Processed

We all go through a process,

you and I, rich-man and poor-man alike,

black, white, yellow, red and brown,

Some are splayed, some filleted, and

then again some, such as I, wind up

in sausage, finely ground.

Chris Hanch 7-31-17

A Treasure Found

Rummaging through boxes in the attic

you find a memento, and you bring it

downstairs to view in a better light.

Attics, dark and dusty, are meant for

storing things such as this. Constant

exposure to the light and mind, even

treasured keepsakes tend to fade over

time. It would be like eating a favorite

food every day. What you have become

accustomed to on a regular basis can

become stale and mundane to the taste.

A rediscovery such as this is like a shot

of Tabasco sauce which tends to spike

and enliven the everyday with surprise.

That item you found in the attic takes

you back to a time somehow lost between

the swiftly turned pages in the story of

your life. But with this, the treasure you

hold in your hands today, right here and

now, you have been granted the power to

reunite with that fuzzy feeling from the

past, so soft to the touch, warm and com-

forting as those woolen mittens you wore

as a child stepping out into the waist-high

snow on a cold and blustery winter’s day.

Chris Hanch 7-30-17

Lessons Along the Way

Save your money for a rainy day. That’s what they say.
It’s a Windsor Knot only if tied a certain way.

People shy away from those who constantly complain.
These lines I write are growing shorter each day.

Golden Rules I learned as a child which got me where
I am today, have been jettisoned one at a time to

lighten my load along the way. No one taught me how
to grow old gracefully. (I was absent from school that day.)

Recently, it seems, I turned around and looked behind me,
and my youth waved goodbye. He shook his head and told me

emphatically, “No way in hell am I going there. Old man, you
and those worn-out shoes of yours are definitely on your own.”

Chris Hanch 7-29-17

Hope for Discovery

I’m hoping for a discovery today, perhaps a

new exoplanet in a galaxy light years away,

one which lies in the Goldilocks Region of

the star it orbits, you know, occupying that

perfect porridge zone of “just right,”not too

hot and not too cold, a rock-solid mass about

the size of Earth where liquid water is likely

to flow. Astrophysicists theorize that there are

billions of those in our own galaxy, you know.

I’m hoping that today will be the day we’ll get

a signal from some distant place to let us know

that we are not alone out here in the universal

vastness of things. There are those who fear that

the discovery of intelligent life other than ours

could threaten the existence of humankind on

this tiny speck of a planet on which we live. I,

for one, am more concerned about the clear and

present dangers we pose to ourselves. I continue

to hope (and pray) that Trump and his crew of

inept miscreants are but a distasteful and cruel

alternate-reality TV show which will not be

renewed for yet another season.

Chris Hanch 7-2817

Do the Math

If x = y and y > z.

and should these

letters represent some

equation algebraically,

what then happens to be

the numerical discrepancy

between you

and me?

I’ll take on the value

of i today, and you,

let’s say for the sake

of comparison, select

the letter u. Let’s keep

our value =, not assessing

the worth of i >u

or visa versa, ok?

See, I knew

(at least

mathematically),

there had

to be

a solution

to our

problem.

Chris Hanch 7-26-17

The Junk Drawer

You open that junk drawer at home.

Everyone has one, you know, loose

unattached screws get tossed in there,

rubber bands, unwound lengths of string,

mismatched odds and ends, slivers of

this and that which became unattached

from who knows what. You have a

leaking kitchen faucet and you need

a washer, one lousy rubber disc with

a hole in the middle, a small nothing at

all most days, but today the cure-all for

a constant drip which if left unattended

much longer will eventually become an

inundating flood of water. One lousy

rubber washer which today of all days

could make your world dripless and dry

again. Your fingers fumble furiously

through the useless discarded rabble.

There has to be one of those little round

bastards in here somewhere. You know

there is.

Chris Hanch 7-25-17

Time-Bomb Reality

The time-bomb of reality is ticking, my friends.

The ancient river gradually washes its own

banks away. A tree which was there yesterday

has gone missing, and the landscape changes

forever.

The priest leaves his ministry of thirty-years, and

runs off with the town librarian.

Surprise! A new reality has opened the eyes.

