Advise

I don’t care to outlive my father; he was eighty-nine

and not in a good frame of mind when he expired.

I wouldn’t wish to be old and lost in my shell with

dementia at eighty-seven like my aunt, Jo, either.

There are those who manage fairly well into their

nineties, I know, but that’s rare and not in the cards

for me. I drank a goodly portion of my healthy cells

into oblivion well into my fifties.

I still smoke. Cigarettes and I have had this life-long

pact since I was twelve-years old. Had I to do it all over

again, I might considered not engaging in the embittered

relationships to which I was attracted like a moth to fire.

As Robert Frost suggested, I did take the road less

traveled. However, given another shot, I may have

fared better following Yogi Berra’s sage advise in

taking the fork in the road when I got to it.

All in all, you know, considering this whole complex

life business anyway, it is still pretty amazing that I

have been able to string together this many usable

weeks in a row.

Chris Hanch  9-30-15  

Phenomenon (for Alina)

I saw a posting by a nurse on Facebook today.

She was telling her husband how she was not

Superstitious about much, but that there was

Definitely something strange about the goings-

on with humans during a full moon.

She was telling everyone what a crazy day she

Had at nursing during a full moon. I am not sur-

prised by her statement, others have noticed an

Increase in strange and calamitous behavior 

With people during full lunar phases in the past.

One responder to her claim cited the root of the

Word LUNAtic as a prime example. If the moon

Can exert a gravitational influence with the ocean

Tides on Earth, why not throw-off some electrical

Pathways in the human brain.

Why, just the other day during the super moon e-

clipse, I noticed another phenomenon. Others were

observing the astronomical event alongside me on

The street. And each was so enthralled that not one

Of them had a smart phone glued to their ear.

Now, tell me that a full moon doesn’t wield a subtle

Yet powerful influence on human behavior.

Chris Hanch 9-29-15

Eclipsing of a Super Moon

Ancient or medieval man may have thought it a

Bad omen or a harbinger of disasters to come.

Today, in this enlightened world of science and

Advanced technology, some still do put their faith

And fears in that which they don’t understand. It’s

Just a shadow plain and simple. Even a child would

Understand—like making a duck on the wall with your

Hands as a light shines behind you. It’s only a full moon,

A super moon with a lunar eclipse thrown in for good

Measure. I say let the romantics have their way, rela-

ting such an uncommon event to love’s eclipsing of

The heart. One thing is for sure, believer in hocus-po-

cus, black magic or being a well-versed poet smitten

With more amorous desires, I will most certainly not

Be attending the next super moon eclipse event

Scheduled in about thirty-years or so. Let me see,

I’m 68-years old, give or take several months either

Way, and in three decades I will be…Well, forget about

All that. It takes neither an astronomer nor a mystical

Sorcerer (regardless what either has to say), but as a

Lowly poet, I am scheduled by universal law and popu-

lar demand to be performing out of town on that par-

ticular day.

Chris Hanch  9-28-15

Poetry (again)

I figure that some poems are just too damned long.

I have fallen asleep at some readings only to awaken

With the mild and courteous sound of a clap or two

At the end. Too many obtuse images to absorb, like

Being in a berry patch trying to figure out which is

The best berry to pick if you could only choose one.

How many people do you know that this has hap-

pened to? Probably none, because they have never

Been heard from again. Anyway, I figure brevity and

A quick image punch are the keys to good poetry. Take

that one berry idea…taste it, go ahead, don’t be shy,

press it between the teeth, savor the juicy sweet.

Close your eyes in heavenly delight. Okay, wake up.

That’s enough free-loading. Time to go back to work.

Can’t get these damned berries picked daydreaming

About some tooty-fruity poetry.

Chris Hanch  9-27-15

Just a Thought II

Ever think about all the people, why, for what?

And what about all those trips to the store, auto-

mobiles on the street, rusting in junkyards nation-

wide? Power grids, unless you are an electrician,

A generator plant engineer or operator, we rarely

Give AC and DC, amps, volts and mega-watts the

Slightest consideration. What’s up with stocking

Feet, Nike shoes and paper or plastic? Ever give

A second thought to toll booths and false teeth,

Sagging pants and tattoos? Most of us know some-

thing about checking accounts and how babies are

Made, but haven’t the vaguest idea why an orches-

tra has all those musical instruments. And why do

Conductors wave and gyrate all over the place?

Remember bobby pins and drive-in movies? What

About that guy pushing a shopping cart down the

Street; has anyone ever stop to ask? Ever take just a

Moment out of one of those foggy days you wind up

Wasting anyway to stop and think, what in the hell

Is this about? Doesn’t all of it seem mighty strange?

