A Snapshot in Time

How many times have I asked? Sometimes I would

need to dispense a dose of my best flattering, I’d even

stoop so low at times as to beg and plead. One would

think I was starving or had this irresistible craving for

something beyond sweet. On occasion, I would state

my case, like a senior statesman or a polished ambas-

sador from some foreign land negotiating a treaty of

critical consequence. There is no breech of the peace

at stake, nor a veiled threat of war here, although this

could be considered by some as a surrender of sorts.

Some claim it’s a bad hair day; others will say that

they are not now nor have ever been photogenic; it’s

against the graven-image clause professed by your

religion—For whatever reason, some folks just don’t

want to have their picture taken. I can respect that,

but this is for posterity. Later when you have aged or

passed away, your family and friends will have this

record of you as you once were. Should you still ob-

ject, I will turn around and walk away. And perhaps

when you forget that I even asked, I may snap a candid

shot of you in passing. See here, that was twenty-some

years ago. We both were much younger then. I stood

over here watching, waiting for just the right moment,

and you were completely unaware, striking the perfect

pose over there. Now see, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it?

Chris Hanch 6-28-17 

Spot On

It began several years back. Well,

at least it was then I first noticed.

It was a spot I discovered on my arm

while scratching one day.

No, it was not a red inflamed bug bite,

and not initially the cause for my itching

either. After a time I noticed it hadn’t

changed.

Not cancerous, more than likely just an

age spot the doctor claimed. Let’s keep

an eye on it. And I did, occasionally

monitoring the situation.

And as the years passed, I grew many

more spots and blotches, in fact a prolific

crop which spread out all over my body

from head to toe.

And today, those spots appear indelibly on

me. And in relativity are a befitting and telling

sign of age. Alas, I have become that proverbial

leopard whose spots will never change.

Chris Hanch 6-27-17

Ideas, Young and Old

When I was younger, more capable

and had an idea, I could pick up the

phone and make that call for change.

When I had youth on my side and

sturdy legs to help motivate me for-

ward, I could make an appointment

for the job interview which would

hopefully advance me in my career.

With an idea, muscular might and

energy which would unquestionably

obey, I could pick up saw and ham-

mer, remodel the dilapidated and

reconfigure the faulty which surroun-

ded me. With a pen and brush I could

draw and paint my perceptions, create

the fictitious and reality realms of my

desirous imaginings. I could shake,

quake and bake with boundless youth

and stamina to propel me. Ah, but then,

I never expected to outlive my physical

and motivational capabilities, to endure

with these old-age infirmities which

have over time grown to stiffen and

pain my every move. I find that it does

no good to gripe and complain. I must

accept that with each day in passing, I

am relegated to the same. And I should

say, given that conditions are favorable

today, I shall remain hopeful that I’m

still able to make it to the bathroom on

time. That is the main idea, anyway,

which looms precariously on my mind,

and clenches tenuously the flat and

unpredictable condition of my behind.

Chris Hanch 6-26-17

A Tuba, I Swear

There is a tuba in one of these houses.

There has got to be, I swear. How do

I know? Because, every time there is

a parade with a marching band, tubas

always appear. We never consider that

brass instrument unless we happen to

play or hear one. Tubas rarely blow their

oompah-oompah tunes which on occasion

may run through our minds. There has got

to be a tuba hiding in one of these

houses, I swear. It may be resting in a

corner waiting to be played somewhere

by the sturdy young woman or husky

vernal man who, as I imagine, happens

to live there.

Chris Hanch 6-24-17  

The History of Being

There is a tree before me and blades of grass

Spread out like the countless many before them.

I such as they have a long history of beginnings

And endings. Imagine everything waiting in the

Wings to take their place in the cycle of life and

Death. My thoughts are nothing new, there is

Nothing revelatory I can say to you. The words

And thoughts I choose to employ today which

I lay out on this page are not unlike the trees

And blades of grass you notice in your own

Backyard. They come and go; they crave the

Sun and rain to grow. Even before the infant

Today finds its first word to say, everything

Imaginable has been; everything is waiting to

Become again. The tree and grass spread out

Before and after tell me so. But then, I’m telling

Nothing new, merely posing this reminder to you.

