The Dream

Tell me that dream again, the one you had where
a tiger chased you bearing those long, sharp teeth.
It was hungry and needed to eat. It was your dream
and you were in it alone. What was the tiger supposed
to do? It was all about you and food.

Tell me again. I want to hear the best part when you
awoke abruptly in a cold sweet. Everyone has those
close calls when we’re suddenly snatched from the
jaws of death. In my dream it happened to be a rabid
baboon. It wasn’t hunger which launched him at me,
though, it was sheer, unadulterated rage. I could see
it in his  blood-red eyes.

I have pissed-off a lot of folks in my life, but this
was a case of being in the wrong place and time.
Talk about putting the fear of god in me. I’m going
to have to avoid spicy foods before bedtime. Too,
I’ve been considering not renewing my passport.

As for me, definitely no more visits to the primate
exhibit at the zoo.

Personally, I prefer the gazelles anyway. I haven’t
heard of anyone being chased by one of those either
while dreaming or awake. Anyway, I blame the
damn taco chips and salsa at midnight. That’s just
way too late.

Chris Hanch 2-27-18

Wealth as for Me

There are reasons why I am not

wealthy monetarily. And at my

matured age of seventy, things

such as this are highly unlikely

to change. Lazy? Oh, there has

been a liberal measure of that

along the way. Time off with

regularity, I believe, is the best

pay for the soul most any day.

Indeed, there are myriad reasons

I am not wealthy monetarily.

Mostly, I suppose, it is because

I would rather just sit where it

seems comfortablly appropriate

for me to be. At times, I may

enjoy striking up a conversation

with you, telling you my story or

listening while you tell me yours.

That pretty much sums it up—

As I see it, a fair trade between

you and me given and received,

no charge, absolutely free. Remind

me next time, and I’ll tell you about

my inherant proclivity for just being

outright lazy on my own.

Chris Hanch 2-26-18

A Grand Canyon Indeed

Standing at the edge. Wondrous and eerily

beautiful, this grand canyon you created on 

your own. You take in the wide view and decide

impulsively to jump. No one but you can make

any sense of it. Call it faith; call it stupid. You

felt compelled to take the leap. Damn, the thing 

is a lot deeper than you imagined it would be.

And bottom came more quickly than expected.

Next time you’ll…

Chris Hanch 2-25-17

Tools of the Trade

There are times when a screw driver or a
gripping pair of pliers would surely come
in handy. Things around us are in need of

a good tightening or loosening once in a
while. A drop or two of oil when applied
to hinges can prevent the screen door from

squeaking. A hammer is made weighty to
ensure the nail is securely driven into place
And a dab or two of glue tends to mend the

cracked handle of a china vase. The proper
tool isn’t always required to be made from
cold rolled or annealed hardened steel. I

have found that a kind word, an appropriate
apology, or a measure of thoughtful finesse
is best in avoiding what could easily become

an unsavory confrontation. A sincere, I’m sorry,
goes a long way in healing the fracture in what
has otherwise has been a sound relationship.

Have any of you seen my 3/16th? I had the
damn thing in my hands just a few minutes
ago.

Chris Hanch 2-24-18

Heroes for an Age

I was a small boy who would save the world

from evil, who would defend the defenseless.

Davy Crockett showed me the way. I saw how

Hopalong Cassidy and the Lone Ranger came

charging in on horseback, fists flying, guns

a blazing to save the day. Zorro was not afraid.

And Superman, the man of steel, what more

need I say? I prayed to a god who I believed

would give me strength. All of my heroes faded

away as I aged. God was busy with other pressing

matters elsewhere in the universe, and never had

time for the likes of me. Children in Africa and

Asia had a far greater need, I was lead to believe.

No wonder he never found the time to speak to

me directly. He sent all those other heroes of the

day to inspire me. Do good. Above all, help others

who had less than I was the lesson to be learned.

I split my Snickers bar in half and shared it with

my best friend, Larry. He preferred Milky Way, but
ate my offering anyway.

Chris Hanch 2-23-18

Who or What to Believe?

I have become aware enough to

realize that there are new gaps

in my synapses. The tree within

has fallen, and is no longer able to

elevate me. My footing is now unsure

and slowly sinking into a liquefied

instability. The tsunami of technology

is awash over my ability to assimilate

this new age reality. You may be

reading this, and telling yourself

my condition seem tenuous at best.

You may be led to the impression

that old age is not an advantageous

place to be. And should you still

be invigorated by youth each day,

the creeping aches and graying of

time and place will eventually bring

you to an awareness in questioning,

WTF? Of what he speaks, albeit subtle

seeming at first, is growing on me too.