Okay, that’s enough. Now go on, move along, be on

Your way.

Chris Hanch  9-26-15

Why Bother?

I am hopeful, trying to come up with the right words,

Attempting to carefully arrange, intent on describing,

Striving to explain why on Earth I bother getting up in

The morning. Is it that something or someone is call-

On me to rise, or is it that I am old and sore and can-

Not lie in this sagging bed anymore? For one, the dogs

Need out to poop and pee. As for me, well, ripen to

My age and cantankerous disposition and you’ll see.

Chris Hanch  9-26-15

The Letters

I have re-read some of the letters I wrote to

My mother while I was in the Army some fifty

Years ago. In a way, I am a bit embarrassed by

Their juvenility, all the mushy missing home

Business, all the tough military regiments and

Such. But then I must concede that I was only

Seventeen-years old at the time. Back then,

Mother probably had a chuckle or two reading

Them as I have now. Oh well, she could have

Mused, at least he had good intentions writing

To me in the first place. But one thing may have

Been apparent to her—she didn’t raise another

Longfellow or Hemingway. Mother has long since

Passed, so I can only guess at what may have

Crossed her mind at the time: Maybe when he

Is finished with his three year term of enlistment,

He will come home and get a job at the factory.

They’re always hiring. Or, perhaps he’ll take

After his father and sell insurance. Heaven forbid.

Chris Hanch 9-25-15

The Dictionary

Anyone out there familiar with a dictionary? Yes, that thick and

heavy volume of paper loaded, jam-packed, chock-full of words,

words like jam-packed and chock-full, an impressive collection of

terms compiled under the good name of Merriam Webster, a per-

son about whom very few of us know even the slightest bit.

Well, when I was growing up way back in the dark ages of mankind

(the 1950s) dictionaries were all the rage. Just about every home,

office and school in the free world had at least one dictionary. It was

your tour de force to the wondrous world of words, not just the de-

fining of words, their origins, parts of speech and phonetic pronun-

ciation, but relating how to correctly spell the blamed things.

And as a youngster versed by my elders in the finer points of diction-

ary usage, I had a difficult time understanding how to find the correct

spelling of a word you didn’t know how to spell. I mean, that’s the

whole point of having a dictionary in the first place, no?

Well, for those of you who were brought up in this enlightened age

of computers, and to those who utilize word programs with spell-check

check, all you need do is roughly type in the word you’re needing, and

chances are it will be correctly transformed before your very eyes.

No more is there a need to be like me of the past, trying to figure

out how to find a certain word when you can’t spell the damned

thing in the first place. Modern technology today has all but elimi-

nated the need for a humongous, hard-covered, boat anchor of a

book to assist one in the definition and proper spelling of words.

Any good spell-cheek program can do the same. Well, almost, butt

sometimes not quit. I thank you get what I mean.

Oh, and then there are the proof reading and editing functions after

all the proper words are in place. Next time, we’ll disgust the impor-

tance of those.

Chris Hanch  9-24-15

My Place

Should I describe my place I would say, Better Homes and Gar-

dens stay away. This place has no photogenic appeal. It is really

too small to entertain, so it is rare that anyone but the dogs and

me are ever there.

I have a liberal coating of dust on the furnishings, and a carpet

of Chihuahua hair wall-to-wall. I’ve got hardcover books of size

and weight, volumes I’ve either already read or ones not even

worth a second glance.

Those are strategically placed on the carpet over frazzled pile which

the other dog decided to excavate with flailing paw and gnawing jaw.

There’s a lopsided, threadbare recliner where I often sit, drinking my

morning coffee while writing a line or two each day.

Occasionally, I’ll watch a hometown game on TV when a particular

sport is in season. There are always two cans of tuna in the kitchen

cabinet, and a half-jar of mayo in the fridge. And I’ve got a reserve

loaf of sandwich bread in the freezer.

Should I run out of things to eat, tuna salad is always an option over

abject hunger and starvation. That just about adequately portrays

my living situation. I wouldn’t go so far as to say my place is a

complete and unruly mess.

More accurately, I would say it is self-contained, a hands-free

operation of sorts, with no moving parts to get in the way. And

that generally includes me. Should I one day decide to step up

and fancily upgrade my living space,

I’ll certainly consider buying an issue of Better Homes and Garden

Magazine. I’ll sit worry-free in my cock-eyed recliner, take a nap

with the dogs and dream.