Chris Hanch 6-22-17

If I Could Be You

If I could be you, I’d see me in a different light.

Was I you, music of mine would play a different

Tune. I’d prefer tulips over roses, would awaken

Much later in the day. I’d speak more kindly of

My neighbors, and be much more careful of all

That I’d say. If I could be you, the blood type

Running through my veins would test O instead

Of AB. But that would just be me and not you

Who I would be. I would more than likely have

A taste for sushi which is something the present

Me tends to hate. To be you instead of me could

Be a transformation I might consider great if

You’d only prefer the nighttime over day, and

You were handsome, charming and only half my

Age. But that’s only me, not the who you are

Today or will eventually, given years of hard ware

And neglect, turn out to be. Of course there are your

Beliefs to consider, given most of which I disagree.

Chris Hanch 6-21-17

Fear of Feathers

I’ve had her since she was a puppy. Now, at

Three years old, l see my dog differently. From

Two and a half-pounds grown to the whopping

Weight of eight. She is a small breed and will

Not grow any larger. As a pup she feared most

Everything which was new to her. There was an

Entire world of things out there which needed

To be barked at and sniffed. The world was in-

Deed a frightful place which needed to be iden-

Tified and reckoned with. I must admit, that for

Me in my youth, fear of the unknown took some

Time to grapple with as well. Having lived seventy

Years, however, I’d say that today there are far

Fewer things which rattle my security. I do my

Best to avoid guns, raging fires, nuclear explosions,

Ravenous carnivores and other such harmful and

Ominously destructive creatures, appliances and

Situations. And I must say, knowing the proximity

Of death at my advanced age, should it overtake

Me in a most humane and gentle way, I am neither

Phased nor unsettled by life’s inevitable play. To-

Day, out in the backyard, I saw my curious yet

Hesitant pooch pull back from a feather blowing

In the grass. Having never seen such an anomaly

In her lifetime before, she took the cautious ap-

Proach, tentatively sniffing then shying away.

What does a dog know about blowing feathers

Anyway? I happen to know something about

Birds and harmless detached feathers, even though

They are not things one sees with familiarity every

Day. Now, should feathers be attached to an arrow

In flight aimed at me personally, I’d say, that would

Certainly be a fearsome prospect indeed. And then

The perplexing thought arises, how in hell do you

Explain to a dog the difference between the two?

Chris Hanch 6-20-17

A Knocking at My Door

9:23 in the morning, a knocking at my door.

Unusual at this time, granted, but in my lifetime

I’ve answered thousands of knocks before.

This time, an old man stands in front of me,

Hunched over, trembling and leaning on his

Wooden cane.

Holding it out for me, “Here, take this,” he

Offers. “I’m finished with it. You’ll be needing

It to steady you the rest of the way through.”

I could see this coming for a time now, but all of

A sudden it’s here today. Nothing more needed

To be said.

I nodded, took the cane and closed the door...9:24.

Chris Hanch 6-17-17

Something About Beliefs

Some folks believe heaven awaits them;

Some folks seem assured there’s a hell.

Ain’t no one yet made it back from the

Grave to tell. Others yet believe we trans-

Form to another life right here on Earth,

Reincarnation, they claim, spirit embodied

As a cow or a snake. I’m of a mind there is

A dark continent in which the soul lingers for

An interminable spell. Life has a beginning,

I figure, good times and bad sprinkled ran-

domly about the midlands for most folks,

And a finale for all involved—not so well.

Depending on how you look at it—heaven,

Hell or somewhere in between—it’s all bound

By Universality to stretch out for an eternity.

Chris Hanch 6-15-17 

What Today is Worth

What, tell me what on Earth is today worth?