There is this constant and pervasive tick, tick,

ticking in the air. Are you listening, are you there?

Be aware! It’s not always a bad thing, you know.

Thoughts and ideas are exploding around us all

the time.

Beethoven hit a certain combination of notes and

a symphony was born.

How often has a sudden thoughtful act, an unexpected

rose garden, or perhaps the simplicity of a genial smile

from a stranger completely blown your mind?

Chris Hanch 7-24-17

Dawn of a New Day

Last night's jailer

releases you at sunrise

today.

You intend to get a fresh

start, making yet another

promise to go straight.

The cell door swings

open with an irritating

screech.

(The damn thing

could use a little oil...

and you, a shave.)

You are free to go.

Chris Hanch 7-23-17

Sweet-Dream Wishes

The winds blow colder as we grow old.

Friends and relations pass away. Muscle

and bone refuse to obey as we descend

the steep staircase spiraling deeper into the

basement of eternity. I awoke this morning

with the plaguing loss and emptiness of

nightmare lingering in my brain. Some

things we never outgrow, I suppose. Aging

brings a longing in remembering—no lone

survivors to securely tuck you in, no loving

forehead kisses and sweet-dream wishes

soothing you into the Tranquil Sea of Sleep.

Chris Hanch 7-22-17

The Proposal

When I was a younger man on occasion, I would visit an

elderly home-bound neighbor a few doors down from where

I lived at the time.

Roy was 95-years old then and had few words left to say.

He never complained about the pain of his aged condition,

reckoning he told me, “What in hell good would that do?

Be that as it may, I could tell he was glad to see me, said it

helped to pass the time. And at his age time was a dwindling

and precious commodity.

In middle age Roy’s first wife died. After a brief period in

mourning, Roy decided he had had enough wallowing in

self-pity over his loss.

Realizing how fleeting and unpredictable time could be, he

asked his secretary at work, whom he had known for years,

to marry him.

Flattered, Margaret, his longtime employee and confidant told

Roy that she needed some time to consider his proposal. Looking

around the room as if he had finished the story, Roy went silent.

Curious for an answer, I took the bait, begging to question,

“How long did you have to wait for her answer?” Roy looked me

straight in the eye and nonchalantly replied, “Not very long.”

Sitting beside Roy in the living room, both contented together

in their old age, and without a single word to add, Margaret

looked at me and smiled.

Chris Hanch 7-20-17

The Secret

As with most days, I have something to say.

But today there was this special reminder.

This thing which I awoke with on my mind

is not meant for everyone, but for sharing

alone discretely between you and me.

Today, I am sure, you are miles and years

away which makes the transmission of this

thought of mine a logical impossibility. And

there is no way I can say what I must say in

a public forum such as this.

I cannot write you a personal letter either

for I have not been in contact with you for

such a long, long time. It is more than likely

that you have moved from your last known

address as have I.

Be that as it may, I need for you to know at

least that today of all days I had this thought

of you. And if you were beside me right now,

I could lean in closer and whisper softly and

directly into your ear. Can you keep a secret?

I think you know what I need to say.

Chris Hanch 7-17-17

"Good Conduct"

I was a soldier once, dressed in boots and olive green

fatigues every day. I arose and saluted the flag at revelry

every morning, 8 AM sharp; stood at attention again at

5 PM for retreat as our Star-spangled Banner was lowered,

folded appropriately and respectfully retired for the day.

I had done my duty, nothing outstanding, heroic or grand.

I served my time, a 3-year enlistment without any gross

violation of orders or command. I consider myself fortunate

in never having been called into battle. I was luckier than

many who served in my day, given that the war in Vietnam

was underway, given that the Soviet Union was being held

tenuously at bay. Then one day, unceremoniously, the first ser-

geant of my unit handed me a small blue box. Inside, a Good

Conduct Medal, one of many millions issued since 1941.

There had been no mention of minor infractions and missteps

I may have made. I saluted the flag and officers in passing with-

out fail. I never missed bed check and made my bunk according

to military regulations every day. I fell into formation and did

mostly what I was told for 3-years in a row—“Good Conduct,”

or so the Army and that bronze medal with a spread-winged,
eagle image on the heads-side portended to convey.