Chris Hanch  9-24-15

This is Just to Say (in some other way)

No checkout stand will be reviewing a purchase from

me today. I have food enough in the fridge to feed me

adequately for lunch and dinner.

And actually, I have need of nothing else. I am out of

dog food, but there is a new bag I bought last week in

the trunk of my car.

I will have to walk across the street to retrieve it, how-

ever. That was the only parking space available on that

particular day.

I am doing my writing early in the morning while things

are still quiet and my energy level is high. But you already

know that that is part of my daily mantra routine.

I won’t bother with the weather report. It’s that between

seasons time of year when weather does not play much of

a factor around here.

William Carlos Williams has already told the world that the

plums were delicious so sweet and so cold. So, what have I

to say today?

No one really cares anyway. This is just to say: Should

the world go back to worshiping a sun god, it just may

make a hell of a lot more sense.

Chris Hanch  9-22-15

OCD, OCD, OCD!

The other day I took two of my manuscripts of

poetry to the Officemax to have them coil-bound.

It had taken me several months of writing and

editing, selecting just the right pictures from my

collection to assemble the compilation.

So, it is no wonder I was very particular about how

the finished product should look—black coils, clear

vinyl covers, black vinyl backs, I instructed the clerk

at the counter. And please take great care, these are

originals and I do not have them saved to my computer.

I got a wincing nod in acknowledgement. I’ll have

these ready about 4 o’clock this afternoon, he told

me. I left the store as my Obsessive Compulsive Dis-

order kicked in—I hope he understands all the work

I put into those two editions.

And I hope and pray he doesn’t screw them up.

4 o’clock, he said they would be ready for pick up

at 4 o’clock. I sure hope…well, it’s too late now.

It’s out of my hands. He did look the capable sort,

didn’t he?

Not your disgruntled, run-of-the-mill, I-don’t-

give-a-shit, I hate my job and I detest every

customer who comes in here, especially those

who tell me what to do type of guys. 4 o’clock,

huh, why would it take so long?

He didn’t look that busy. I could have done both

books in 15-minutes. 4 o’clock, six-hours from now.

I sure hope he gets it right. And I managed to wait

The whole thing out, only thinking about the out-

come four or five times.

Well, I did give it some consideration as I ate my

lunch. And the subject did come to mind a few

times during the football game I was watching on

TV. But I managed to survive until the pick-up time

we agreed upon—4 o’ clock.

I certainly hope he got it right. It seems the more I

lose control of things as I age, the more I obsess

over those things which I have no influence over

In the first place. I could have made it easier on

myself and not taken those papers to be bound.

But the need to have them rigidly connected in

book form so that they didn’t decide to scatter

out in all directions was a stronger impulse for

me. And the book binding turned out just fine.

The young man did a very acceptable job.

My obsessive behavior served only to aggravate

me, but it did help to pass the time I had to face

waiting. Geeze, 4 o’clock, really? I could have

done it a hell of a lot sooner than that. I mean,

it was just a couple of simple coil bindings.

Chris Hanch  9-21-15

As it Turns Out

It’s as if I had this inoculation at my swearing-in.

I was given an invisible injection which allowed

me to make it successfully through my enlisted

three-year hitch in the Army.

Had I re-enlisted and gone any longer, I doubt if

things would have continued to be as rosy for me.

The three-year vaccine did its job most effectively

as I managed to stay alive and keep my nose clean.

I excelled at my job which afforded me the optimum

rank possible for my term of service. I have this gut

feeling that had I re-enlisted, things would have turned

out far differently for me.

Who knows, had I survived the perils of the time and

made a career of the military, I may have attained the

rank of Sergeant Major. But there was this Viet-Nam

Thing going on.

There may be today an expended AK-47 round rusting

in the ground, a bullet which took aim with my name

on it. Fortunately, I didn’t raise my hand for a vol-

untary extension of my term of service.

And that seat on a plane headed for Saigon was oc-

cupied by some other misfortunate G.I. Be all that

as it may, it was a long time ago, and civilian life

turned out all right for me.

I am alive here and now to talk about it, proud I ser-

ved the term I did, yet fortunate I did not re-enlist.

And no, those Sergeant Major stripes were never

meant for a liberal-minded, free spirit such as I.

And that vaccine which kept me safely on an accep-

table course while in the Army was only effective

for a three-year term of service anyway. It certainly

did its job, while enabling me to do mine.

I have been told that pneumonia shots last for five.