Depends upon who you are and where you’re

Going. As for me and for everyone standing

Feet planted on terra firma—rich man, poor

Man, cock-eyed, ham-strung and hog-tied,

Women starry-eyed and dreamy, a hopeful

Child with a wild idea of what this here life

Ought to be. Tell me, please, what on Earth is

Today worth? Some would claim a gold mine

Day, others may awaken to a swift kick in the ass.

Today, a first day ever for some, for others perhaps

The very last. For all it’s worth, no matter your

Persuasion, personal preference or destination,

Early riser or sleep-in late, today is worth at best

One complete axial rotation of the Planet Earth.

24-hours, no more, possibly less is what you’ve

Got here, my Friend. Better get started!

Chris Hanch 6-14-17

The Two Worlds I Know

How can the world wake up sad one day

And then so joyous the next? There are

Those days when the two worlds collide,

Fighting, mingling, giving, taking, those

Two emotional worlds side-by-side. Could

It be me the two worlds see? I do face the

Sun one day, and the next turn away. The

Sorrow of my shadow is long; my feet no

Longer dance. And then you appear, and

From my dark place I see the sun glowing

Full of hope against your face. Shall I turn

Around and follow? I may, I pray to all

Which is joyous and holy, I pray. Take my

Hand, hold on, don’t let go. Let me feel the

Sun’s warm embrace.

Chris Hanch 6-12-17   

A Tribute

A Tribute

There was a miles-long stretch of cars 

In procession on their way to the cemetery

To bury him that day. He was a good man,

All of his friends and family would say,

A gentle and affable man, anyone in town

Will openly claim. The church was filled to

Overflowing, hundreds attended the service

That day. Was it because his life was cut

Short? Was it due to unforeseen misfortune

Which lead him to this early grave? I suppose

Most folks around here will tell you, that

It was his warm, genial smile, and the way

He made you feel special when he said, good

Day. There was that something delightfully

Uncommon about him...You know, at the risk

Of sounding cliche, if you needed say, the shirt

Off his back, he wouldn’t just turn and walk

Away. There was a miles-long stretch of cars 

In procession on the way to the cemetery to

Bury him that day.

Chris Hanch 6-11-17

Why I'm Here

I’m here, I’m here, have been for some seventy-year.

Why, why, why after all this time? Every day I keep a

Wonderin’, why?

I’m here, I’m here, have been nigh on seventy-year.

Ask myself time and again when I get to thinkin’

Why, why, why after all this time?

I’m here, more these days than where I’ve been before.

I’m here, have been all along for seventy-some year.

Why, well why? ‘Cause, I got all these words.

I arrived here not a moment too soon (a might late, some

May say), but here none-the-less after seventy-some year.

Keep tossin’out all these words, and like dadgum boomerangs,

They keep comin’ back. Gotta say, been that way with some

Gaps here and there for prett-near seventy-year. Don’t normally

Speak in the vernacular this way...

Thought I’d throw out somethin’ different today.

Chris Hanch 6-10-17

Music

Music to excite and arouse,

Music to sedate and inspire,

Music of instrumental value
from string, valve, drum, voice
and choir.

Music to anger or enrage,
to pierce the heart and engage,

Music to pass along
from age to age.

Music—synthesized
and man-made, solo, duet,
ensemble, symphonic and
band,

Music—cultural and ethnic,
the crop from every land,

folk music, country and jazz, blues,
classical, rock-and-roll, bee-bop,

rap, pop, hip and hop
music from the bottom of the
charts rising
all the way to the top.

Music—soft sweet melodies,
the warm and secure blanket
for the soothing of
body and soul.

Music—dance, mosh,
recline and remember
or march to the beat

Ah music, the sweet cherry
atop life's cake.
Simply hum along
and tap your feet
if you please.

Chris Hanch 6-9-17

Declaration

We can curse the Earth for drought and flood

She brings, for wind and fire, for all quaking

And rumbling beneath our feet. Some may ad-
Monish her for the sweeping gigantic waves

Inundating shore and capsizing vessels out to sea,

Rebuke the electrifying and frying bolts she throws

So liberally. We express sadness and distress at the

Destructive powers she levels naturally. But to what

End, holding malice or grudge? For she freely

Provides nourishment and life for you and me.

