Poetry and Thoughts from Famous Hicks'

The Fort

I love going out into my fort.

I can go out and watch TV

And I can Play with my friends

And jump on my tramp and

I can sleep outside in the winter

With only two blankets because

My fort is heated by a heater.

My fort is like a mini-house

And I live in it. I sometimes

Have to come in when I run

Out of cereal or mush or milk,

But I usually stay outside. I

Only go inside in the mornings

To get my hair and teeth done

And I occasionally go in to take

A shower and to play with my

Electrical things. I like playing

With electrical things and I love

To build things. My dad and I

Built the fort I’m telling you about.

It is 6 feet off the ground and it is

Special to me because my dad and

I built it together and a couple

Of my friends helped too. If you

Want to get close to your son,

Build a fort with him.

by Ben Hicks, 2007

Winter of 1958

Fighting the boys to get in the wood,
Mooching a drink whenever we could.
Freezing our feet in this awful cold.
Trying to turn our poor labor to gold.

Ogling the good looking girls on the street,
Matching dimes for coffee whenever we'd meet
My friend, is that a tear on your cheek?

Your are in Salmon, December is gone by,
Now where are the wages you earned last July?
Groceries are way up, labor is off,
The President missed a whole week of golf.

The Russians have blowed their dog house so high,
I'm afraid they have damaged our gold mine in the sky.
We goofed on our missile, money was too tight,
On account of the political quarrel and fight.

Some say it's the fault of the Republican clan.
They say it's the fault of the soft working man.
If the Lord will come to the aid of the beggar on the street,
He'll come to the aid of this country so great.

If we swallow our pride and banish our fears,
And have faith like our fathers of earlier years,
And forget all our pride in the strength of our hoard,
And establish our faith in the strength of the Lord.

by Harry Hicks

I Remember

I remember the cow cabin
Tho' long years have drifted by,
There's a change of time and a change of place,
Still, I'll remember till I die.

I was a care-free barefoot kid,
'Side a lone puncher's shack,
Piled four deep was a happy bunch,
On a patient cow pony's back.

How the bluebells abounded around the spring,
That bubbled there clear and cold,
And high on the banks pine sentinels stood.
But secrets never told.

Of hunting trips and pirate loot,
Adventures of most any kind.
Cowboys and Indians and anything dreamed,
In a contented childish mind.

You cold pass from the forest gloom
To sunny meadow spots,
There blue as the sky and sweet as a kiss,
Was a carpet of for-get-me-nots.

And me with the sunshine in my hair,
And my bare feet and faded jeans,
Wouldn't have traded for golden coin,
With foreign kings and queens.

by Doris Brown Hicks