Chris Hanch  9-20-15

A Photographic Elegy

There’s Roy and Sr. Mary Faith, they lived to be in their

nineties. Some believe they were lucky. That was Ramon,

a homeless person who was burned to death while sleep-

ing outside in the winter too close to a fire.

Luis had several Pancreatitis attacks and a bad heart exacer-

bated by excessive drinking. That was nearly a quarter of a

century ago, and I can say with a good deal of certainty, he is

no longer among the living.

And then there’s Jimmy who dropped dead on the street from

an overdose of drugs. He was in his early fifties. Devin, well

Devin was wrought with severe depression, and took his own

life at age thirty-one.

Dutch and F.J. made it into their eighties when they passed

away. Some of these had like Margaret and Margie had various

maladies and diseases which facilitated their demise. Death

always finds its way given circumstance or time.

Then, of course there’s Roy and Sister Mary Faith who lived to

be in their nineties. Some believe they were lucky.

Chris Hanch  9-19-15

Travel

Initially, I traveled to Germany because Uncle Sam

Had a ship waiting and paid all my expenses. I did

Learn how to travel at an early age. I found out that

The old buildings and quaint scenes were all neat,

But what I enjoyed most were the people I would

Meet. Later in life, I visited Italy and Greece, and

The same interest applied, watching people in far

Away places and observing how they lived. I ate

Pasta with the Italians in Rome; I ate lamb with the

Greeks in Athens; and I will never forget the schnit-

zel and beer in Frankfurt with the Germans. It was

Then I began to think a little farther out of the box.

There is a whole magnificent solar system out there,

And surrounding that, the Milky Way, and still far-

ther yet, an entire cosmos I will never reach, should

I live to be a thousand years. Oh well, it’s all too much

When you think about the scope of universal possibi-

lities. I was awestruck the first time I went down the

Gangway in Bremerhaven and first set foot on earthly
Foreign shores. I can still smell the sizzling bratwurst
Wafting in the air.

Chris Hanch  9-19-15  

Attitude

Just the other day, I saw a man who lives in

The same apartment building as I. Nice day

Was the pleasantry we exchanged. I am not,

However, looking forward to winter this year.

It becomes harder and harder to deal with the

Icy cold and blowing snow as we age, I confes-

sed bluntly to him, even though it is not yet a

Sin to have a well-defined hatred for inclement

Weather. But he, being the more positive sort

Gave me his best optimist’s angle on life, which

Is to take each day as it comes. And to his way

Of looking at it, this right here and now was a

Pretty fine day. And with the sunshine, warm

Breeze and clear blue skies, who was I to disa-

gree? But still, the chill of winter was looming

Heavily frozen into my mind. How would it look

If I, in a more positive light, was to wake up one

Morning to the surprise of ice and snow and blow-

ing cold after having not given it a thought on pre-

vious days, acting as if the whole bitter scene was

An unprepared for meteorological calamity? Posi-

tive attitude or not, I would definitely look the fool

Wandering outside into 2-foot snow drifts and bliz-

zard conditions, wearing only my flip flops, a short-

sleeved shirt and a smile.

Chris Hanch  9-18-15

A Reminiscence

As we grow on in years, the losses grow

Greater and greater as well. We make

Those timely and necessary withdrawals

On the Bank Account Life. Simple things

Pass almost imperceptible with the rapidly

Accumulating days. My head was turned

The other way when a bottle of Coke and

Snickers bars were only a nickel. Pennies

Found lying on the ground were a trea-

sures worth reaching for. I thought Cap-

tain Kangaroo and Roy Rogers would live

On forever. And those were losses which

Never really changed a thing, except when

Reminiscing about the Good Ole Days. I

Can’t run for distance anymore, and my

High stepping has turned into a hobble.

We won’t talk about friends and relations

Who left us alone and out in the cold too

Soon. The tears haven’t changed much,

Though. I can still cry those Great Salt

Lakes aplenty.

Chris Hanch  9-17-15 

As Poetry Should Be

Who knows, maybe he could be, maybe she, some-

one though, someone who sits after breakfast, or

Perhaps before, drinking their first cup of coffee, let’s

Say, or a second or a third should they have the time,

Sipping their brew as they read, reading some poetry,

Poetry on line, and who knows, maybe he or she sip-

ping their coffee, runs across a piece written simply

About seasonal change, one where the poet describes

Digging deep into the closet for that winter coat which

Moths may have been snacking on out of season. Wow!—

He or she, sipping coffee sends a review back to the

Poet about their poetry—I love this poem. It reminded

Me of home and how you switch out all the clothes and

Everything else when you get ready for winter. So, he

Or she, sipping coffee in the morning reading poetry on

Line is reminded of making ready for season’s change.