On the tails-side, there is a blank banner where, should one

choose (and for a nominal fee, I assume) there is space where

the name of some innocuous recipient can be engraved.

It is interesting and worthy of note that in the fifty-some years

since completing my military service, there have been myriad

things said about me and my broad range of behaviors. But never

again have I been admired or commended for what may be con-

sidered “good conduct.” It would seem more fitting, as I see it,

to have been issued a medal commemorating the fact that I some-

how managed to make it through that period of my life “Unscathed.”

Perhaps then I may have considered having my name engraved on
a medal proclaiming a quasi-admirable attribute such as that.

Chris Hanch 7-16-17

Agree to Disagree

There are times you say, yes; I see things

differently and tend to disagree. We both

know, that’s just the way things go.

Shakespeare tends to agrees with me; at

times, Frost takes your side. You’re thrown

by the horse; without faltering, I ride.

Your poems always rhyme at the end

of each line; Sometimes, I take a different

direction with mine.

Occasionally, I’ll use semi-colons in each

stanza to make my point; you tend to use

little or no punctuation at all.

This whole silly exercise begs the question,

who’s right and who’s wrong? I say we agree

to disagree, and let's let Shakespeare decide.

Or we could always flip a coin. If it’s heads,

I’ll consent to rhyme sometimes, but not at the

end of each and every line. That’s just silly.

And by the way, what in hell does horse riding

have to do with all this, you may be asking?

I felt I needed to apply an extra line this time.

Chris Hanch 7-15-17 

A Fifty-fifty Proposition

You need not have Dirty Harry point

a 44-magnum at your head and ask,

“Do I feel lucky?” There are days

you do and you take that chance. And

then there are those days of doubt you

remain silent and lay low. You figure

you have made it this far even though

the odds were an even fifty-fifty split.

Personally, you have known some who

took the dare, “Go ahead and make my

day.” Click! They were right; Bang!

There’s a hole in their head. In films

one can make the wrong choice time

and again while remaining able to do

yet another take. And in life, well...

Do you feel lucky?

Chris Hanch 7-14-17

Composition Me

I remember my first sight of

The Acropolis in Greece, a place

from which my grandfather came;

the marble columns of antiquity

reaching out with all that history.

I remember a visit to the Grand

Canyon, its broad, wondrous expanse,

the cavernous depths of the Earth’s

exposed multi-layered geology.

I recall stopping along highways

spanning the State of Utah to take

in the sweeping expanse of such a

breath-taking and prehistoric land.

And too, I must consider the woman

who had chosen to stand beside me.

All are mysteries which over time

became integral and vital pieces of

a lifetime puzzle, making a more

complete composition of me, one

I had never considered being before.

Chris Hanch 7-13-17

Destiny

The Big Broom of Destiny

is out there, and it’s headed

this way.

It’s bound and determined

by time (and its sworn duty)

to sweep us away.

The idea, in fact the entire

premise behind creation itself

is to clean house frequently,

and then start all over again.

You’ve held a broom in your

hands before; you know the drill.

You can’t go out and play, can’t

collect your allowance until all

the debris is swept away.

Well then, it should come as no

surprise that the Big Broom of

Destiny looms at the ready over

the likes of you and me.

I have it on good authority that

it’s working in the Chicago Area

now, and will soon be headed
this way.

Nothing like starting over again
with a clean slate, or so they say.

Chris Hanch 7-10-17 

Some Thoughts of the World Today

I put some thoughts about the world

on paper today, crumpled it up and

threw it away. What difference would it

have made? Life and the world shall

proceed as it will anyway. Wars will

continue to be waged, the poor and dis-

paraged shall find no hope of relief. Putin,

Trump, Erdoğan, Assad and Jong-un are

not likely to have a sudden and dramatic

change of heart. Power and corruption

will continue to be the pervasive play

on the world stage as Chicago continues

to die one gunshot at a time. And God

with all his parables, verse and com-

mandments will continue to turn his

back on the masses who pray for some

decency and righteousness to prevail.

I haven’t even addressed healthcare,

the epidemic of drug overdoses or

global pollution and climate change.

