68-years

Behind this, 68-years in the making.

Between the lines, the anger of the world

Held at bay. Hidden in plain sight, saint

And sinner in a heated exchange. Work

Days worked away until no sweat remains.

Now you see it; now you don’t. Whatever

You understand has faded away. Yes, in

Front of the morning mirror words are

Gathered for distribution throughout the

Day. Rolled up into one, all the places

Ever traveled, ever lived vaguely resemble

Buffalo in the winter. All the angles have

Been bent out of shape, as the lines are

Drawn and hastily erased. What went

Into this obtuse scribble I have written

Today? More, much, much more than I

Dare to say. It was, however, 68-years

In the making.

Chris Hanch  12-30-15

Every Day the Same

The old dog sits up from his sleep

With that far off look in his eyes.

I sometimes wonder what he would

Say if he could talk. More than likely

He would say, I like every day the

Same. I feel safe and secure that way.

It is my job as his care-taker to ensure

He feels safe and secure each day.

In a way, I feel safe and secure knowing

He feels and acts the same every day,

So we eat and sleep, we wake and walk

Every day pretty much the same. Only

Problem with me being human is, I know

That one day there will come a change.

I can’t stop the aging process which

Grows more weighty over both of us

With each passing day. Change is gaining

On us, my old friend. Lucky dog, you

Can’t see it coming. You lie back down

And go back to sleep comforted the same.

You are blessed in your sleep; I am cursed

In my thoughts. Sleep, my old friend; I shall

Stand watch.

Chris Hanch  12-27-15

The Watch

The Watch

One day, and one not that far away, someone

Will invent a watch which will tell its wearer

How well or not they are doing every minute,

Every hour of every day. Technology is just that

Amazing these days. Now this watch will give

You a cell count, how many good cells and bad,

What your chemistry make-up is up to on any

Given day. Your kidneys are normal, but a blad-

der infection is detected—See a physician immedi-

ately. Your blood sugar is a bit low, eat a Snickers

Bar and be on your way. Feeling sluggishly low?

Your serotonin levels are woefully inadequate. You

Are genetically predisposed. One day, and that day

Is not so far away, someone at Apple or Microsoft

Will come up with a digital watch which will take

The place of your family physician as far as diagnosis

Goes. It will give you an instant update of your physi-

cal and mental condition. Why, it will even accurate-

ly tell its wearer when his or her time is up—You’d

Best get your affairs in order; there is still some time

Remaining to say your goodbyes. Press accept

To see how much.

Chris Hanch  12-25-15

There Comes a Time

When you reach a certain age and your

services are no longer required, you then

question everything you’ve ever learned.

Habits, good and bad, which you had ac-

quired over a lifetime provide the only

impetus for carrying on.

You tie your shoes automatically, eat your

meals with punctual regularity, retire and

rise at the appointed times.

You have forgotten more information than

half the Earth’s human inhabitant’s will ever

know.

And still you are wise enough to realize,

when the goldfish floats belly-up in its bowl,

that’s not a good sign.

Chris Hanch  12-23-15

Scenes from Center High School Production of Once on This Island, Kansas City, Missouri, USA.

Good Day/ Bad Day

Today, many Syrians will have a bad day; some

Muslims will have a good day; as for the Mexi-

cans, depending upon which region they are

From, it could go either way. Chief Joseph and

Thomas Edison, well for them and all who have

Departed, every day is the same. As for me, I

have arisen a bit weaker than yesterday. It’s

Nothing major, mind you, just another inch or

Two closer to the yardstick’s end. But who is

Taking measurements of such things, anyway?

For now, as I begin another day of my non-rigor-

ous routine, I shall choose the “good day” category

To ease my way through. And hopefully, a good

Day it shall be, should nothing fail mechanically,

Electronically or biologically upon which I depend.

I am neither Syrian, Muslim nor Mexican, so in that

Regard I’m good to go. As for the Chief Joseph and

Thomas Edison predicament, well, like any other day

On the unbiased, non-prejudicial planet, I’ll just have

To muddle through with the rest of you and take my
Chances.