Now on the other hand, mankind is a far different

Creature indeed. The harm and destruction for 

Which he alone is to blame is a reprehensible and

Woeful refrain. True crimes against nature and

Mankind are wretched acts for which to attach

And profess, rage and blame. For all which is de-

Testable and reprehensible, shall this emphatic

Damnation be righteously laid—for ill-will and

Evil perpetuated with malice of forethought, for

The wars, the death and destruction, for greed,

Malicious and inconsiderate deed which are spread,

A wretched curse across the face of Earth—Shame!

Shame! History shall proclaim, mankind is your name.

Chris Hanch 6-9-17

Wednesday Today

Forgive me today for not thinking of you;

Forgive me for not mentioning your name.

I have other things on my mind to unwind.

It seems that today it will take a lot, more

Than a swift kick-start to get me going. My

Usual routine of coffee and breathing are

Not inspiring enough to move me. The mold

Of the “same old” has encrusted my every

Thought and word. Wednesday is Wednesday

Is Wednesday, hundreds, thousands, a muddled

Mess of midweeks all the same. I can’t see

Thursday coming soon enough to save me.

And, Friday is two lifetimes away. This grip of

Sameness is so tight even the great Beethoven

Cannot escape. (Death most certainly promises

To be that way.) His compositions keep playing

Over and over again. He hasn’t come up with

Anything new in 190-years. Perhaps what I’m

Going through today is a phase, could be merely

A practice session for the boring and mundane

Inevitability of Wednesday Eternities to come.

Today is today. Forgive me for not thinking of

You or mentioning your name. I can’t just lace

Up my shoes and walk away.

Chris Hanch 6-7-17

Heroes of Olde

Everyone needs a hero, some two

Fisted, gun-slinging defender of justice

Who, at the drop of a hat, would come

To the rescue. There is no end of problems

And situations which cry out for help.

As a child I recall my Aunt Molly (who

Was watching my brothers and me for the

Day) telling us when we complained that

Children don’t have problems. Just you

Wait until you become adults. Then

You will find out what trouble really is.

I was not relieved by that bit of news.

What would the Lone Ranger do? How

Would Hopalong Cassidy right the wrongs

Of the world? Everyone knows that there

Are bad guys out there at the ready to do

Decent folks harm. I needed a hero now

And couldn’t wait a hundred years for my

Adulthood to kick in. I had no choice but

To strap on my six-shooter and put on my

Lone Ranger hat and mask. I crammed all

The caps I had into my jean’s pockets and

Walked bravely toward the door. On my

Way out, Aunt Molly reminded me that

Dinner would be at six o’clock sharp;

Don’t be late. Politely, I tipped my hat, 

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Chris Hanch 6-6-17

A Message from Planet Earth

Have you ever paused for a moment,

Stopped what you were doing or planned

To do? Have you taken a bit of time to give

Some thought to what it is the Earth has

Set out to do on any given day? There

Are mountains to build along the Pacific

Rim. Vast tracks of land need shifting

From Asia to Africa and along the North

American Plate. Hawaii needs a new

Island added to its archipelago; the African

Shores needs some coastal cliffs taken away.

Land may be land now; the seas may stake

Their claim, but everything is subject to

Change. I am the Earth in charge with

The power and might to rearrange. Build

Your cities, establish your societies where

You will, my tectonic ideas for perpetual

Renewal will eventually sweep your grandest

Plans away. Don’t blame the last Ice Age

Or the that Chicxulub happening on me. I too

Must submit to the solar and cosmic powers

That be. You humans figure a few dozen

Favorable millennia in a row are a sign that

You are in control. It took me millions of

Years just to lift up the Himalayas and carve

Out the Grand Canyon. Well, my friends,

That ain’t nothin’. It took just one oversize

Hunk of rock to wipe out the dinosaurs which

Roamed my surface in relative safety for

Millions of years. I’d suggest you quit your

Reprehensible and inconsiderate treatment

Of each other and me. Better show some

Respect and gratitude should you be allowed

To make it even through one more day. Oh,

And by the way, this time I didn’t even touch

On the topic and ramifications of man-made

Climate change.

