Poems by Rick Hunter

As I look back to when I was but a boy,
I'd have to say a cardboard box was my favorite toy.

There were no action figures in this day,
and computer games were still many years away.

The box was my pirate ship leading me to my stash of gold and doubloons.
It also served as my rocket ship, flying me to the moon.

It was my speedy race car, and I was Richard Petty.
On other days, I was Mario Andretti.

It was my castle where I was the king.
I was also a professional wrestler, fighting in the ring.

The box also served as a fort.
From there, I would fight off enemy ships that were coming into port.

It was a boxcar, and I was a tramp.
It was a tent, a place for me to camp.

That box was my best friend as it would take me to many different places.
From flying in the cosmos to distant lands filled with alien races.

A simple cardboard box, but still my favorite toy.
It was made of wood, pulp, and glue, but it brought me hours of endless joy.

There's a simple beauty to the falling rain.
The same kind of beauty you find in a child's smile or a flower covered hillside terrain.

The sound of the rain falling on the roof above
gives me a feeling of peacefulness, like the song of a cooing dove.

The rain, a gift from above to sanctify,
as it plays me a peaceful lullaby.

Though it may be dark, inside I feel a warming light,
as the gentle patter of the rain helps me sleep throughout the night.

The rain is a gift from God above washing Mother Nature's flowers.
Yes, there is a simple beauty to the rain as I stand and watch as it showers.

I reached out for your hand today,
only to realize you are so very far away.

I want to hug you,
but your time with us is through.

I want to share time with you and tell you about what's going on in my life.
Alas, I cannot, you are gone and only having your memory cuts as deeply as a knife.

How I wish you were still here,
to hold you so very near.

Oh, how I wish you hadn't had to go.
I love you mom, and I miss you so.

The alarm clock goes off and I hit snooze, wishing so much there was a button that says refuse.

I crawl out of bed trying to clear the cobwebs that have gathered in my head.

I grumble, I stumble, I fumble and I mumble.

Then I get up to face the day.
Thinking there has to be a better way.

That's when I start to swoon.
Believing that mornings would be so much better, if they only started at noon.

The turkey is an ugly bird, at least so I have heard.
What a shame it's one and only claim to fame
is a horrible ordeal
and that is to be the guest of honor at our Thanksgiving meal!