Chris Hanch  12-18-15  

A Valued Lesson Learned

A valued lesson I have learned from the Earth—must

keep moving. And I’ve been taught something of worth

from the moon—must keep moving. The sagacious sun

has assigned—must keep moving most of the time.

Even on a galactic level, Milky Way spirals round as if

to say—must keep moving every minute of every day.

I do, however, nap from time to time, and I tend to

pause and rest more frequently as I age.

My orbit has been reduced by gravitational forces ap-

plied, and I must admit, although my axial spin is a bit

wobbly as of late, I have managed to remain in motion

(albeit slow and sluggish) most of my days.

Chris Hanch  12-17-15

  

The Gift

At birth there was a package with your name on it waiting for you.

Not to be alarmed or surprised, everybody gets one, rich and poor

man alike. After you’ve made it through the shock of the birth canal

And that terrifying plunge into the atmosphere of life, after you’ve

Completed your infant routine, now knowing your fingers and toes,

And having become aware that soiled diapers are a messy and un-

comfortable thing, you begin to slowly unwrap that mysterious pack-

age which has been waiting for you. You are now ready for that long

And arduous journey into conscious thought and remembering. Fully,

Half of the contents given you is sprinkled with truth and wisdom, and

The other half contains a fabricated passel of falsehood fantasy and lies.

Now, it is your life’s work to find out which is which. You may begin.

Chris Hanch  12-16-15 

Scenes from Center High School Production of Once on This Island

For the Love of the Game

The years gone by are memorable indeed,

not unlike those baseball cards I collected

when I was a boy.

Oh, I have been around for a while, but never

quite made it to the Big Show. Most of us live

out the best and worst of our days in the Minors.

And that’s okay, I suppose. We do what we do

for the love of the game. Here’s a good one of

me when I was about your age—

So young, so determined, standing at

home plate, gripping the bat for all I’m worth,

and swinging for the fences.

Chris Hanch  12-14-15

Birds of Paradise

It goes beyond the original sin of Adam and Eve,
That hunger for knowledge which was cast upon all

Of us who followed out of Eden. The birds may feast
Freely upon any fruit they desire. It has always been

The case. They sail through the skies at will un-
bound with no god or serpent to restrict them,

Those unblemished souls feather light in flight. 

Chris Hanch  12-8-15

Beyond the Need

First and foremost, it takes the sun placed at

A tolerable distance, not too hot and not too

Cold. Some would say the good green and fluid

Earth should come first. But no, neither grass

Nor leaf without sun-kissed ground would grow.

Oxygen and rain would not grace or saturate sea,

Mountain or plain without those energetic pho-

tons sped in suitable measure from our light emit-

ting star. Face it, we humans, the other animals

And plant life alike need both sun and Earth in

Order to survive and thrive. And pizza with the

Works, an ice-cold beer or two, an occasional

Good cigar now and again help to keep things

Tolerable and worthwhile. And if you suspect

That I fabricated this whole quasi-scientific dis-

course just to use the word photon, you might

Be on to something. Personally, I prefer the

Pizza, beer and cigar angle myself.

Chris Hanch  11-30-15

Me

Could be me, somebody me, vaguely me, not

Half the man I used to be, this new-old version

I have come to see, a trace element, pathetically,

A fractured fragment of veracity, me, me, could

Be somebody in this time-worn body, me, mirror

Monument, inconsequential artifact looking back

Dolefully with a withered history, me, me, this

Somebody, vaguely, me, cock-eyed, limp-lined,

Pitted, pock-mark instrument of cynical tomfoolery,

More of less than ever expected, a fractured frac-

tion of the man I used to be, me, me, oh dear lord,

vaguely, a degenerate facsimile, an old shoe dis-

gracefully unlaced, scruffily encrusted jeans come

Full-cycle, unraveling at the seams, worn by time

And tide, a faded off-brand label, unintelligible, the

Genuine article, however, ensconced in ambiguity,

Thoroughly me—Nobody but.