Those, I attempted to broach in my first

draft of topics for today. With all this angst

and frustration, you may understand why

I crumpled up my first outline of thoughts

about our world as it spins today. Shame,

shame, shame, I feel the terrible, world

weight of human shame festering today

as our elected, appointed and anointed

leaders attending Sunday services so

pompously and hypocritically pray. Can

I get an “Amen?” I didn’t think so…

Just another heartsick and hopeless draft

meant for the trash. Take cover!

Chris Hanch 7-9-17

You Are Here Today

Here you are watching.

You never asked for this

yet none-the-less, you

are here standing beside

the old man at the bus

stop, watching the lady

rummaging through her

satchel, eyeing the bicycle

rider passing by. This is

your world now to observe

or ignore. What you are

thinking makes perfect

sense to you, but is of

no consequence to others

on the street. You keep

up or get left behind.

There will be no record

of this day, except to

say, everything is as

it has been, as it shall

remain. There is a

five dollar bill on the

sidewalk. You stop,

look around. You bend

over and reach out.

There are winners and

losers today, each and

every day. What else

is there to say?

Chris Hanch 7-8-17

A Few Lines Today

A few lines today

about blue sky and sunshine,

a few lines to claim

every breath I take.

A few lines today with

something yet nothing

spectacular to say.

A few lines today for all

the unpicked and never

given flowers,

and a line or two

to celebrate

the thoughtful handpicked

ones which are.

Chris Hanch 7-6-17

A Shaggy Dog Story

My dog has been behaving strangely

as of late, darting about from one room

to the other, tail tucked in fear between

his hind legs. As I noticed yesterday, he

has been fleeing from a fly buzzing

around inside our place. I can’t figure

why this fear in him of such a small

and basically harmless creature, a mere

fraction of his size. But none-the-less, he

is perpetually on the run, trying in vain to

find a suitable place to hide. Or so I thought,

until today when he stops abruptly, circles

round and round, arches his back and drops

a sizable load of diarrhea all over the living

room floor. Poop, this time he had to poop.

His unusual behavior was not caused by his

nemesis, that fly. Now, I ask you, how on God’s

green earth was I to determine what he really

needed was to go? I’m not a frigging dog whis-

perer, you know. Not only do I have a pesky fly

to deal with, but now, one hell of a stinking mess

to clean up as well!

Chris Hanch 7-5-17

Age-old

No new words today;

The familiar need not be spoken.

Tentacles of grief speak volumes

Enveloping the silence

The old man hunched in his chair

Strangled speechless stares at the wall.

Chris Hanch 7-4-17

The Pitch

I spent a few hours last night watching the home

team on TV, me an old man now reclining in my

chair of soothing relief. As a younger man, I con-

sidered, I could have hit that pitched slider. I

would have likely connected my bat, sending that

ball sailing 380-feet over the left center field wall.

The batter standing at the plate is less than half my

age. He nervously waives his bat as the pitcher

winds, kicks and delivers. A fastball this time, a

mighty swing and a miss.“Steeerike two! The ump

cries, raising and pointing the index finger on his

right hand. And I thought, were I a younger man

again with but one more chance at bat. Oh, just one

more swing, I would surely show them all and crush

that ball. Then suddenly before my eyes, and well

within my strike zone, a housefly sails by. So, I

grabbed the cane resting by my side, leveling a swift

and mightyful try. A swing and a miss. Unfortunately,

it happened to be one of those damn knuckle-ball flies.

Even in my younger years, I had a hell of a time trying

to connect with that pitch. Next time, fly me a fastball

or slider by. I may not be on the same field with those

young snips playing on TV, but from the comfort of where

I’m sitting, and with my cane, I still have a couple of good
swings left in me. 

Chris Hanch 7-2-17

Everything is Okay

Nothing needs fixing today.

It appears to me things are

as they should be, everything

is okay.

Not so with the rest of the

world, mind you. There are

good and not so good things

other folks need to do.

Not for me, as I see it, though.

Everything which surrounds me

at my age has earned the right to

be worn out, broken and old.

I seem to fit nicely into the

scrap-heap of history

which surrounds me.

Nothing needs fixing today.

Things are as they should be.

As I see it, everything is okay.

Chris Hanch 7-1-17