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Best Famous Forrest Hamer Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Forrest Hamer poems. This is a select list of the best famous Forrest Hamer poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Forrest Hamer poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of forrest hamer poems.

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by Forrest Hamer |

A dull sound varying now and again

 And then we began eating corn starch,
chalk chewed wet into sirup.
We pilfered Argo boxes stored away to stiffen my white dress shirt, and my cousin and I played or watched TV, no longer annoyed by the din of never cooling afternoons.
On the way home from church one fifth Sunday, shirt outside my pants, my tie clipped on its wrinkling collar, I found a new small can of snuff, packed a chunk inside my cheek, and tripped from the musky sting making my head ache, giving me shivers knowing my aunt hid cigarettes in the drawer under her slips, that drawer the middle one on the left.


by Forrest Hamer |

Charlene-n-Booker 4ever

 And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews,
any man a boy given this chance of making
a new sidewalk outside the apartment building where
some of them live, three old men and their wives,
the aging unmarrying children, and the child
who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here
because she doesn’t know what to do with her,
she’s out of control, she wants to be a gangsta, and
the old folks talk to her as if she minds them
and already has that respect for their years her mother
finally grew into.
The girl who does not look like them eats and eats and sleeps late, sneaks away when they are busy, and tonight will write herself all over the sidewalk while it is still wet but the old have gone inside, and the grown gone home, and her mother who is somewhere overseas thinks of writing her that long long letter, but decides not to.


by Forrest Hamer |

Lesson

 It was 1963 or 4, summer,
and my father was driving our family
from Ft.
Hood to North Carolina in our 56 Buick.
We'd been hearing about Klan attacks, and we knew Mississippi to be more dangerous than usual.
Dark lay hanging from the trees the way moss did, and when it moaned light against the windows that night, my father pulled off the road to sleep.
Noises that usually woke me from rest afraid of monsters kept my father awake that night, too, and I lay in the quiet noticing him listen, learning that he might not be able always to protect us from everything and the creatures besides; perhaps not even from the fury suddenly loud through my body about his trip from Texas to settle us home before he would go away to a place no place in the world he named Viet Nam.
A boy needs a father with him, I kept thinking, fixed against noise from the dark.