Chris Hanch 11-22-15

Imagine the Acropolis

You stand atop the Acropolis and gaze in wonder and awe.

Imagine thousands of years of history, a history not only of

Ancient Greece, but indeed symbolically the history of all

Western civilization. Today, there are scaffolds surrounding

the limestone temple structures atop that historic hill. A vi-

gorous monumental cleaning is taking place.

For millennia, pollutants, exhausts and abrasive toxic fumes

have grated and eaten away at the surfaces of those precious

edifices. Now imagine the ongoing process of restorations to

come, each cleaning taking more and more particles away

from each and every stone. Carefully the method is calculated,

measured to affect the precise and even wearing of each and

every stone.

And one day, tens of thousands of years hence (given all that

corrosive pollution and the abrasive cleaning) there will be a

resulting miniature museum piece, an Acropolis so tiny it could

be held it in the palm of a hand. Imagine the history of that. Ima-

gine the archeological thinking then—those Ancient Greeks, they

must have been a tiny yet mightily industrious lot indeed.

Chris Hanch  11-17-15

Greek/ American Dancer at a Festival--Opa!

Captured

It pleases me,

the fluttering red and gold

sails

of drifting autumn

leaves.

And too,

I am duly beguiled

by the laughter of a child

swung high.

Instrumental sounds

harmoniously found

by a symphony are a delight,

I would agree.

I am pleased,

beguiled and delighted

by all these indeed.

And I must say,

it does take my

breath away

to see a horse in full

gallop

with all four hooves

at once

lifted off the ground.

Chris Hanch  11-10-15

Traveler

I know where I have been. Lines which

crisscross my face lead from the Arch in

St. Louis across the Bridge at Sydney.

Don’t be afraid. It takes years to grow

weary from traveling among the briars.

Pick the berries where you find them.

Holes in my stockings mean I have left

a trail across the earth behind me, tiny

fibers of my being too small to follow.

Chris Hanch  11-7-15

Inheritance

I think about my grandfather’s modest fortune.

The monetary inheritance he left his children was

spent long before any of it could reach me. What

a pity. Not that I did not receive a penny of it, but

that the currency of reality did not withstand the

test of time.

Now, had he written a letter or a poem to be handed

down, let’s suppose, generations may have benefitted

from the wisdom of his belief. Grandfather died before

I could know him. Some of his thoughts in writing may

have helped. Ah but now, it is too late for all that. What

is a poor boy to do?

That is why I am writing this down today for you. Had

I a monetary fortune to pass along, it would more than

likely be spent summarily and soon forgotten. Words,

However, at least have a chance to accrue with some

compound interest. Choose them carefully, write them

Down, and they may last a lifetime, even beyond.

That is, barring flash flood or a fire. Best to have several

copies made, and check the batteries on your

smoke alarm. Just saying…

Chris Hanch  11-6-15

Just Trying to Survive

Excuse me, I’m just trying to get my life lived between

epochs of epic destruction. Fortunately for me, I have

somehow sandwiched my existence in between two

crusty slices of species extinguishing events.

I barely missed those Hiroshima and Nagasaki things. Just

Two years and 6,500 miles of separation between me and

being blasted into oblivion. (As I see it, those atomizing in-

fernos were far too close for comfort.)

And I consider myself lucky indeed to have been elsewhere

during tsunami-swept destruction and volcanic eruption.

Unwittingly, I have managed to dodge those destructive tor-

nadic pathways which plow annually through the Midwest.

I’m just a regular guy trying to get through my life before some-

thing disturbingly dark and sinister engulfs and eradicates the

heartland of my existence. From a personal perspective, I have

managed to evade Armageddon all my life.

Historically speaking, however (and even Vegas odds-makers

would agree), my chances of survival have dwindled to less than

a fifty-fifty split. And my forecast for bright and sunny days re-

maining here on Planet Earth are at best dwindling in number.

