The Journey

Over the past nine years or so I could have
Traveled to Pluto had my life-support sys-
tems been in place. But as is the case with
Most of my companionable humankind, I

Elected to stay behind in the more hospitable
Environs right here on Planet Earth. I do, how-
ever, realize that many of our kind have per-
ished in the meantime from natural and man-

made causes while New Horizons managed 
To make its 3-billion mile journey through
The myriad perils of outer space. I must ad-
mit, I do enjoy breathing in the fresh oxygen/

hydrogen mix, although the pollutants in the
Atmosphere do affect me adversely on occa-
sion. I suppose I still consider it an adventure
Living here on our miniscule blue dot orbiting

Like clockwork round the sun. Where else can
One die with their boots on without worry of
Sufficient pressurization? 


Chris Hanch  7-31-15

From the Start

I try to remember as far back as I can. I don’t recall

That first starburst, nor the second or the third. I

Don’t remember what went on the day of my birth.

I now realize that I failed to ask the right questions

in school. I had all I could do grappling with the an-

swers others gave me.

I suppose it was adequate enough to get me by.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was lied to, but

some of my teachers were sadly mistaken.

There were general rules I was taught to follow.

And then the reality check when physics, quan-

tum mechanics and biology kicked in.

Although my recollections don’t go back that far,

all I ever really needed to know was packed into

that initial and glorious explosion.

Next time I’ll have to pay closer attention. Some

will say, life is what you make it. Let me stop you

right there.

Chris Hanch  7-30-15

Today, a Change

Today, I’m going to change things up a bit.

My friends, how many times have we told

ourselves that we promise to make some-

thing different about today?

Life can easily become boring and tedious

if we’re not paying attention. How many

opportunities have we missed by simply

not having our senses tuned to the possibi-

lities which surround us?

At my age and given my retirement posi-

tion, routine keeps me from wandering off

into worlds I am no longer prepared or des-

irous of navigating. We no longer have the

Quixotic need to change the world.

I’m not against somethings new, mind you,

but I refuse to get entangled in scenes from

a movie which require a more youthful and

vigorous leading man. For today anyway, I’m

going to concentrate fully on what I must say.

Perhaps tomorrow then, should I still be ac-

tively engaged and Earth continues its course

around the sun, I won’t feel ashamed for hav-

ing said something totally nonsensical and in-

appropriately out of place. Let the folly begin!

Chris Hanch  7-29-15 

Roadside Stop

You ever stop the car somewhere out of the way, pull off

to the side of the road for a bit to rest and stretch your

legs? Ever feel the magnificence of the land and the per-

fection of the day wash all over you?

The jagged mountains soar majestically over there, the mesas

And gorges elevate and descend rolling wide out in front of 

you, the deep blue and brilliant white puffy sky  glides glo-

riously overhead.

Ever wonder why more people don’t stop as you have to

soak in the beautiful expanse of natural beauty, the peace

and serenity, the grandeur of such creation? Say a dozen

or so have the same idea as you.

And then a few dozen more stop to see what’s going on.

More and more are attracted by the sheer throngs of cu-

rious people gathered out there in the middle of nowhere,

so to speak. I figure, that this is the way cities are made.

It’s the bloody snowball effect rolling downhill picking up

speed and mass along the way. Pretty soon you’ve got a

megatroplis built up belching and squelching, burying all

the natural splendor and allure which was here before.

You wisely decide to take one last deep breathe, climb

quickly and quietly back into your car so as to not arouse

any suspicion, and head on to your intended destination

before someone else notices and all the madness begins.

Chris Hanch  7-29-15

What Could Be Said?

I could tell you what the bird thinks, but that would all boil

Down to instinct—Food, fly, mate, sing. Our lives consist

Mainly of thought, very little action comparatively, mostly

A persistent internal deliberation. We humans tend to worry

A lot, spend our precious hours imagining fictitious worlds of

“what if?” Should I write down every thought, I would have

Volumes bound, useless, cognitive information, readers would

Say. After a few pages most would put the book down. I have

Had just about enough of this drivel. I need action here, some-

thing of substance, a plot of sorts—food, flight, mating, song—

Life, let’s get on with it, bird brain!

Chris Hanch  7-28-15

Just a Thought or Two Today

I could have more easily kept these thoughts

And images to myself, never having said a word

To anyone. Who then would know, and more

Adequately expressed, who would even care?

