Childhood Poems::

Author’s Note:

I recently dragged these gems out of the archives of my childhood 
notebooks…I never kept a diary, but I surely kept every scrap of 
poetry I wrote.  To quote the professors, you can learn the 
meanings of poems better by typing them out, no matter how many 
times you read them or recite them, the typing brings meaning.
I have never doubted that, and in typing these poems again, it 
astounds me that what I wrote at 14 rings true still at 29 (most 
particularly in the soul matters of love –  I was a late bloomer 
at the actual emotional/physical progress of love).  We are supposed 
to grow wiser as we grow older. That, through experience, I can 
believe.  But in typing these, I think sometimes we are at the 
most intuitive as to future matters when we are young.  Or, as the psychologists 
may say, we set our patterns then.  So be it, I 
reveled in typing them, you may read as you see fit! The majority 
of my early verses centered on the wonderful beasts that I call my 
‘soul salvation animal’, The Horse.  They still come to me in my dreams, 
to lift me up in darkened times.   They are most definitely my 
‘power animal’.  So if you can go beyond that, you may find something different.
I only preface by showing a little tid-bit of verse I penned early 
\on, which I discovered again recently and still fervently believe in:                                                     (-Kim Hunt, August 12, 2002)

The mirror of soul
Reflects two images
One of the real world,
And one which we still long to find

-Kim Hunt, 1-22-87


The Salad::

This is a ballad, about a green salad
Who one day went for a walk.
When he went on that walk,
He met some white chalk,
Which was writing busily with caulk.
The chalk turned around,
Then with a frown
Wrote, “Get out of here, clown!”

The salad was dressing,
When along came a wrecking
Machine to run him over.
He said with a shout
“Please watch out!”
But he was in a jam,
And then he was rammed
“Crunch!!”

The moral of the story is:
Don’t go out on a walk,
Out on the green,
Or you might meet white chalk,
Or get run over by a wrecking
Machine.

-Kim Hunt (3rd-5th grade? Sometime)

Basic Brown Horse:

There’s a Basic Brown Horse
With eyes all aglow,
Just waiting and waiting
To give you a show.
He hears his name called
To go into the ring,
He puts his ears forward,
And then with a spring,
He pops into the air,
And then with a fright,
He lands in the ring,
He’s a beautiful sight.
There is his rider,
All pretty and tall,
She sits like a statue,
Against a stone wall.
Her horse is as frisky
As a young little colt,
If he hears a strange noise
He’s ready to bolt.
But even if he’s a frightening sight,
You know he’ll win first place tonight.

-Kim Hunt, age 12


The number of dreams counted,
Does not matter compared to
The number of dreams lived

-Kim Hunt, 1-22-87


The Jumper::

His flaring nostrils
Glow so red,
You know the jumper
Is up ahead.
He prances wildly
On his feet,
You know the jumper
Can’t be beat.
His shiny coat
Really glistens,
To every sound
He sharply listens.
He sweats so hard,
But is not tired,
You know his body,
Is a livewire.
His rider softly
Gives each signal,
The horse very proudly
Jumps and wiggles.
The horse canters
Into the ring,
You can hear the birds
Softly sing.
The horse jumps his round,
Graceful and clear,
His winning moment
Is very near.
He wins the trophy,
Nice and proud,
Even the sun smiles,
From behind a cloud!

-Kim Hunt, age 12

The Desert Horse::

The desert horse is special you see,
He gallops about so wild and free.
He throws his head up in the air,
His coat is golden, silky hair.
His hoofs they thunder loud and clear,
You’ll always know when he is near.
He clears his distance, fifty feet,
You know he’ll never be off beat.
The desert horse cannot be tamed,
Although men try, again and again.
The desert horse should be left alone,
Let him be to roam his home.
The desert horse is almost gone.
So keep him free and move along!

-Kim Hunt, age 12

X-Country Day::

The bell sounds off,
The muscles surge,
The pictured landscape
Becomes a blur.
The wind whips round,
While hoofbeats ring,
The muffled sound,
Begins to sing.
Cross country day,
Is here at last,
So horse be nimble, 
Be quick and fast!

-Kim Hunt, age 12

Or Maybe::

As the moonlight wavers,
The unicorn walks upon the cool earthen path.
His mane full of golden sparkles,
Or maybe they’re stars?

As he raises his head to look at the moon
He catches a gleam of silver,
And looks beyond into a pond,
Or maybe a mirror?

When he sniffs the air
His nostrils keenly glowing,
He smells the scent of violets,
Or maybe they’re roses?

When he feels the breeze
Floating over the trees and grass
It feels like silk,
Or maybe fluffy clouds?