Somehow I have managed to make it to the gray stages of old

age with my two dogs in toe and wobbly ways. I have survived

thus far through traffic’s flow of annihilation which I have faced.

Shh, do you hear that roar?

Methinks the asteroid of inevitable change is approaching.

Chris Hanch11-5-15

Scenes from Out West

Something about Change

I am such a fool thinking each day nothing has changed.

I look over photographs I had taken years ago. And this

is that mountain in Colorado I told you about. See, no-

thing different here in thousands of years.

Wait, as I recall there was a stone right here to the left.

I almost stumbled over it as I stepped aside to get a

better shot of the summit. It may have dislodged some-

time between now and then.

Could be it rolled down the slope in a rainstorm. I swear,

20-years ago, on this same day in May, it was right there.

No, I’m not crazy or mistaken. Let’s go back down and

see if we can find it.

Chris Hanch  10-30-15

Scenes from Greece...

The Only Difference

The only difference between your city and mine

Is that I know exactly where I am. The hustle-

bustle of people getting ready for work in the

Morning is pretty much the same most anywhere

In any city. The only difference between your city

And mine is that I know exactly where I am. Today

In most cities of any size, it’s pretty much the same—

Busses, cars and trucks running in the streets ma-

king pick-ups and deliveries, getting to wherever

They are going, coming from wherever they come,

Tall buildings, fast-food places and frantic paces,

All pretty much the same. Stop and go, to and fro

Little variation in the flow, all alike as I see it. You

Have coffee in your city to begin your morning, and

I have coffee in mine as well. Only difference be-

tween your city and mine would be the name. And

I know exactly where I am. There are only two cities

In my country this year and every year where the

World Series is played, and I happen to live in one

Of those. And so, the only difference between your

City and mine is that I know exactly where I am. In

My city it is raining this morning. It may be raining

In your city as well. Your city’s team may not be in

The World Series, but it could still be raining there.

Your team need not have won the Pennant in its

League for the rain to fall. The only difference then

Between your city and mine is that the World Series

Begins here in my city this evening, provided the rain

Lets up. And too, I know exactly where I am. I guess

That pretty much explains the difference between your

City and mine, the only difference I can see between

You and me. And, you gotta love the hometown team,

Provided you know exactly where you are, and perhaps

Living in that other city playing in the World Series this year.

Chris Hanch  10-27-15

Something about Sunday

It is Sunday, a day of reflection and introspection.

I am not sure why. I suppose because it is the be-

ginning of a new week. Or is it because another

week in a lifetime has passed?

It appears as if Venus and Jupiter are side by side

in pre-dawn the sky, Venus appearing the larger

of the two even though it is not, a matter of per-

ceptive deception.

I look over photographs I had taken in Greece some

twenty-eight years ago. I am sure that the Acropolis

stands pretty much the same, even though over two

thousand years have since gone by since it was built.

I consider the cells in my body which keep me alive.

They are not the same cells of which I was composed

so many years ago. Since then, regenerated cells have

replaced the older cells which have given in to time.

You would think, given that cycle in life, one would grow

younger and younger each year. But alas, that is not the

case. I now have a new set of cells which have only served

to age me to this deteriorating state I find myself today.

And some of these newbie cells now grow hair from my

nose and ears, a phenomena which I did not experience

in my earlier years. Ancient ruins such as the Acropolis

don’t have to concern themselves with such things.

And I’m sure should Jupiter consider how much smaller

than Venus it appears to me from my perspective here

on Earth, it might tell me to take another look from Sa-

turn’s vantage point next time.

And you, dear reader, may be asking what on Earth

possessed me to even consider drivel such as this in

the first place. Well, it is Sunday, a day of reflection

and introspection after all.

And something in my aging molecular, cellular makeup

gave me pause. How else to explain this crazy life thing

anyway? And why in hell on Sunday, what’s up with that?