I could have more easily sat in my chair and lis-

tened to music or watched TV instead, could

have entertained thoughts about doing laundry

Or dusting furniture. Who then would know?

We don’t even consider the planet spinning at

A high rate of speed beneath our feet, rarely

Give a care about our lonely and precarious

Position orbiting in outer space.

Is the nearest Walgreen’s a 24-hour operation?

Is Burger King open late? Did I forget to pay the

auto insurance this month? I could have more

Easily kept these thoughts and images to myself.

I could have sat here and never said a word to

Anyone, but then how in hell would you ever

Know, the old man included you and a bunch

Of other stuff in his thoughts today?

Chris Hanch  7-21-15

The Deep Blue Orb

It all looks so calm and peaceful, that deep blue orb

floating out there in the blackness of space, a serene

place, some say perfect for picnics and raising a family.

Having lived there for nearly sixty-nine years, I would

have to agree, mostly. There are those frequent dis-

ruptively screaming arguments coming from the neigh-

bor’s apartment down the hall, however. Those two make
quite a fuss, and rarely get along.

Chris Hanch  7-21-15

Children, The Future of Our Species

Word for Word Processing

Often I think of great American writers of old, Mark Twain,

John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemmingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald.

What if they had computers in their day with which to dig-

itally type their manuscripts. Indeed, their words may have

Flowed more easily, more prolifically. They may have had

More time to further produce their literary masterworks.

Ah, but then, what may have been lost to all mankind had

They pressed the wrong key, and not having saved what was

Previously written, lost the entire piece? Such a tragedy has

Happened to me a time or two. Then, I found myself up the

Proverbial creek without a paddle, trying desperately to re-

Construct word for word the work I had worked so hard to

Complete thus far. And the shame of it, no waste paper bas-

ket within reach to retrieve the discarded draft which I may

Have reconsidered to be most enlightened and appropriate

After all. Oh the sinking misery, the loss to all mankind who

Shall sleep peacefully in their innocence and reverie, never

Knowing such a goddamn tragedy ever even happened. Oh,

The humanity! (Oh my, that line has already been used…
Delete…No, wait!)

Chris Hanch  7-19-15

To My Faithful Companion, Apollo

We stand here together, my old friend, as we

Have stood for such a long, long time, me in my

69^th year and you in your 15^th. Chihuahuas are

Known to live a good long time as dogs’ lives

Go. In your younger years, had you gotten loose

From your leash, you would have seized the op-

portunity to run away from me, but it would have

Been all in good fun. And I would have given chase

Until you decided to relent and let me catch you.

Ah, my how times have changed. You are in your

15^th year, too old and arthritic to run anymore;

I in my 69^th, likewise stiffened and worn from head

To toe, too tired to give chase. The time for such

Spirited games is over for the two of us. Now, my

Old friend, we stand here side-by-side, connected

Though all the years, bound to one another by a

Faithful camaraderie, secured for the rest of our

Days by the taut and inescapable leash of old age.

Chris Hanch  7-18-15 

Deep-space Thoughts

I’ve been having deep-space thoughts about the Cosmos today,

stellar thoughts about billions upon billions of solar systems and

galaxies, personal thoughts about extraterrestrial life thousands

of light years away, radio-wave thoughts that our transmissions

may indeed have already been received.

Some here on Earth fear that one day we will have visitors from

afar who like us have malicious designs on invading foreign lands

and peoples to plunder and enslave. And I would question, why?

Should they be technologically advanced enough to warp space/

time or hyper-drive light years to reach us here, they would have

already done so had they the need.

But perhaps they consider us to be like the dysfunctional relation-

ship whose calls we refuse to take. We had an Earth-like relation-

ship once, they might be telling themselves, and what a mistake;

look where that got us. No, my friends, they probably don’t need

starving nations and a warlike people with which to contend.

They have more than likely had enough of pollution and global

warming. In all likelihood they have far surpassed the Walmart

and McDonald’s mentality. Let’s just leave those Earthlings be.

After they’ve been though therapy and in a few millennia, then

We’ll see.

(I imagine if there should be a god of all creation way out there

somewhere, he or she may be given deep-space pause to consider

pretty much the same.)

Chris Hanch  7-17-15

Walks these Days

Walks are different these days of my old age.

