Something Left Unsaid

As with so many days, today I have

spent some early hours writing a poem.

This time a poem about loss which I will

not share publicly. I shall tuck it away

among hundreds of other poems, and

in a few days the memory of it will slip

far away even from me. (So many of my

thoughts have gone this way, faded into

the netherworld of Never Having Said.)

Everyone knows exactly what I mean—

so much we have either forgotten, neglected

or chosen not to say. In my lifetime or yours,

would it have made a difference anyway?

I am sharing this with you instead. Give it

a day or so, it too is doomed to fade away.

Chris Hanch 4-30-18

Good Night, Sleep Tight!

At night my bed is a safe and reassuring place

to be. A toss and turn or two, a tug of the blanket

here and there, then eventually I fall asleep as

I have so many nights before. Sun knows the

way we go, and with the brightness of its shine,

the golden dawn will faithfully rise again to begin

yet another day. For seventy-one years I have been

a trusting witness to the same. History and science

has it that in four-billion years, light always follows

the darkness this way. I must confess that in my

waking hours, and in my time, I have been guilty

of myriad unsavory deeds. And should you have

been involved in one or any of these, before I lay me

down to sleep, I humbly pray your forgiveness, please.

I am no fool. I realize that the consistency of waking

every day after a good night’s sleep can only be applied

for a finite period of time. And should my waning cycle

terminate as I sleep tonight, I trust that you who shall

once again awaken at daybreak will valiantly carry on.

It is about the most rudimentary function folks of our

auspicious species were created to do.

Chris Hanch 4-29-18

The Meaning of Life for Me

I allowed the mountain peaks to accompany me,

Crossed the Mohave burning beneath my feet.

A herd of elephants slung mud around on one another

From the banks of an Indiana lake.

A slice of custard pie survived yet another San Francisco

Earthquake.

This morning, night lingered on past 5 AM. No alarm

Was sounded, and I slept through every

Damned thing Shakespeare had to say. Oh well, fair

Warning, my friends, tomorrow is another day.

Remind me to add dog treats to my shopping list this

Week. I’ve reached an age where I can’t trust my memory.

Chris Hanch 4-27-18

For All I Know

You taught me the alphabet and how to use

certain words. You taught me to have faith,

to pray to a god who was never there. I learned

what I could from you, and when that was not

enough, I relied on music and museums, on

birds, dead raccoon and rouge elephants, on

Iowa corn fields, Kansas City steaks and the

mistakes Lincoln and Hemingway made to

expand my understanding. Life turned out to be

a binary choice, either you’re right or wrong,

no matter what you decide, you live or you die.

Of course we make so much more of it all than

that. As a young Catholic boy at the end of every

Mass, I was lead by the priest to pray for the

conversion of Russia. I often wondered if the

Russians said daily prayers for the likes of me.

I and my countrymen could have used some help,

you know. The vodka you sent instead of your

prayers seemed to help for awhile, but eventually

wound up making a hell of a lot more trouble for me.

Chris Hanch 4-25-18

Changes Will Be Made

First order of the day is to convince

myself that this one shall be different

than the one which came before. I give

the morning birds different names.

Even though it may not be so, it helps

some, every little bit does. I tell the

oak, you will pass as a sycamore today.

And tomorrow, perhaps, things will

again change. It matters to me fictitiously,

but those in the know will never feel the

change. Therein lies the beauty of the mind.

I shall secretly rule the world today. My

throne will go unquestioned. The robin

is now a crow who leaps from the tree

which was an oak yesterday, spreads its

wings and flies away. Tomorrow again,

everything will change. And who knows,

should I survive, as emperor I may give

birch and falcon a try.

Chris Hanch 4-23-18

It Has Come to This

And so it has come to this…

I have said that a lot in my

lifetime of seventy-one years.

And then I’ll remind myself,

of course it does. Something

always comes of it, whatever

it is, something always does.

Now, it may be something of

little consequence, perhaps so

minuscule I’ll ignore or shrug

it off as nothing. And yet I’ve

always managed to go on,

haven’t I? Somehow, given the

magnitude of some of those things

which have come to this, I have so

far been able to muddle through.

One day, after the millionth time,

it has once again come to this, not

the first time. And predicting from

my past, not the last. For posterity

sake, let’s say, I have decided to sit

in my place today and write about

the damn thing…So, it has come to

this, and like it or not, it always has.

Chris Hanch 4-22-18

The Bar Maid and I

The bar maid that night became more

pleasingly attractive to me with each

beer she served. Lovely eyes, sensational

smile, picture perfect from head to toe.

