Stark Hunter Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

From the anthology, Complaining to the Clock, a work in progress. This is the third of 5 "Redding" poems. From August 1960 to August 1961 I lived on Nicolet Lane as a 9 year old. Going back recently after 58 years was like a trip to the past in a time machine. Redding hasn't changed much in a half a century, except the crime rate has skyrocketed and all the neon cocktail signs are gone. But still, it is surrounded by magnificent beauty.

Ode To Nicolet Lane

Reading Poem 3
"Ode to Nicolet Lane"

There I saw green visions, 
and a young boy of 9 years running by,
As I stood once again upon the aged asphalt.
Last time I stood there was 58 years hence; 
I recall the sun was sinking 
like a ship into a gray gloom it seemed, 
and summer was breathing its last,
as 1961’s national celebration 
of labor and the getting of goods, commenced,
with the flaying and cooking of 
pig, bovine and crackling fowl, 
our thick smoke arose 
like a geyser of giddy anticipation 
of all things worth working for, 
and worth dying for.
Our thoughts turned to the times 
of slowing down the stringent clock, 
of attempting to lasso in 
the final minutes of  faint freedom,
when beneficent windows will exhale at last, 
issuing the perfumes of time and closure.
One’s childhood never really dies, 
when it is possible to return 
to these old mind streets.

I turn on my heels and see 
the green trees of Nicolet Lane,
continuing to give a widespread shade 
58 years hence,
and I can see Tyke the ghost dog, 
chasing yet another chevy impala down this road,
barking and yapping incessantly 
at a pair of white-walled tires, 
escaping once again this mad dog running amok!
And look. I see Time way down the lane there too,
limping along with a walking stick,
testing the sediment and the feel of autumn’s touch.
We both know supper will soon be served yet again,
and we will exhale at last, 
while unfolding our napkins 
to receive the soup tureen.

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