Chris Hanch  10-25-15    

Scenes and faces from here and there

What Grandfather Didn't Say

There is a faint scene from childhood which

Visits me this morning. I see my grandfather

Coming up the stairs. My brothers and I are

Spending the day with him because, I believe,

Our mother was in the hospital and my father

Had to go to work. I’m making up reasons as

I go along, because I am not really sure why

We were with him. I do know that grandfather

Rarely spoke to us. He was a stoic and silent

Man for the most part, and he died that way

When my brothers and I were very young.

Usually when we visited him, he would give

Us each a quarter and then send us off to a

Neighborhood store to buy ourselves some

Candy. About that I am sure. As he came up

The stairs, I do remember him looking up at

Us and faintly smiling, but I can’t seem to re-

member any words. I do know that words can

Sometimes leave a lasting impression on a per-

son, especially when you’re young. But should

You have nothing with which to continue the

Story, you tend to fabricate what comes next.

Funny, I don’t even recall the candy my brothers

And I may have bought that day. I do know for a

Fact, however, that in the 1950s a quarter would

Have gotten a lot. I figure, had grandfather said

Something memorable to us back then, this story

I am relaying to you today would have a far differ-

ent ending. Grandfather never raised his voice to

Us. I suppose we figured if we didn't behave, he

Wouldn't give us a quarter. Then again, we may

Have been frightened at what he really may have

Had to say.

Chris Hanch  10-20-15

The Stopping of Time

I’ve stopped the cornrows from tasseling in the field.

I gave the child playful youth way beyond her years.

The old man sits where he has been since I met him;

not even death can reach him where he is.

Flowers are in bloom not for days or weeks but for

decades. The clouds haven’t moved an inch in the

sky, and it has been daylight all year round. Nothing,

neither wind nor rain has dared disturb the ground.

And the tree has hung onto its last leaf permanently.

Lovers hold their embrace, parting in such a state is

virtually impossible. It is consistency without a break.

How was that airplane suspended in mid-flight?

Is this some sort of hocus-pocus, black magic performed?

I see you when I choose, and without the batting of an eye.

I hold these fading photographs I have taken (a frozen his-

tory of life) in these aging hands of mine.

Chris Hanch  10-16-15

Crazy Strange

Crazy strange when you think about it,

None of this, that which you see, taste,

Smell and feel, not one atom of any of

This would be possible, would be here,

There or anywhere, not even the thoughts

Which I type into words on this computer

Resting in my lap, not the dog barking next

Door, nor the child crying for mama on the

Other side of the world, not all the bran-

ches and leaves of every single tree on

The planet, not Jupiter or Venus or Mars,

Not ever star in every galaxy, not a single

Glance or sigh between you and me would

Even be a possibility without the matter

Sent to us on the cosmic waves of an explo-

ded super nova. Think of it, a nonexistent

You would not be driving a car which had not

Been made to a place of work that never open-

ed for lack of a door because there was not a

Single person who was ever born or had a com-

bination or even a key which never came to

Be. And we look up and believe that the stars

Are so very far away.

Chris Hanch  10-15-15

The 3-2 Pitch

He hopes to get you this time with his

fastball. Last pitch was a slow curve.

Caught you off guard, didn’t he, and

sent the count to 3 and 2?

You need to guard the plate knowing you

can foul off a few bad pitches, yet odds

are he will get a strike out in the end. But

the fastball.

You’ve faced this guy before; you have

watched his approach to batters on dozens

of replays. The fastball, low and away, right

where you like it.

So, halfway into his wind-up with no one on

base, you draw back and begin your swing.

98-miles per hour they said up in the booth,

and you nailed it on the sweet-spot of the bat.

And with all your power and a smooth lifting

swing you sent that ball 430-feet, a screaming

line drive over the center field wall. And

the crowd goes crazy.

This is why you make the big bucks, and I

am stuck out here in the cheap seats, hav-

ing spilled my popcorn and coke, watching

you strut your stuff as you round the bases

and head for home, as the guy next to me
raises high the ball he caught on the fly.

Chris Hanch  10-15-15

Scenes from here and there...