Don’t believe me, though, I’m only

human, you know, filled to the gills

with fake news. Just ask Alexa, Siri

or Cortana, and listen to what AI soft-

ware bots have to say. Young and old

alike, Lord help us all. (Is that okay to

say in the AI Age?)

Chris Hanch 2-22-18

What If?

Ever wish you could turn back time and

ask your father why he decided to marry

your mother? And why on earth did he

chose to make sales a career instead of

becoming a machinist at the GM plant?

What was it he impressed upon you as a

child which may have sent you on life’s

journey you grew into pursuing? He’s gone

now and you are left with all these questions

unanswered. Although it may be too late to

change the way things turned out for you,

it still begs you to wonder, what if dad had

been a farmer instead? Today, you may have

risen at 4 AM. Rain, snow or sleet not with-

standing, the cows still needing to be milked.

Thank god, you’re not a pre-dawn person. And

as for the sales thing, it never worked out for

you either. Black coffee, a Beethoven sonata

playing on the stereo, and settling in to read

and write poetry at daybreak is more your speed.

As a child, when dad wasn’t out on the road for

work, he would occasionally read Robert Frost to

you and your two brothers before bedtime. I guess

your brothers preferred dad’s reading of Treasure

Island. It seems in their lifetimes they have been

chasing adventures of a different kind.

Chris Hanch 2-20-18

Eccentricity

I’ve got two brothers. They often

do what you’d expect them to do.

Me, one could say, I’m sort of a

different breed. My deceased

second wife, bless her soul,

described me a time or two as

eccentric. And I will be the first

to admit I do once in awhile waver

from the predictably ordinary. I’d

rather sit and write poetry or paint

a painting than attend a party with

friends. Other than ride scary rides

at an amusement park, I’d prefer the

slow motion up and down of a dark

horse on the merry-go-round. I have

been known to wear knee-high socks

with Bermudas and sandals, or short

sleeved shirts beneath my suit and tie.

Here, feel this. Go ahead, touch it! Could

be an indicator, an irrefutable sign of the

flat-spot in my personality? There must

be some socio-psychological explanation

for that. On second thought, it may be

a familial trait handed down from one

generation to the next. Take my older

brother for instance—he has displayed

certain quirky behaviors of his own

throughout his years. Catsup on a hot

dog or a perfectly good steak? I always

just considered him as being a special

kind of weird.

Chris Hanch 2-19-18

Some Thoughts on Waiting

I sit and wait patiently for the call.

There will be no knocking at the door,
metaphorically speaking, no ring tone
of my phone prompting me to answer.

Funny that many things which have come
to me in life were never forewarned in
advance. I wasn’t expecting the headache
which set upon me the other day. I hadn’t

been hanging around idly anticipating the
gray which over time settled into my hair.
I awoke one day, looked into the mirror
and it was there. And where and when in

hell did those age spots on my hands and
arms begin to appear? One of these days
death will stroll into my place and say,
ready or not, you’re coming with me. I

suppose as I continue to extend my years
here, I do wait in anticipation for that time
to come inevitably. No, knock, knock, no
buzz, buzz, ring, ring, perhaps just the

appearance of a sudden itch to scratch.
And that will be it, I’m gone. And more
than likely it will be a day much like today,
sunny and cool with no chance of rain,

me merely minding my own thoughtful
business, and waiting patiently for the
right words to come.

Chris Hanch 2-18-18

Seems Appropriate to Me

No longer have I the need for wheels to get me

where I’m going. In my time, I have come so

far I find that I have exceeded the measured

limitations of distance and speed. I have come

so far now that select words will carry me most

handily to where I’m going, words not picked

from some acclaimed academic literacy, but those

best suited to endure beyond the volumes of paper

thin mortality, prepositional words, pronouns of

a personal kind which can be inserted liberally

between linguistics of a different kind. Hear what I

say, see what I write, that which thoughtfully comes

to mind. What appeals to me is the simplicity and

diversity of the key words, you and I. In applying the

two of us linked side by side, united and driven by

our universal commonality, we have somehow

managed to come so far. Beyond the limits of

distance and speed, I no longer find the need for

wheels to carry me over the finish line—Simply

and most appropriately it seems to me, you and

I will do. That is, of course, if you are willing to
meet me somewhere in the middle.

