The Meal

It’s like serving a meal you have just prepared.

You hope your guests find the taste appealing.

The musician knows his song by heart, knows

The perfect note with which to begin. Satisfaction

Will come in time. Everyone anticipates the cresendo.

You open your notebook and make ready to recite

An entree of words. From the first bite, you hope

To entice your guests with aroma and taste. This

Is poetry, music, a meal with which you hope to

Surprise and satisfy. And then from a guest seated

To your left, a rewarding sigh—I’ll have more mashed

Potatoes, please.

Chris Hanch 12-31-16

The Dream

I had a dream last night. Scary! I dreamt that
I stood beside a rushing river which had a
Great falls about a quarter-mile downstream.

One by one, people I have known in life—
Family, friends and foes alike floated by,
Waiving wildly at me as they were helplessly

Swept away. And, there was not a damned thing
I could do to save them from going over the edge.
Aunt Molly was there, and Larry, my childhood

Friend, Sister Anne Vincetta, my eighth-grade
Teacher, and Bobby Kennedy that bully in my
Old neighborhood, even Mom went by crying

Out my name, and Dad frantically yet hopelessly
Flailing, trying to fight against the swift Current
Of Destiny. So, this is how it ends, I remember

Thinking. Most of us are swept away by streams
Not of our choosing. Was this my time and place?
I decided to open my eyes and take on yet another

Day. It worked again to my surprise. And in my
Dream last night, I was given one last chance to
Tell this story and waive my goodbyes.

Chris Hanch 12-28-16

My Belief

I am of the belief that life is full of hidden meanings

Most of which most of us can never describe. It goes beyond

Rational and biblical teaching.

It keeps a light-year’s distance, it’s the hidden mystery between

Fantasy and reality, some uncertain illumination in the distant

Crab Nebula of the mind. Given all that we know and all which

We have been told, I am still of the belief that life is full of hidden

Meanings most of which most of us can never describe. Instead,

We as humans are given the ability to laugh and cry. And too,

There are those times when all we can do is dance and sing.

No one really knows why. Oh, there are a few who do—Fred Astaire

And Ginger Rogers to name but two.

Chris Hanch 12-24-16

To My Son on His 50th Birthday

So, this Friday my son turns fifty. He’s young and fit for his age.

When I turned fifty, I would have said the same for myself. Today

I am sixty-nine, only nineteen years past that golden landmark age.

Inevitably, one reaches a point when the deterioration process excels.

For me the downhill decline began notably at age sixty. My son’s

Age this Friday actually says a lot more about me and my precarious

Condition. Understand that the aging process is not predicated exclu-

Sively on genetic predisposition. Other biological factors apply.

It’s a fact that my smoking and former alcohol abuse have erased

Many years of good health which I may have enjoyed otherwise.

Fortunately for my son, marching in his fifth-decade parade, he has

Neither subscribed to nor applied my insidiously ruinous behaviors.

Be that as it may, and should my humble advise be asked at this

Momentous time in both our lives, I would have to say to my son

Of fifty-years—Enjoy what you have now, but pay attention, pay

Close attention to that metabolic time clock. Behave accordingly.

You may have but nineteen more years to learn. Then, who can say?

With pesky minor maladies (and a couple of arthritic knees), you may

Indeed go on to hobble across the landscape of an entire century.

Chris Hanch 12-22-16

A Rant on Words

I know that words got me here to the nearly seventy-years

Of my earthly being, words my mother said as I developed

In the womb, words father directed and passed along to me

As law in growing, words, words, the vocabulary I learned,

The coveted Golden Rule in school, words—nouns, proper

And pro-, verb words, interjectional, prepositional, exclam-

Atory, hyphenated and more, words galore, silly, obscene

Gospel and holier-than-thou, biblical words, outright lies,

Sweet-nothing words, lyrical, empirical words, emphatic,

Spasmodic, exotic, intemperate, berating and lurid, nomadic,

Pathetic and poetic words, turd and bird words like stinking

Flipping flamingos. A whole damn human existence, word

For word, books and libraries, pamphlets and fliers full of

Words, smart phones talking, Facebook and Twitter gawking,

Squawking words. I find it hard at my age to keep up with

The barrage, the incessant onslaught, a Wikipedic cacophony

Of words. So in the pits of my graying, arthritic waning,

I rely pretty much on muscle memory to get me by. Even

That has me moving at less than a friggin’ snail’s pace. By

The way, “Friggin’” is a fairly new and descriptive word

I use quite often anymore. It’s friggin’ easy to remember, and

Seems to friggin’ apply to a lot going on in life these days.

Chris Hanch 12-19-16

America, America...?

I never expected a President to send me personal condolences

when someone with whom I was close was injured or died.

Never once have I waited to receive a phone call with a message

of hope when I lost a job. Never did I ask for or expect Federal

assistance or aid during those rough financial times when I

struggled to pay the bills.

Who am I, but one in some 340-million who admits responsi-

bility for his own actions and deeds. And yet, there is always

a measure of faith and hope held in community for better times.

It is of worth to say that keeping our homeland safe and relying

on a viable economy is our right as taxpayers to expect of those

we place in public office with the trust of our vote.

I am proud, I must say, of my country when in the face of tragedy

our President stands up in front of a congregation of mourners in

South Carolina to elevate as he sings Amazing Grace; who with

profound compassion openly sheds tears for all Americans over

precious lives lost at Sandy Hook Elementary.

As a Nation, through rough times, we must press on, and fer-

vently commit to doing the best we can. However, I must admit

that I am disturbed and reviled by a President-elect whose words

and actions bully and divide; he who spends his time before dawn

spewing sophomoric and venomous rhetorical diatribes of para-

noia and revenge; he who Tweets so callously in 120-words or

fewer; he the obnoxious one who so openly admires the despotic

leadership of international murderers and thugs.

America, America, what the hell?

Chris Hanch 12-18-16

Sunny Day Remembering

Here is something which comes with age and experience

Of which some are not aware...until it happens. Are you

Ever reminded suddenly of a certain thing which has come

To disappear in your life over time, something which has

Either abruptly or gradually faded from the everyday land-

Scape of your memory? This hapless disappearing act often

Happens when you move from one place to another—the

Quiet country roads have been traded for the obnoxious

Steady flow of choking, chaotic city streets. The comforting

Crunching sound of cars approaching on the gravel road

Had been buried deep in your sub-conscious until its revival

Later on in life, upon revisiting your rural childhood home.

You fall in love again—How you’ve missed those reassuring

Sounds. Then comes the flood of memories you had lost or

Misplaced minute by minute, mile by mile, year after year

As you, bit by bit, slowly and systematically grew away.

And suddenly, the sizzling frying pan and enticing aroma

Of pork sausage filling the morning kitchen. And mom letting

The screen door slam behind her as she carries a basket of

Washed laundry to be hung on the line, clothes pins pressed

Between her lips at the ready. Those welcoming visions vividly

Refresh your mind—deep blue, cloudless skies, sunny, bright

And warm. Why, it’s is almost enough to bring a heartfelt tear

Of nostalgia to your eye as it does to mine. And hell, I was raised

A city boy.

Chris Hanch 12-16-16 

Who am I?

Who am I? For sure, I am not the guy who invented the crescent

Wrench. Nor am I the one who broke the Bonneville land speed
Record. In fact, I never even entered the race.

I am not the guy who won a blue ribbon for best barbeque nation

Wide either, but I do know exquisite burnt ends when I taste them.

I was not awarded the Nobel Prize in mathematics.

My checkbook still remains unbalanced after years. Then, the 64

Dollar question is, who the hell am I? Ever read War and Peace,

Climb an aluminum extension ladder, race a carbon-fiber bike?

Not on my account you haven’t; I am not that guy. So, don’t thank

Me for most things you may encounter in your mundane everyday

Or extraordinary life.

Once I did stop to change a flat tire for a gray-haired elderly lady

Who broke down on the county road to Camp Point, Illinois. That

Was years ago, and I’m pretty sure she is no longer with us today.

But I should say (as memory serves me) I do recall, she did smile

And graciously thank me at the time.

Chris Hanch 12-15-16

Between a Boulder and a Hard Place

A boulder makes no sound lying flat upon the ground, holds

In its stillness a story yet untold. You have your beliefs, and

For all that is holy, that’s okay.

Let’s get back to that boulder, now dislodged from its spot.

What In heaven or on earth disturbed it in such a way as to

Remove it from the security of its place?

My friend, this is no time for inquiry, no place for prayer or

Undue delay. That boulder in motion aimed right at you couldn’t

Care less about your ideology or what you have to say.

You may have faith and trust in the Father, the Son and the

Holy Ghost, but this is science you're messin' with here.
Best get the hell out of the way!

Chris Hanch 12-14-16

Had I Been Born a Cowboy Instead

Had I been born a cowboy instead,

I would have had tales to tell about

Bucking broncos I rode and broke. Had

I been born a cowboy instead, I would

Fondly describe cattle drives, campfires

On the open range, calf and steer roping,

Fence-mending, branding and the like.

Had I been born a cowboy instead, I could

Have spent starry nights spinning fanciful

Yarns with my compadres with names

Like Slim, Montana and Cookie. Had I

Been born a cowboy instead, I would walk

Bowlegged from riding my horse all day.

I’d have creased leathery skin from those

Many years of exposure to sun, driving

Rain and wind. Instead, I need to explain

That this limp of mine is arthritis developed

Over time from prolonged sitting in a non

Adjustable office chair. My co-workers an-

Swer to the names William, James and Robert.

The only steer I’ve ever wrestled with was

A tough 10oz Sirloin at the Golden Corral

Buffet. And this here is a stick of Wriggley’s

Spearmint I’m a chawin’ on. Copenhagen's

A might too bitter and nasty for my taste.

Chris Hanch 12-13-16

All That I Know

Experience tells me that I know very little

Love tells me my chances are slim

Age tells with wisdom comes a price

My nose tells me something stinks

My ears tell me not to believe

My eyes see what they want to see

Time tells me that it’s getting very late

And still I prefer to wait

For what I do not know

For nothing in life is certain

Tomorrow the forecast is for snow

Yet the likelihood is only 40%

I’ll take my chances with a toss of the dice

Chris Hanch 12-12-16

The Tapestry of My Life

The tapestry of my life is nearly done. Unique to

Me, there are dropped stitches and conflicted patterns

Scattered throughout. One could say that those slip-ups

Represent the times I thoughtlessly failed as I took

My eye off the plan and subsequently missed the point.

There are imperfections in its design to be sure. I will

Not be awarded a blue ribbon for best in show, I know.

But the dog doesn’t care. He snuggles up to it anyway,

Seeking only the soft, woven warmth it provides. You

May not be impressed, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s

Fine. It is what it is, you see, and happens to be the best

I could do at the time. See that blue circle over there?

That was done on purpose.

Chris Hanch 12-8-16

A Wisdom with Age

I suppose that wisdom gained with age has little

to do with the capacity of learning what is new

with you in the world at large. (I for one wear the

gray and crumbling onslaught of my age well ex-

posed.) No, the sagaciousness gained over time

has more to do with how one best copes with the

aches and pains, the trials and tribulations of the

present everyday; and too, having an introspective

and respectful attitude for your accomplishments

and failures, for life’s memories, both good and bad.

Some folks have crammed a hell of a lot of exper-

ience into a relatively short lifetime span; others,

not so much. I rarely if ever compare myself with

the likes of Alexander the Great, Nelson Mandela,

Sonny and Cher or The Most Interesting Man in the

World. Fortune and fame for me took off on a red

eye flight long before I even reached the terminal.

So, you may be asking yourself where am I headed

with all this gibberish about old age and experience?

Well, don’t let the suspense run your blood pressure

up to unacceptable levels, my life’s travels will never

be chronicled by the likes of Ken Burns. And I won’t

be interviewed by Ellen or Charlie Rose. I have, how-

ever, lived through a thing or two which you ( being

of an ordinary milk-toast breed like me) may perhaps

find either relatable or modestly interesting.

For years I have written poetry and essays about many

places I have visited, both physically and emotionally.

I submit for your consideration a piece written in 2008

when I happened to be in a quite insecure and precar-

iously vulnerable place. Given your own personal story,

I sincerely hope you can relate.

Rented Room at Night

Some hope glows as I wonder,

Is 40-watts sufficient

To light this rented room of mine?

A nagging cough persists,

Coming from the apartment upstairs.

Death enters my dreams

In living surround-sound.

Which path of uncertainty

Brought me to this place,

This asylum for the dying?

Years before, I dropped out

Of high school

Before learning the lessons

Of my senior year,

And I missed out on

Attending the prom.

Something dark inside me

Rumble a deep hunger.

There is a large swirling black hole

At the center of my growing.

And yet, none-the-less, here I lie

Beneath the glowing yellow light

Edison left behind.

Chris Hanch 2-29-08

The Pacifist

I must say that I have become a pacifist in my old age,

Not because I have come to understand that most wars lead

To no good, or that I have come to believe that every living

Beast has a right to live in peace, but, by and large, due to a

Creaky weakness which has invaded my legs, making it

Difficult if not impossible for me to run away.

Chris Hanch 12-6-16

Beethoven's Pathetique

I don’t know why Beethoven’s Pathetique pleases me.

Perhaps I am enthralled with the word, Pathetique.

Could be the arrangement of notes, the stroke of keys.

Perhaps the early morning concordance of soul and brain

Comes into play. Mr. Coffee’s deep throated gurgling,

The aromatic smell of dark pleasures brewing,

My life as I have come to know it, who can say?

Chris Hanch 12-1-16