I remember the staggered drunken walks of

Careless days, lopsidedly just trying to make

It home, the jobless walks of shame, wonder-

ing, now which way to go? I remember the ela-

ted hand-in-hand walks two lovers used to take,

The high-stepping struts of days I was sure I had

It made. I remember those effortless smooth

Glides of my youth, the seamless poetic steps

Taken in stride, the fresh air of mind, and thank

God I’m alive! How many walks in a lifetime have

Been made? And my, how things have changed.

Oh, I remember those days gone by. And now I

Am left with only the painful limp of what remains,

Hopeful still I can keep on step by step, and make

 It once again all the way home.

Chris Hanch  7-16-15

Words

I have an affinity for famous last words, someone else’s

not my own. I will save a few choice remarks, however,

just in case they're needed.

Knowing Our Place

I read something the other day and it said: Do you know

That the orbit of Pluto cuts across the orbit of Neptune

On its’ way around the sun, and in doing so for awhile

It becomes the eighth planet in our Solar System? And

It takes two-hundred and forty-some years for Pluto to

Complete one orbit around the sun. My orbit takes only

365-days, and in that time I cross your orbit a number

Of times. Still I’m only one of seven-billion circling the

Sun. And like it or not, we all get where we’re headed

At pretty much the same time.

Chris Hanch  7-13-15

Something about Compatibility

I was thinking about when times were simpler, you know,

Before those on-line dating sites like E Harmony, Christian

Mingle and Farmers Only. Used to be couples became bound

By necessity. Take the Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon epochs of

Time: back then, folks got together for mutual reasons such as

Safety, food, shelter and procreation of the species. We have

Since evolved with a more select and complex system of choo-

sing a significant other, and similarities in musical preference

May be key, a more precise and contemporary indicator of viable

Compatibility. For instance, should she favor Classical music and

You prefer Country/Western, that’s a good sign that there must be

A whole lot of something else going on. I do know this, as of late

I have been watching way too much TV.

Chris Hanch  7-12-15

Something about the Milky Way

The sun rises each day and all the other stars in the heavens

disappear, gone from the eye and mind until nightfall again.

We go about our business most every day feeling the heat of

but one star among billions in the Milky Way.

You are gravitationally attracted to Earth, and with no second

thoughts your feet move securely across its face. Your bank

account is waiting for its next deposit. There are bills to pay;

the car needs gas, and you’re running late.

There’s no time for breakfast. At the gas station you pick up a

Milky Way and eat it on your way to work…the candy bar, Milky

Way, not the Galaxy. Face it, you’re running late today, and there

is simply no time for an entire galaxy. That’s just silly.  

Chris Hanch  7-11-15 

Mothers and Daughters, a Photographic Sampler

I have had a keen interest in photography for over 40-years. Recently while re- viewing some of my collection, I realized that over that period of time I had taken quite a few spontaneous portraits of mothers and daughters. I grew up in a family with three boys. Never having had any sisters, I suppose I’ve always been intri- gued by the special familial bond between mothers and daughters with which I became familiar as I grew older. Where would we all be without mothers and their daughters? I trust you will enjoy, Mothers and Daughters, a Photographic Sampler.

Some folks seem to have all the answers

while I haven’t even had the chance to ask

half the questions yet.    

Greetings from Planet Earth...

Scene from Shrek the Musical, Center High School, Kansas City, MO

Knock, Knock, Go Away!

Last night, eleven-thirty, late,

Decent folks have gone to bed.

I being decent once in awhile

Joined the slumbering masses.

A knock on my apartment door.

Late, eleven-thirty, and I knew

Who it was at this ungodly hour.

The young man down the hall of

Our building wanted to bum a cig-

arette from me. What in hell could

He be thinking? Certainly not of me

And my sleep, but only of his own

Want and need. I had nearly a full

Pack of weeds lying on the table.

And at eleven-thirty in the evening,

I am in bed and not feeling the least

Bit compassionately warm and fuzzy.

So he left empty-handed at such an

Ungodly hour back to his own apart-

ment smokeless and ungratified with

Only his inconsiderate want and ha-

bitual need. My own addiction is bad

Enough, but his brings out the pure-

bred indecency in me. Besides, I'm

Sixty-eight years old and I hit the

Hay early. Should the building be

On fire at eleven-thirty in the P.M.

Don't you even dare bother knock-

ing on my door. I’m old and cantan-

kerous; I need my sleep.