Chris Hanch 2-15-18

Awakening Today

It is the day you awaken and notice that

broken limb from the tree in your back

yard, or feel a sharp shooting pain in your

leg you’ve never felt before. And, you’d

swear, that hole in the screen door was not

there yesterday. Have you not been paying

attention? These things just seem to be

happening overnight? Most of them you

notice, but shrug off as no big deal, and

that’s as far as it goes. Why should you

expect things will remain consistently the

same day after day? Have you looked

into the mirror lately, I mean really noticed

those subtle changes taking place, the new

wrinkles and blemishes that weren’t there

yesterday? Later, you get a phone call and

receive the shocking news, a good friend

has just passed away. That was yesterday,

and had you known beforehand what was

about to happen, you certainly would have

called them to let them know how much you

really care. You break up that hanging branch

and put it curbside for trash pickup Wednesday.

Ah, but it should come as no surprise, that’s

not all there is. And with a cautious measure

of trepidation, you whisper to yourself, let’s

just wait and see. That pain in your leg just
doesn't want to go away.

Chris Hanch 2-14-18

Photographing Mt. Garfield

As a photographer in awe there is no need

to say cheese or remind to smile. The stoic

countenance of stone is as it is, and over

eons shall remain. In its epic time and place,

few if any shall ever notice should a rock dislodge

and roll from its massive and magnificent face.

Chris Hanch 2-13-18

The Hill

If I was twenty-years younger

and could get my legs to abide,

I’d climb that hill over there.

And without knowing, without

the aid of a map, a photograph

or GPS, I’d climb that sucker

to see what’s on the other side.

What hill, you ask? You can’t

see a hill from here. Come,

walk with me a ways. It’s over

there, just beyond the horizon.

On second thought, I don’t think

I can make it that far. And besides,

what could I do once I got there?

You go on ahead; I’ll just sit and rest

a spell, waiting patiently for a vista

of words which lie beyond the hill

I see from here towering over me.

Chris Hanch 2-13-18

A Trace of Snow

A trace of snow this morning, but a paltry

layer, not enough for a fort, not suitable to

roll into a snowman of consequential size.

Yet, it is a lovely and enticing cover of white,

a fair amount to shape by hand and send a

packed snowball into flight.

A trace of snow is an ample supply for a

child to make something of it, more than

nature had originally intended it to be.

Without the child of imagination, the trace

of snow would have most certainly melted

away uselessly.

Chris Hanch 2-11-18

Intellectual? (for Helga)

Intellect has nothing to do with it.

I point out a tree in my poem; you

look and see it differently. I make

a herd of horses morph into leaves.

Mowing the lawn on a lazy summer

day turns into a metaphor...Oh, for

what? (Only I can say. And rarely

does it make any sense to me.) Are

loons really crazy? Only if you believe

a sassafras tree gave me the words

I have interjected into this poem of

mine today. Actually, it was a sparrow

on crutches which whispered these

words of wisdom into my ear. I am

not an intellectual at all, my dear—a

tad bit loony, though, on most days,

I’d say. Had I a magic wand to turn

seeing into believing, however, now

that would be something indeed.

Chris Hanch 2-9-18

This I Am

I read between the lines; I write of that

which I know, of that within me which is

cavernous and deep. In my lifetime of

travel I have gathered mud and dust, I

have amassed layers of worldly rust. I

have become that which I have never

been, yet have been unwittingly driven

to be, this cosmic cause of some other

undiscovered reality. I am that which has

grown through generational eons and

heredity, that which was always meant

to be. Through me the ancients have been

resurrected to continue the Journey. It is

then the sun I am, the moon and stars I am,

swimming the depths of darkness, taking

flight into the redemption of light, all the

celestial parts of me, come together to form

my entirety. I am, for all it’s worth, merely the

sum total of that which I have become. And

uniquely in your own way, the same applies

to you.

Chris Hanch 2-8-18

A Change of Scene

How many days have begun

when your name is not featured

with prominence on the handbill

of activity? You can hide tonight

or decide to play. In all likelihood,

no one will take notice either way.

You button your blouse, and it

seems a proper fit. Your shoes

are a bit tight, but hopefully they

will loosen eventually to suit you

more comfortably. Everyday is an

audition. And you are willing to

accept a bit part in the chorus.

What the hell, it’s better than the

stand-in awaiting their chance off

stage. You have rehearsed and

remember all the right moves.

You take one last deep breath and

follow the rest of the cast from the

darkness off stage into the light

knowing that this is but a dress

rehearsal, a fine-tuning prequel,

so-to-speak, leading up to to the

real thing. This scene has played

out before. And you’d be a fool

not to expect that there will be

more changes to be made. You're 
hoping wardrobe has shoes one
size larger.