-Kim Hunt, 1-25-87

Untitled::

The roar of the ocean
As the surf hits the rocks
Meets the sound of pounding hooves
And the ear splitting whinny.

The water splashes
Leaving drops of salt
On the softened sand of the shore
Where rocks had once lain.

The black image
Of velvet legs
And a sleek coat
Meet your eyes.

As does the circling of gulls
Upon the wind
And the smell of wild flowers
And the pure ocean.

The flaring nostrils
Blow messages of fright.
And the wild staring eyes
Leave reminders of his untamed soul.

The head held high
Meets the glance of a person
Standing still as a statue
Upon a drift of sand.

Standing in awe
Of a magnificent soul
But not wanting to touch it,
Or tame it.

The wild body trembles,
And then in an instant
The haunches powerfully spin
And the soul is gone forever.

-Kim Hunt, 1-22-87

Untitled 2::

The spirit so free,
Gallops over the wind,
Dances through the clouds
To the tune of an unheard melody.

The fire smiles brightly,
As the silver image slips
Through the mirror of another world,
And runs at the heels of the sun.

The soul is free to the everlasting
Unending wall of sky,
Not working,
As in the living world.

Though in the world
The heart poured of love,
It now searches in itself
For the spirit that once ran…

Through the ocean waves of the sea,
And the blowing sand of the desert,
To smell the salty purity,
Of the mind’s wandering eye.

The tear that falls
From the Earth person’s eye
Is now a tiny drop
Of water on a rose

That the spirit remembers
The only recollection of his keeper’s love
And the compassion,
He once felt as love.

-Kim Hunt, 1-21-87

Vanished Love::

A blur,
Here, then gone.
Filling up hearts,
Then vanishing like a mouse,
Unseen, unheard.
Why must it be so friendly?
Then so selfish and cruel?
Numbing voices, actions
Kindling fires, leaving ashes.
Leaving you vulnerable,
Open for vultures to pick at,
While you sit and wonder
What happened?
Like a cold draft it creeps
Around you, like a blanket.
A vanished love blanket of
A few threads, with gaping holes
Staring at you like a monster
Laughing at your broken heart.
While the little child in the blanket
Of love in your heart sits hiding
Itself from the monsters circling around
It. It will end someday.  Maybe.

-Kim Hunt, 11-21-87

--untitled (no title on paper)

Something seems amiss,
But everything’s there.
Yet, that empty feeling persists.
Was it really love?
But what is love, really?
Love and hate are very much alike.
You feel deeply about each,
You are a slave, dictated by it.
But how can you love one moment,
And hate the next?
The drifter, ah, but what does he need.
He is a kite that breaks its string.
It needs support for a while, but
Soon grows tired of being held onto.
And just as that kite disappears into the sky,
You feel sad, and then angry.
Why did it go?
Didn’t it like you?
Oh well, you can’t bring it back.
It’s gone.
And you’re still angry.

-Kim Hunt, 10-26-88

Love::

Like a spring day
Inhaling each thought deeply
Drifting like a cloud in the air
A light breeze sweeping up the fields
Sun filtering in happy rays down on the earth
If only love could be a season.

-Kim Hunt, 1-23-89

-----untitled (as per paper)

A single ray
One beam of light
Trickles through the trees
Landing gently upon a droplet
Just a single one
Of sparkling dew
It radiates
Thousands of lights
In just one single drip
It’s gone.

-Kim Hunt, 1-23-89

-----untitled (as per paper)

No words can express
My feelings of love
The anxiety of not knowing
If you feel the same,
Numbs my brain
Yet intensifies my need.
I can’t be obvious,
Yet can’t be shy.
The confusion I feel
Taunts my emotions,
How can this be love?
It hasn’t fallen into place
But I’ll make it,
Because I’ve done it before,
And I’ll never give in
Until these same feelings
Taunt you about me,
Then it’s love.

-Kim Hunt, 5-1-89

---untitled (as per paper)

And as the shadows lengthen
The colors fade to grey
And now each passing memory
Closes another day.
And soon the subtle shapes and forms
That willingly unfold
Will lock themselves away too deep
For remembrance to hold.
But still the darkness shapes your form,
The dry air molds your voice.
But sly reality slips in,
In it, I have no choice.
Now when the darkness folds around
The shadows shrink and end.
The moon outside prompts one request,
Allow this heart to mend.

-Kim Hunt, 11-25-90

----untitled (as per paper)

Wandering slow, among the scenes
My longing heart is lost at sea
My mind brings forth such lovely dreams
Of when it was just you and me.
Now if I dare look in your eyes
I see no loving compromise
Though all my feelings I disguise
My lonely heart within me cries.

-Kim Hunt, 12-30-90




(c)2002