Chris Hanch 6-5-17   

Time and Tide

The puppy with no collar has bonded with its mother.

Cries of the dispossessed can not be heard in a vacuum.

The pin drops, but rarely lands on its head.

How many strikes of the hammer must the blacksmith take?

The owl spots its prey in the depths of night.

The desert holds secrets fertile plains cannot explain.

The two-lane highway wanting more was expanded to four.

Sometimes a line cries out to find a rhyme; and sometimes not.

You have read all the above, and now you ask for what?

Picasso hasn’t turned out a new painted in years.

Chris Hanch 6-4-17

Manners, Please!

Let’s face it, you learned from your people,

And I learned from mine. This doesn’t make

Us right or wrong. Well, in some cases it may.

Mostly our differences will not come up as

A topic for discussion at the dinner table.

Politics and religion aside, I could, however,

Take exception with the way you handle a

Knife and fork while slicing that piece of

Meat off the bone. I prefer picking up the

Chop with my hands, and ripping directly with

My teeth in order to get at those hard to get to

Pieces of flesh while you meticulously struggle

With your utensils like a doctor performing

Microscopic surgery. I see both ways of

Approaching the problem at hand. Your way

Certainly seems more fitting and appropriate

When dining with the sociably elite. But for

Just the two of us eating alone, I choose to

Launch my attack tearing away at the meat with

My teeth directly from the bone. No need to be

Alarmed or displeased, for you see I happen to

Come from a long line of ill-mannered and slov-

Enly beasts. And too, may I remind, you’re seated

At my table; I was the one who invited you.

Chris Hanch 6-3-17

Life's Ledger

I’ve spent an entire lifetime,

the past seventy-years filed

with seconds, minutes, hours

and days, frittered away and

crossed months off the calendar

learning ways to gather and gain.

Oh yes, indeed there were losses

along the way. I’ve withdrawn

from my account equal to or

surpassing amounts I’ve saved.

Had I been a CPA, I may have

been a bit more mindful of

checks and balances along

the way. But be that as it may,

here I am, non-the-less, teetering

between red and black entries

on my life’s ledger day after day.

I never was good at the numbers

game anyway. I find myself in

league with the “you can’t take

it with you” cliche. Why I’ve

wound up rhyming my lines

with ays today, I can’t rightly say.

In this life, I suppose, no matter

your financial situation, the piper

has got to be paid. In any case,

when you get to be my age (con-

sider yourself rich man or poor),

you couldn’t give a shit, more or

less, anyway.

Chris Hanch 6-2-17

Listen Here

See that tree over there? It was planted when

I was three. And that house was on this land

50-years before I arrived. This town was half

This size in the 1940s. My, how things have

Changed in my lifetime. The brown stain on

The pages of this book happened one morning

About a year ago when I spilled my coffee.

The shirt I’m wearing, when I bought it new,

It was a beautiful brilliant blue. Given its age

And all the washings it’s been through...well,

We all know about fading. I must admit, I too

Have been though the ringer a time or two

Over the years I’ve been here. Like this old

Shirt, people become frayed and faded over

Time. And when that tree falls and eventually

Rots or is hauled away, only those from around

Here who used it as a landmark reminder in

Their lives will miss it in their remembering.

And should it remain, I doubt anyone who

Sees the coffee stain on this book will know

Or care how it got there...except you. And

That is only because I told you so. You may

Not have seen this shirt when it was a brilliant

Blue, but I guarantee you’ll remember I told

You so when I was old. You may also recall

This poem. I’ve signed and dated it at the

Bottom just to make sure. Partly, my job here

Was to speak for the tree. For like the book

And the shirt, they have no voice of their own.

Chris Hanch 6-1-17