Chris Hanch 2-7-18

My Place in Time, 1965

Drinking cheap beer at the Enlisted Man’s Club

after the work day is done. Dancing with willing

frauleins to jukebox music, singing along with

the Stones, “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction!” It’s a

great night to be a G.I. More beer, more music,

more dancing, 1965. Seems Germany is the perfect

place at just the right time for a youthful American

soldier like me to be. The Commies can have their\

place occupying the East; I will hold mine in the

West perfectly fine. Hopefully we can replay the

same tune tomorrow, same place, same time. More

beer, more music, more dancing...everything in this

world of mine is just fine as long as I, my friends

and foes alike, each stay on our own side of the line.

And oh, you might want to throw out that drunk over

there by the jukebox. He’s been itching for a fight

all night long.

Chris Hanch 2-6-18

Thw Word I Choose to Use

Used to be those days when ball

players and law makers were younger

than I. Used to be those days when

there were all those “ts” to be crossed

and likewise dots above each “i”

required to be applied. Used to be

butchers at independent and chain

grocery stores would hand out soup

bones for free when asked politely.

Used to be youth was on the side

of you and me, when we perceived

the world to be filled with unlimited

possibility. Since then, so many hopes

and dreams have passed us by. Now,

we hobble up to the morning mirror to

see our curmudgeonly attitudes staring

back at us eye-to-eye, wondering how

and why? Time, my friends, is no longer

allied on our side. And these days I choose

to use a limited but powerful vocabulary

of curse words to accurately describe all

the shit I feel which now exemplifies

accurately my attitudinal reality. Shit is

messy indeed, but it applies so easily, you

must agree. And it requires the dotting of

but one “i” and the crossing of merely a

single “t.” When articulated orally and used

copiously, there is the need for neither.

Dear reader, I find that old age often requires

a heaping measure of simplicity. I, myself,

take solace and effuse the use of malodorous

“shit” in verbal piles spread out wide and

most liberally.

Chris Hanch 2-5-18

The Last Day, Yesterday

Yesterday was the last day or so it

seemed to be, a Saturday, one of the

many I have seen. A beautiful buck

deer galloped up the hill not more

than 20-yards in front of me. (Sort of an

unusual sight in the midst of the big city

in which I live.) My two small dogs

barked fiercely at the intruder. And had

they not been securely leashed, they

would have most certainly given chase.

Now, mind you, never in a thousand

years could they have caught up to that

fleet-hoofed critter. Even had they been

able, what would they have done with an

animal 20-times their size? Instinct, the

primordial wolf in them erupted for the

moment, belying their long reputation as a

genteel domesticated species. Nowadays,

they are more accustomed to Kibbles and

Bits with a liberal layer of baked chicken

at meal time. As for me, most of my ancestors

gave up the spear and hunting for food in the

wild generations ago. I now view nature with a

more humane and admirable consideration.

That was yesterday, the last day in a long line

of many. Today, Sunday, begins a new week

for me. So, here I sit in my back yard, casting

yet another watchful eye, my dogs ever at the

ready to sound the alarm and bark at something

new. Down boy, that’s just an old wadded-up

paper sack blowing in the wind.

Chris Hanch 2-4-18

The Gospel According to Dad

Don’t do it!

Don’t you even

think about it!

Chris Hanch 2-3-18

Winds of Change

All bets are off; all plans have

changed. Morning pours down with

a steady and unrelenting rain.

The annual town parade has been

canceled. Car keys have once again

been misplaced.

And today of all days, the toilet

decides this is a good time to

overflow.

Last night’s dream remains

unresolved. The door screeches

on it’s hinges.

It is the season for reruns on TV.

Moths have feasted on the wool

sweater in the closet.

The boy has lost the mouthpiece to

his tuba. And given the torrents of

rain, there will be no parade today.

What in hell else is there to say?

Don’t even think about going back

to bed—There’s laundry to be done.

Chris Hanch 2-3-18

Relief

What to think, what to say?

Here you sit hunched over

some, leaning to one side in

the throes of advancing old age.

Why is it old folks relive the
past over and again, could it be
the future is inevitably bleak with
limited and waning possibilities?

You’ve had your choices and
chances, and there is no one
else to blame (conceding that
it had to be so, it could have

been no other way). Even had
things turned out differently,
here you are anyway, where
you are, in your rightful time

and place. All is okay, even
given the bitter taste of loss
and pain, it is what it is, there
is no other way. And tomorrow

should the sun rise to open
your eyes once again, Lord
willing, things will pretty
much remain the same.

Coffee in the morning still
affords you a bit of a lift. And
there is nowhere else, given
the proposed activities of life

on this planet, you particularly
need to be. It’s little wonder you
feel such relief. Scew it! Put your
head back and take a nap.

Chris Hanch 2-2-18