And the poet on the other end of the line, sipping his

Or her morning coffee as well, answers with a thank you.

I’m glad you could relate. Now that is how poetry should

Be, if you were to ask he or she, not for sure, but perhaps,

Maybe. Or, it could be that he or she in the afternoon

Happens to be sipping tea. In either case, it happens to be

A true story.

Chris Hanch  9-16-15

Preparation

Preparation

The harvest is pretty much done. It’s not too early,

Farmers on the cusp of cold and moderate zones pre-

pare their land and animals for the upcoming winter.

It won’t be long now before heaving winds from

the Arctic and Canada sweep down over the Great

Plains.

Soon, ice and snow, the blustery cold. I know Halloween

is still more than a month away yet, but the days, the

weeks, summer drip away.

From here, from these wide sweeps of fertile land we

cannot see or feel the Earth tilting in degrees—the

Northern Hemisphere quietly leans away from the sun.

But we know all too well what lies ahead. And you

check the anti-freeze level in your car; you look for the

woolen winter coat hung in the back of the closet.

Moths couldn’t care less whether you’re a farmer or a

city dweller, they have no regard for the season’s change

either. What do they care?

They love to keep busy year-round feasting on luscious

morsels of wool. Ah, but you, sir, are in luck. Late last year

you switched your wrap to a down-filled synthetic blend.

Chris Hanch  9-15-15

A few Photos from NATGEO's "Your Shots"

The Incident

It was a terrifying experience to say the least.

And a good part of that was the suddenness of

the event. I was driving effortlessly at a high

rate of speed on the Interstate crossing Kansas

from Denver to Kansas City.

There was what appeared to be a slight dusty

fog bank up ahead, something one would ex-

pect to zip through in a flash at 75-miles per

hour. But, oh no. Once Into the miasma there

was no stopping, no turning back.

There could be another vehicle stopped just

ahead of me, and a semi bearing down on me

from behind. Visibility was down to a matter of

inches, and at that speed, there was no time for

any favorable reaction.

What to do, what in hell to do? That was the

only thing on my mind as I let up on the gas

and moved ever so cautiously forward expec-

ting the horrid and fatal sound of metal thun-

derously colliding with metal.

Had this been Mt. Everest instead of Kansas and

I was descending after a victorious climb to the

summit, had an intense storm arisen suddenly,

I would have surely disappeared into a wan, blus-

tery blanket of white, never to be heard from again.

But I soon realized that one may as easily be lost

in the blinding dust storms of Kansas. Here, at

least, lies a fair chance of survivors sooner or later

discovering my gritty and gruesome remains.

What the hell happened, you may be asking?

Well, by the favorably prevailing winds of fate

at the time, I am here today to write about the

harrowing incident. And yes, thank goodness I

did have a clean change of underwear with me

in the car.

Chris Hanch  9-14-15

From Faces in Focus

Apartment Stories

People moving in and out every week:

Some here to stay a while; others tempo-

rary until a more suitable place is found.

How many stories reside in a ten-storey

apartment building, how many lives yelled

out loud in the middle of the night?

How many silently wished and whispered

away? I’ve lost count, there is no measure-

ment taken which can accurately say.

Some acknowledge others in passing, and

then there are those who wouldn’t give the

time of day.

People, young and old, retired, jobless, a few

rungs up the ladder to who knows where or

When.

Dripping faucets, toilets plugged and overflowing,

music heard damn near a mile away. Doors slam-

ming night and day—The comings and the goings.

Nothing stands still. Even the old man as he sits

quietly in Apartment 316 grows older.

Chris Hanch  9-11-15

How Life Works Sometimes

Arms and legs move mechanically induced by

electrical impulses from the brain. Eyes open

and close thoughtlessly as the hand and fin-

gers extend to reach.

We eat and sleep automatically without reason

beyond hunger and tiredness it seems. And in

and out we breathe, thinking not of oxygen or

nitrogen in the air.

It is always there. We take it in as needed, and

we need it with great frequency. Life is often

an automatic proposition it seems. To be fully

alive is to track the pop fly hit from the bat.

You see the ball ascend into the air; you run to

position yourself under it. Shading your eyes

from the sun, you extend your arms upward,

hands aligned and ready to receive;

and you breathe a deep breath and fumble, drop-
ing the ball. Is that all? No, the batter running
reaches second base. And you, panicked and
embarrassed, throw the ball to third.

Maybe after the game you'll go out for pizza
and beer with the team.

Chris Hanch  9-10-15