sincere
in his answers,
and that he isn’t lying.
The kid knows
it’s something else
that turns truth
into horror.
That takes a decent man
and turns them into
a monster.

It scares him
to think that
while reporters
are questioning this man,
there are monsters
out there preying
on kids like him.
The little eight year old
glances at the clock
and knows he has a few
minutes
before dad comes home.

They will eat dinner
and dad will have a few drinks
before the monster
inside him
comes out.
The kid looks at the TV
one last time,
with hope
that the media
and police
will be at his house
sometime
soon.

©Copyright 2011 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

Broken Heart

Broken-heart
I saw Carl
sitting on his front patio.
I went to him and he asked me
if he ever told me the story
of how he and his wife met.

He talked about
how he was dating someone
and took her to a club.
Then,
Rita walked into the room.
He talked about how
he lost his breath
when she appeared.
He talked about how
he was going
to marry her.
A love at first sight
kind of thing.
His girlfriend saw the look
he gave Rita
and dumped him right there.

He pursued Rita and
after a few months of dating
they became married.
Now it is well over fifty years
since they were married.
Rita passed just last week,
and Carl isn’t able to eat
or sleep.

He told his stories
as I saw his drawn face,
and bags under his eyes.
I could see her death
was killing him.
He talked to me
about Rita
for the next hour.
Funny stories and
how much he loved her.

Carl passed away
a few days later.
He is the only person
I have ever known to die
from a broken heart.

©Copyright 2006 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

The Pyro, the Drugstore and the Lie

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I remember
when i was young.
I would walk
to the drugstore.
Magazines and candy
were always awaiting.
Sometimes,
my friend from school
would join me.

We would head down
to the drugstore together.
He always tried to cause trouble,
and this one time went too far.
We bought some candy,
read some magazines
and finally left.
We walked around
to the back of the drugstore,
and saw an overflowing dumpster.
Paper and cardboard boxes
covered the ground around it.
I kept walking
and noticed my friend
wasn’t with me.

I turned around to find
my friend entranced
with the fire he started.
He shoved paper in a box
and lit it.
I remember it to this day.
How he was entranced by the flames.
I ran over and stomped out the fire.
He laughed and was mad
I took his fire away.
It was a fixation,
even then,
I knew was sick.

We went back
to the drugstore later
that day.
The owner pulled us aside
and asked if we knew anything
about a fire being started out back.
We lied,
and said we didn’t know anything.
I knew if the truth came out,
my friend would have been sent somewhere.
He seemed to have turned out alright.
He’s been a fireman
for the last fifteen years.

©Copyright 2006 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

The Critic

critic
I have this habit,
it is placing printed pages
on the floor.
I will sort through numerous
poems and stories
and put them in piles,
good in one pile
and bad in the next.

My dog came in to say hi.
I pet her behind the ear
and she walked out of the room.
I went back to review my work.
A poem that I couldn’t bring myself
to like,
went into the good pile anyway.

The next four went into the bad pile.
At that time I went to the bathroom.
When I came back,
I noticed a big yellow puddle
on the poem I placed in the good pile.

I didn’t know my dog could read.

Needless to say,
the poem went immediately into
the bad pile.

©Copyright 2013 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved