Admonishment

Admonishment

Suffer, my arthritic hips, suffer! I didn’t ask to be part of this.

All my life, well most of it anyway, you carried me places,

Some of which I didn’t even care to go. Carelessly, you bore

The weight of me, and carried things far heavier than the

Practical limits of human possibility. All those oversize sofas,

The solid oak dressers, and cumbersome boxes filled with

Books and such. Oh sure, you could handle it, no sweat. I was

Always the one to admonish you for carrying things way too far.

And look where it got us, all hobbled and wobbly, can barely

Make it up and down even a small flight of stairs. Suffer, bitches,

Buckle beneath the tremors of pain! I will not take the blame for

Your self-inflicted miseries. Your macho attitude on indestructibility

Brought us here to this state of irreversible infirmity. And now

It’s a wretched strain to lift the rest of us out of this chair to

Go and take a pee. Now get up, damn the both of you! Get up

Off my lazy ass and move!

Chris Hanch 2-28-17 

Something is There (a love poem to the many)

There is a certain something I cannot explain.

Sometimes it’s a chord in a Beethoven symphony

which moves me emotionally.

Standing alone at the Grand Canyon’s edge,

there is a magnetic majesty which permeates

my entire being.

Frequently, I have a tendency to suckle words,

to extract the nectar of purposeful meaning

relevant to me.

Or could be merely a look, that feeling I perceive

as your eyes meet mine suddenly for the first time.

I am held breathless.

And beyond mere words to explain, The Milky

Way stretches its brilliant band of light across the

darkness of night.

Chris Hanch 2-26-17

The Screen Door Dilemma

The screen door slams.

It has an annoying mind of its own,

And when let go

It does what it was meant to do.

Would you choose voluntarily

To close quietly

If you were spring-loaded?

I say no. As a screen door you were

Built to slam, damn it, and slam

You will. You can’t change the

Way you were made. The coiled tension

Pulling on you is far too great to

Close any other way.

The child or careless adult

Pushes on you and you swing open

Wide, then slam shut with all your might.

You are a screen door for Chrissake.

You were constructed

With one thing in mind

To keep flying pests where they belong,

Outside the house.

Should you desire something quiet,

Go and get yourself a mouse.

They were built for silence

Not to keep the insects at bay.

Yet the slamming screen door scenario

Still Seems so objectionable to me.

It would be like installing

An obnoxiously loud

Donald Trump in your house

And trying to train it to shut its mouth.

On second thought,

Go and get yourself that mouse.

I believe they’re on sale today...

Buy one, get one free.

They are designed by nature

To be far less noisy.

And by the way, while you’re at it,

Don’t forget to pick up a giant can of Raid.

Chris Hanch 2-25-17

Sometimes a Game of Numbers

Today I was reminded of an incident which happened

To me some fifty-three years ago when I was a junior in

High school. My counselor called me into his office, and

Stern-faced had me take a seat. He proceeded to explain

Why I would not be graduating to my senior year in the

Fall, continuing on to the punchline that I would be held

Back to repeat the year I had just been through. After

Having endured the traumatic breakup of my family, the

Uprooting to a new city and attendance at two different

Schools, I was not in the mood to submit to his unaccep-

Table disposition. “No, I will not!” I told him in the most

Defiant tone I could muster at the time. “I’m afraid you

Have no choice in this matter; you will be taking your

Junior year over,” he restated emphatically. I jumped out

Of my chair, red-faced on fire and yelled, “Like hell!” I

Then stormed out of school, never to return, never to

Attend a prom, a commencement ceremony nor a class

Reunion. At the time, I left that school fuming, without

Being able to mathematically formulate the square

Root of anything. But I never looked back. So, you may

Be asking yourself, what does this have to do with any-

Thing? Well, I’ll tell you. In a little over a month, I’ll be

Turning Seventy. And unless that school counselor hasn’t

Yet reached the age of a hundred or greater, more than

Than likely, he’s already dead. In any case, he will not be

Made to endure the degrading proposition of a “do-over”

Either. And with regards to doing basic math, sometimes in

Life the numbers add up; sometimes, who in hell even cares?

Chris Hanch 2-24-17

Overcast Gray

Gray today. I have lived through overcast days before,

Have survived alone below the cover blanketing life

From horizon to horizon.

Overhead, geese seem within reach, piloting just above

The treetops, winging for better visibility. Nature has its

Ways adapting to the change.

And my forecast today is gray, more than a scientific

Measure of the weather for me, a steely cloud-covered

Conditioning of the mind.

I have managed many changes and solitary days before.

For now, geese know their limitations and instinctively

Skirt the treetops, winging toward their destination.

Shrouded and grounded, I am headed nowhere today.

Tomorrow perhaps a clearing, and the Sunshine of my

Disposition may reappear. But today...alone and gray.

Chris Hanch 2-23-17

A Myth

No one makes plans for the possibility of such a thing;

By chance, fate or predilection of genetic trait, it merely

Happens or it does not. I, myself, can now say with pro-

Found experiential certainty that the onset of old age,

With the loss of youthful majesty and might, the degen-

Eration of muscle, bone and bite, given the acute onset

Of organ dysfunction leave nothing worthy of being re-

Vered. Believe me, mere longevity in years is not a praise-

Worthy honorarium. And should you happen to survive

Past your expiration date, you too shall see—It’s a damn

Myth, my friends, there is no such thing as growing old

Gracefully. That is unless you admire the prune and other

Over-ripened fruit. I was a plumb of a guy once, just look
At me now.

Chris Hanch 2-22-17

In Remembering

There is a remembering in everything.

There are many things we never learned
in school. The purpose of this is to allow
for room to grow.

Yes, sometimes success comes from all
we know as life proceeds in renewed
discovering. That which was lost is regained
in remembering.

You have read each page assigned, and put
the book aside. When you then run across
a passage in life, you realize the lesson read
again never really left you.

The tree buds its leaves anew each spring.
It stands tall and broad year after year,
continues to flourish on in the deep shade
of remembering.

Even the dog curls up and falls asleep remembering.

Chris Hanch 2-21-17

A Tribute

In our lives most days are weighted by the so-called

Task at hand. We are forced in a way by that which

Has been previously assigned us to perform—week-

Ends filled with shopping, running errands, yard work,

Home repairs, doing things we need to prepare for the

Upcoming week at work. Mostly, the time spent on

Our livelihood is pre-planned with a routine of sorts—

Clock in and out, the meat of the day filled-in with

Assignments we’re pre-programed to do, often with-

Out much emotion or thought. There are those tasks

Of course which demand more focus, scrutiny and

Consideration, but for the purpose of the point I wish

To make here, let’s just say that most of our time spent

During a normal day borders on the ordinary and mun-

Dane. For those disabled or retirees such as I, the task

On which we often rely is to try something, anything

Differently to keep one day from making every day feel

The same. For me, today I have chosen to focus primarily

On my mainly predominant hand. I will begin by naming

This, Left Hand Monday, February, this 20 th day in the

Year 2017. I hereby type an entry on my computer in

Remembrance of this illustrious occasion, enacting this,

My defining proclamation, to extol the virtuous and faith-

Ful performance rendered by my left hand which, as I live

And breath, will ever be appreciated by me. Having been

Attached to me throughout this life-long exercise has with

A great degree of certainty not always been easy. It is with

My sincerest gratitude to all members—four stealthy fin-

Gers, a multi-dexterous opposing thumb, and ofttimes sop-

Ping, sweaty palm tasked with holding the talented ensem-

Ble together, I bestow this tribute of fondness, gratitude

And affinity upon you. My Left Hand, we ate, wrote and

Drew together. We washed, scratched and picked side-

By-side. We lifted, hauled, hammered and punched,

Wiping a bloody nose or two, walked with lovers hand-

In-hand. What on Earth would I have done without you?

Let it be known by all, given this magnanimous yet ridicu-

Lously self-centered decree, in all actuality (and I have to

Hand it to you), I would never have had even the hint of a

Decent grasp on this life without you. Only thing was, when

I was able in my younger years, I threw and batted my base-
Ball right-handed.

Chris Hanch 2-20-17

Visa-versa

If you were to loan me your consciousness for a

Moment or two, and I were to trade mine to you,

I am certain that you and I would see the world

Differently. And as you now, I would probably

Ache with a pain I was not previously accustomed

To feeling. Like you, I could probably walk lopsided

With an arthritically-challenged gait. I may speak

More or less emphatically than I did before. And likely,

I may even perceive an alternate reality which I had

Not before conceived when previously acting as me.

I could look at you, the former me, eye to eye and

Wonder why you squint a certain way or possibly

Ponder the substance of what you, transformed as

Me, had to say. This whole idea far supersedes the

“Walking in another person’s shoes” bit, you see,

And quite frankly I am most grateful that those stupid

Clogs are on your feet and not mine. The new me sees

Them as audaciously distasteful. And as me now, I sud-

Denly realize just how confusing and obnoxious you may

Feel a guy like me can really be.

Twisted to say the least.

Chris Hanch 2-19-17

Lesson Learned?

Those who observe such things know it is a danger-

Ous thing to mix claws, knives or guns with an angry

Or disturbed disposition. No one with a modicum of

Common sense would audaciously dangle raw meat

Within reach of a lion pride in open country. There

Is sound reasoning to look both ways before crossing

A busy street. Even the less-trafficked motorways can

Flatten you in a moment of carelessness. I heard of

Two grown brothers who drank automobile ant-freeze

To achieve a warm and euphoric state. It worked out for

Them all right. They got what they wished for—a mind-

Less state which sent the both of them to an early grave.

Now, I’m not suggesting that the world is filled with

Reckless people; all of us make mistakes. But don’t run

With scissors in your hand, or vote for the man who claims

He alone can fix all that is broken or wrong with the

Country. For that preposterous claim there is a terrible

Price to be paid. Damn it, give me that thing before you

Stab yourself or someone else! Go over there, take a seat

And listen carefully, damn it, listen!

Chris Hanch 2-18-17

An Ice Storm to Blame

The ice storm took the old oak tree down.

Over time, the river has narrowed its flow,

Trickling to the sea. The town movie house

Used to be situated on that vacant lot,

But was demolished some years ago

And hauled away. Geese continue to fly

Overhead, yet there have been changes

Made in the winged-v we fail to see. My

Friends, Don’t be deceived by the time-

Piece, committing to meet again tomor-

row at the same time and same place.

Only aging fools will gather there instead.

I cannot recall the moment or even the

Day when stark and disturbing variations

Jumped out at me from the bathroom

Mirror. Why seemingly, in the blinking of

An eye there has been this waning monu-

mental change. And I do believe it may

Have been around the time when that ice

Storm took the old oak tree down. Since

Then, it seems to me, nothing around here

On this side of the mirror has been quite

The same.

Chris Hanch 2-17-17 

My Beef with TV

I have a serious problem with TV. Fake news does not

Bother me. I find myself believing that which I wish to

Believe. I have more channels than I need. I can pick

And choose from the news, education, music, fiction

Or virtual reality. Yes, 24-7, I can gripe and spew, scan

And review my televised potpourri with a modest

Pressure applied to the handy remote. No, the problem

Is mainly manifest with the menagerie of canine, feline,

Bovine and foul of every kind which are broadcast inces-

Santly. I have this small dog, you see, whose

Attention is addictively glued to the proliferation of

Animated activity. And with each dog, cat, horse, cow

Or chicken which appears, whether it be part of a pro-

Gram or commercial, she, my little pet, barks at them

With fierce and fiery impunity. This annoying and dis-

Ruptive trait of hers poses the profound issue of ex-

Treme aggravation for me. Long story short, and as

Far as I see, albeit CBS, CNN, FOX or NBC, ESPN, SCIFI

Or Discovery, there are far too many animals depicted

On TV. And what’s more, added to this crass and

Obnoxious cacophony is the ubiquitous frequency where

Our current President, his lame-brained staff and cabinet

Are featured spewing alternative reality, hawking their

Twisted social/political diatribes of ridicule and fatuity. I

Suppose I could switch to PBS or turn off TV completely,

But that begs to question, what kind of fun would that be?

Chris Hanch 2-16-17

From One Brain to Another (for Kristen)

Think of it, yes you reading this.

Think of it, me speaking in words

To you who are seeing what I say,

Connecting those words into some

Meaning on the page, this one

Your are absorbing into your

Brain today. Me, my brain, thought-

Fully passing signals to the fingers

Which move across the keyboard,

Transmitting in messages from

My eyes to yours. So, we are here

Now, transmitting, receiving the

Waves, both securely situated

On the same page, brain to brain.

Be aware, our thoughts rule the day.

From this, unless short-circuited in

Some diseased way, there is no

Fitting escape. You and I are in

This exercise of mind over matter.

You are thinking of eggplants

And elephants, I suggest pencils

And birthdays. Somewhere along

The way we missed the connection.

I love elephants, grand and massive

Creatures indeed. Your were born

Years ago and are celebrating that

Day today. I say, Happy birthday to

You today, from one aging yet

Communicative brain to another.

I could have bought you one of those

Pre-printed cards with wishes from

The brain of Hallmark, but I decided

On this poem of mine instead.

Chris Hanch 2-15-17

A Hunger Satisfied

Ever wake up in the morning wanting

for something you haven’t had in a

good long time? I had this sudden

craving for a laugh. Yes, a good gut-

level laugh, the kind which hits you

suddenly, one you can’t control. By

nature, I am not the consummate or

spontaneous laugher who guffaws

at the drop of a hat.

Oh, Charlie Chaplain slipping on a

banana peel may get a chuckle out

of me, and I know the Marx brothers

are a stitch, but uncontrolled belly

rolls are an uncommon phenomenon

for me. I suppose you could say I have

a sarcastic way of interpreting silliness

in the world at large.

Straight-faced and emotionally un-

affected, I can look at the typically

humorous and say, Now, that’s funny.

And I may even feign an unassuming

smile, but rarely will I crack-up with

a wild and uproarious outburst. Take

this riddle for instance, one I have

pulled on several friends and relatives

in the past:

What hangs on the wall and whistles?

(There is a thoughtful silence on the

flummoxed faces of those who have

been asked.) “I don’t have a clue,” is

the most likely and confounded reply.

“What does hang on the and whistle?”

And my answer to their great surprise,

“Custard Pie.” With the look of sheer

mental discombobulation, they always

display, I break out into runaway laugh-

ter every time.

Thanks for bearing with me, my friend.

The appetite I had for a hearty laugh

this morning has just been satisfied. I

should be good now to make it through

the next few winter months of mono-

chromatically drab.

Chris Hanch 2-14-17

My Take on Change

As a child I knew nothing of the middle class in
America even though I was born into that segment
Of mediocrity. I knew nothing of wealth or poverty,
But eventually grew to understand the polar oppo-
Sites in society. As a child my world consisted of
Home, neighborhood and school, baseball, bicycle,
Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Captain Kangaroo,
And occasionally some Gunsmoke when my dad
Allowed my brothers and me to stay up late on
Saturday night and watch TV. Like many other kids
I grew up with, change seemed to come in subtle
Increments, each year advancing to the next higher
Grade in school, best friends who eventually moved
Away or worse, our family uprooted and whisked
Away for supposedly a better life in a different place.
As a child, I never bought into the idea of change. I wan-
Ted things to remain forever and ever the same. Oh, I
Would get Excited for a new pair of sneakers when sum-
Mer arrived, but was heartbroken when my grandfather
Died. I was taught at home and in school that God worked
In mysterious ways, and that everything happened for a
Reason. And I prayed, and I prayed, but that never proved
Mightier than the mystery and inevitability of change.
And with change I grew: I grew taller, I grew older, I grew
More obstinate in some way, and more accepting in
Others. And in my time I traveled, I worked, I married, had
Children, divorced, I moved over and over again eventually
Retiring to take my rightful place as old and gray. The wis-
Dom some claim to have gained with experience and
Change for me was not a matter of addition and gain,
But rather a case made for subtraction and loss. I have come
To this revelation: At my age the only thing no longer subjected
To change, as I see it, is my shoe size. And, I couldn’t care less
About the mysterious ways of heaven and Earth these days.
Mostly I wear slippers, and stick close to my apartment anyway.
Chris Hanch 2-13-17

Simply a Word

There is a word all of us have heard many times

In our lives, an off-color often exclamatory word

Which may disgust or repulse those who feel they

Are duty-bound to uphold the decency and sen-

Sibility of our race, who espouse and promote the

Ethical edicate of proper society. Father may have

Employed this word to help alleviate the pain he

Suffered when the hammer hit his thumb, or the

Bus driver exclaimed when the engine sputtered

And came to a stop in the middle of his route. Pre-

Tentiously, some women blush, but nonetheless

Whisper it devilishly in disgust under their breath.

Teenagers find it a fundamental choice in their

Ever-expanding vocabulary of words. At that age

A friend of mine and I used it experimentally on a

Three-year old to see if he would repeat it. And to

Our amusement he did, over and over again. We

Fled the scene before that child could spout off

To his mother the vulgarism he had just learned.

Shout it proudly out loud, denounce it as filthy

and obscene, I propose that it shall forever in the

annuls of speech remain unclean—SHIT!--a pro-

Found (not all that profane) word which so appro-

Priately describes the stinking, rotten mess we

Often find ourselves wallowing in.

Chris Hanch 2-12-17

Just a Random Thought

I was just sitting here at home thinking about life in general.

And I don’t know about you, but in my time over the years,

I have certainly had a lot of different jobs. I had factory work

after serving my hitch in the Army. I’ve held clerical jobs,

done those dirty manual labor and blue-collar gigs. I’ve man-

aged and directed. Why hell, I even owned and ran my own

businesses a time or two.