Chris Hanch  7-9-15

Today is that day yesterday you promised tomorrow we could, remember?

Some of my favorite people are stuffed...

The Last Move

A funny thing happened to me the other day, I tried to remember a

Specific time when I moved from one place to another. You know,

One of those big lifetime moves where you have packed all your

Belongings, taped dozens of boxes, got paper cuts and smashed

Thumbs, strained your leg and back muscles to the limit lifting and

Pushing furniture and household goods about. You know, an actual

Uprooting to go somewhere else and eventually resettle, a genuine,

No-holds-barred, bigtime move. The funny thing is, I recall nothing

At all about the actual legwork involved in my moves, and I have

Without question certainly moved a lot. Perhaps my mind has had

A way of blocking the nitty-gritty details of the actual physical activ-

ities. I would more than likely break out into a sweat and have a post-

traumatic episode should the details of all my movings-about be

Available to me. I do, however, recall the move I made just over a

Year ago from Colorado where I had lived for twenty-some years.

I suppose in time that move shall as well fade away from memory.

Perhaps there is a Mystical Mind Fairy who has blocked certain im-

ages. He or she keeps telling me constantly, go back to sleep. You’ve

Actually only moved once in your lifetime, and that was the last time

When you went from childhood over there to old age over here. And

That may indeed be so, but it’s all too weird somehow. And it seems

To me that that last time, I seem to have inadvertently forgotten and
Left a few of my favorite toys behind. 

Chris Hanch  7-8-15

Cosmic Desires

The Hubble of my mind's eye,

The Voyager of my deep-space

Imaginings have taken me

Light years into life’s reality—

To visualize how far we as a

Species have come; how much

More we must explore. Oh, the

Cosmic energies, and the far-

reaching possibilities which lie

beyond. Sometimes I look up

and see all of us telescopically,

Cosmic dust, stars among an

Expanding universe on fire, the

Stuff of scientific exploration,

Exploding supernova stanzas of

The poet’s thoughtful desire.

Chris Hanch  7-7-15 

Much more than words can say...

Slice of Life

You sent me home with the last of the pizza,

Wrapped neatly as a wedge in aluminum foil.

Anyone even vaguely familiar with iconic shapes

Would recognize that pizza slice outline. (There

Is no better way to divide a circle in all fairness

For those who share.) And we certainly did lots

Of sharing that afternoon at your house—Scrab-

ble, the big game on TV. Casual and humorous

Conversations flowed like a satin-smooth Chardon-

nay. All-in-all for me it was a great day. And I took

Home a slice of it to enjoy latter. One evening when

I don’t wish to bother messing up the kitchen cook-

ing dinner, when I want a simple meal ready-made,

I will reach for that aluminum-foil wrapped slice of

Pizza in the freezer. I’ll allow it to sit on the kitchen

Counter, and wait for the tasty sausage and peperoni

Deliciousness of my memories to thaw.

Chris Hanch  7-7-15

Games

Yesterday Scrabble was the game. I played and came in third place.

Not an admirable position for me as the participants were only three.

What in the world can I say: I had only consonants to play--Z, Q, T, N, T

For me. What an embarrassing blow-out! I was literally at a loss for words.

Texas Hold ‘em, anyone?

Chris Hanch  7-6-15

Every little girl's dream...

Trust, a reliable shoulder upon which to safely rest one's head.

Dust

It’s Sunday and there’s dust on top the TV stand.

It will be there a week from now, longer than that

If I pay no further attention and leave it alone.

There are several reasons why seniors of my age

Are not involved in a serious relationship. It’s not

That another woman could never replace the first

One divorced, or the second one who died. It’s not

That you’ve grown to like the silence of no one else

At home. Some men may miss having a woman

Around to cook and clean for them. But as for me,

Even when I had mine, I always shared equally in

Performing the household duties and chores. No,

As we men grow older we have a tendency to sim-

plify. And it may sound a bit chauvinistic, but for

Many woman it has been my personal experience,

To “simplify” never seems to get things done. So,

It’s Sunday and there’s dust on top of the TV stand.

I’m old and I live alone. Give me five minutes or so
And I’ll forget it’s even there. I can’t tell today’s dust
From yesterday’s anyway. And tomorrow, should I

Still be around, dust will be there always the same.

Chris Hanch  7-5-15

Ahhh, the cooling shade of summer's delight!