Got to thinking, what was it all about? Sure, I made a living;

in the long haul it helped me get to where I am today, old,

alone and gray. But seriously, did any of it make a real differ-

ence, I mean in the universal scheme of things? It’s not like

I solved some mathematical quandary which helped man-

kind make it to the moon, or came up with a miraculous cure

for the gout. No, sir, that was not me. But nonetheless, by the

grace of God, sheer luck or simply fate, here I am today.

Got to thinking about one time in particular, about a product

I had a hand in making: Somewhere out there on a dusty metal

shelf behind a record-keeping, storage-room door in a 150,000

square foot concrete block warehouse located on a remote

drive in a sprawling office park near a congested six-lane Inter-

state highway which lies on the north-end of a large metropoli-

tan city in an industrial Midwestern State, there is an operations

manual, a single, spiral-bound, procedural compilation piled be-

neath a hundred or so copies of the same which I assembled

while working at a copy center (which I refuse to name).

I do recall at the time inadvertently transposing pages 106 and

108 before binding that book together. I thought about fixing

my mistake at the time, but it was late and my shift was nearly

over. So, I figured, what the hell, and decided to let it slide. And

to this day, more than 15-years later, retired drawing my monthly

Social Security, I am struck with this not-so-profound but mildly

plaguing thought, I wonder if anyone ever noticed?

Chris Hanch 2-10-17

Let Me Say (a few last words)

Let’s suppose I have only a few words left

to say and but a fleeting second or two

remaining to say them...

I would yell out at the top of my lungs, “Shut

the hell up and eat your grits!” You don’t like

like grits in the first place, and they’re not on

the menu anyway.

That makes no difference to me. I just love the

way it sounds rolling of the tongue. Oh, and

the drama it creates. Imagine GRITS on your

plate whether they’re on the menu or not?

I know they're hash browns, Any fool can see
that. Now it’s your turn. You try it...

Chris Hanch 2-10-17

Scenery

Leisurely standing around on a sandy

Beach watching the ocean roll in doesn’t

Entice me to swim. Gazing at the rising

Mountain peaks just a short distance away

Never inspired me to climb. Likewise,

Driving through the vast expanse of

Planted wheat fields is a wondrous sight,

But realistically, farming is not a calling

Which ever appealed to me. Scenery—

Desert’s desolate landscape baked, river’s

Wide rolling passageway to the sea are

breathtaking sights indeed. Yet I am not

Moved to venture out or explore. But,

I will admit that I’m the product of the

Big city (born and raised) where concrete,

Steel and glass, and the choke of freeway

Traffic forever consume my view, where

I have skillfully adapted to looking both

Ways before crossing the street, even though

The light may be with me. A guy could be

In some serious trouble, even get hurt or

Worse around these here parts if they’re

Not paying close attention. One stands a

Far better chance with the sharks when

Their feet are firmly planted on the beach.

Chris Hanch 2-9-17

Wait and See (a game of words)

I am a different man than I was yesterday.

Inevitably things change. Some days I find

Myself formed anew by that which I feel

Compelled to say. Yesterday, in memories

Retrieved, I was a child at play; Today, thus

Far in reality, I feel old and gray by in large

Due to a plague of arthritic pain exacerbated

By an acute onset of advancing age. I do on

Occasion have those days where I choose to

Cherry-pick text from a tree of ripened vocab-

Ulary, yet fail miserably to state the proper

Position of my abstract reasoning. Some days

Are portrayed in darker shades of fear and

Rage; others are colored brightly in joy and

Tranquility. But that’s just me, fraught with

An ever-changing reality. Today, I am at a loss

As to who or what I shall be. And after I finish

With this retrospective of absurdity, I shall refrain

From any further notion or possibility. I’ll wait

Patiently for some proper inspiration to propel

Me into the next me I could be. And with a

Mixed bag of hope and trepidation, you and I

Will just have to wait and see. I suggest we

Pray for the best. I’ll try to avoid uniformity.

Chris Hanch 2-8-17

Something Happening Today

Something will happen today. When, where or how

Is not for us to say. Etna may rumble far below its

Base; clouds may unite into a storming rage. A poet

Writes her stanza and turns the page. Something,

Somewhere, somehow, beyond the realm of under-

Standing is bound to take place—Perhaps a child-smile

Which floods the parent’s soul with grace. All of us can

Be filled with hope for some glorious happening today.

Chris Hanch 2-6-17