The Kiss

I won’t lie, it was exhilarating the first time

I put my arm around the shoulder and neck

of Judy Whye at the Ozark Theater on that

Friday night.

We were each new at this, both being in our

thirteenth year. I won’t lie, I was nervous as

a cat on a limbless tree, dry mouthed and

sweating profusely.

I won’t lie, I tingled all over when I moved in

to kiss her on the lips. My eyes were open and

her lips were cold, but I was only thirteen and

how was I to know?

When the movie ended and the house lights

came on, I turned to look behind me and there

stood my Aunt Molly in the next isle, looking me

in the eye with a stern grimace on her face.

I won’t lie, Judy Whye’s lips may have been a bit

chilly, But my Aunt Molly’s glare was enough to

freeze me humiliatingly solid. Damn, I was only

thirteen, how was I to know?

Chris Hanch  7-4-15

It's your move...

Living the Silence

It has been a good long while since I’ve heard

the rattling of pots and pans in my kitchen. A

stretch of time has passed since someone has

asked me to go shopping with them.

I can’t remember the last time when good morn-

ings were exchanged. When you live alone, you

get used to moving about your place, ignoring

the sounds you make in your own wake.

I have two small dogs and I converse with them

now and again, but generally they just cock their

heads quizzically as if I’m blathering nonsense in

in some foreign tongue.

Once in a while they may pee on the floor quietly

when I’m not looking. And across the carpet their

paws make little inaudible whispers as they move

about.

The library silence about my place is sometimes deaf-

ening. Books on the shelf speak to me occasionally,

but still, at times it’s as if no one is home at all. Shhh,

what was that?

Chris Hanch  7-3-15

A bright and beautiful future for mankind...

A Basic Training

January 1965 was cold in Missouri. It seemed far

colder at Ft. Leonard Wood where I took my Army

Basic Training. I was only seventeen and green, but

I knew the pain of bitter cold when its claws hit me.

After morning chow, our company of new recruits

had to wait outside the barracks in the dark early

morning until the drill instructors came to verbally

drive us into the insanity of our day.

But for now it was really cold, damned cold, and

everyone jumped up and down, clapping their hands

and continuously moved about trying to stay warm.

This must be a test of endurance.

The drill instructors kept us waiting outside in the dark

and cold to weaken or strengthen our will. There are no

reprieves in the thick of battle, and in the down-times

a soldier has to have the patience and fortitude to wait.

There was a war going on halfway around the world in

A place called Vietnam. What did we know about killing

or being killed? What did we know about the misery of

extreme heat and humidity in the jungle?

We were young and naïve recruits playing some malicious

drill instructors’ bad-ass games. What did we know? It’s cold!

Come on, let’s get this goddamn show on the road!

Chris Hanch  7-2-15

To the Moon!

7:30 A.M., a dark and cold winter morning and I’m

Already at work. That’s when the day shift begins

At the manufacturing plant where I work. It’s a

New year, 1968, and this is my first job since com-

pleting my 3-year enlistment in the Army. I now

Move parts from one station to the next. Parts

Which have been machined will now be welded

Together; welded parts will move on to inspection;

Inspected parts are accepted and ready for finish.

And so it goes, round and round all day long. I ask

One of the machinists about his work, and what is

That complicated assembly he’s working on? It’s

A module which will encase the cooling system for

An astronaut’s backpack, he tells me. I am awestruck

And impressed. The U.S. is scheduled to send men

To the Moon before the decade’s end. This alien-

looking and complicated piece with all its angles

And holes, measured and machined to 1/1000^th

Of an inch previsioned accuracy could be part of

An astronauts life-support system which will one

Day soon land on the Moon. And I held it in my

Very own hands, I, a twenty-year old nobody any-

body knows, I, a common everyday blue-collar

Factory worker in the Midwest who takes a bus

To work on bitterly cold winter’s days, and who

Clocks-in and begins his shift in the pre-dawn

Morning come hell or high water, who push-carts

Everything from raw material to finished goods all

Day long, I will have held in my common-man hands

A finely crafted and machined unit which may one day

Soon, with the first of humanity, land on the Moon.

Why, the very thought of it gives me gooseflesh. I’d

Best handle this one very carefully. (Secretly, I’d like to

Etch my initials into its surface.) Imagine, to the Moon!

Chris Hanch  7-1-15