As the night went on, it became clear to

see. And before closing time, I had built

up enough liquid courage to ask her out

on a date. What then? Well, we’ll just

have to wait and see, won’t we? What if

I arrived at the appointed place and time,

and it turned out to be that she was not

nearly as attractive as I in my intoxicated

state had previously perceived her to be?

Was this a classic case of (a friend once

warned) “drinking her pretty?” What then?

So, it was with that thought I decided not

to go. Then I felt guilty imagining her

standing all alone there at the appointed

place in time waiting for me to arrive.

What then? Would she be disappointed

or perhaps worse, heartbroken? Could be,

you know, that she would turn the tables

on me and be the no-show. Then, I’d be

the fool gullible enough to have believed.

What then indeed? It was then a most

sobering thought hit me—I’ll never in a

million years go to that bar again.

Chris Hanch 4-21-18

So That You Know

So, it has come to this. And surely

there will be those given pause

to wonder. Now that my time has

arrived, I find the need to relay...

I know what father was feeling as

he sat in his chair all day, old and gray,

alone in the silence of his choosing,

without a damn thing left to say.

It is wise to realize that there comes

a time in one’s life when it becomes

necessary to prepare for the deep

and dark hush of eternity.

Chris Hanch 4-20-18

Here and There I Am Again

Lost and found along this

trail I’m on, having traveled

far and wide for such a long,

long time. I find myself once

again in my place and time

by the roadside of destiny

basking in the soft, cool breeze
of memories to keep me company.

Somewhere halfway in between

Here and There, you may see

me standing off to the side in

no particular hurry, nonchalantly

thumbing for a ride. If you can’t

give me a lift, at least a smile and

waive would be appreciated in

your passing by.

Chris Hanch 4-19-18

My Poetry

Sometimes at 3 AM in my dreams.

Sometimes awake in my visioned

imaginings, a found memory perhaps.

Sometimes it arrives with the wind

or on the wing, such a revolutionary

awakening. An eye-catcher, which I

may have passed and ignored a hundred

times before. That unexpected knock at

the door. A single word in a book,

sometimes, is the proverbial bolt of

lightning out of the blue. I could say

it happens that way come sunshine

or rain on any given day. It comes to

me in a garden variety, this tossed salad

of poetry. The lines may find a rhyme, or

climb the staircase of my mind unevenly.

There’s a leak in the roof of my reality.

A bucket underneath to catch the drippings

one by one is good enough for me. Only

sometimes, mind you.

Chris Hanch 4-18-18

Few Words Spoken

With few words today, and still I remain amazed.

Corn fields line up in rows, their secrets husked

and unspoken. Lobsters off shore rest beneath briny

seas. Mountains cast their long shadows into receding

valleys below, as few explore the depths of imagining.

Strange worlds are growing beneath our feet. We praise

the sun. The gods of wisdom and fright hide behind

every tree. All mysteries are exposed. It takes an eternity

of so little to amaze. And the words chosen to proceed,

are they coming from you or me?

Chris Hanch 4-17-18

Late in the Day

Late in the day, a golden day the sun has laid.

I have done all I was meant to do. No accounting

for my deeds which were few. My thoughts

were random, no plans have I made. Late in the

day. Tomorrow, the same? Not quite. In a word or

two, perhaps golden again, but then who can say?

Chris Hanch 4-16-18

Not Just Another One of Those Days

Ever had one of those days when you have

said to yourself, were I a Mendelssohn or

Monet, I may have done something more

masterful with my day? Had I conjured up

a bit of the Edison within, I may have given

more light to the world. Had the Ford part of

me been exercised more effectively, I could

have possibly driven farther to places never

seen. Oh but today, just a touch of Jobs and a

smidgen of Gates have allowed the digitizing

of my thinking. And I find that with a measure

of Kahn and Cerf, these words of mine are able

in light-speed time to freely encircle the earth.

Who knows...in his time, with Smart Phone

and Twitter, and the instantaneous advise of a

good friend on Facebook, van Gogh may have

been spared the loss of an ear.

Chris Hanch 4-14-18

                                     African American Drummer, Denver, Colorado, 1995.

                                                   Adobe Shanty, New Mexico, 1991.

In the Eye of the Retriever

This I know, my dogs depend upon me to feed

them, and provide for many of their creature needs.

I can teach them to retrieve, to lie down, roll over

and shake, but never will they laugh at jokes I tell,

no matter how uproariously amusing to me. In a

weird way some people are the same, many of whom

I find have no sense of humor at all. Come on now,

my timing may be off a little bit, but conceptually,

you’ll have to admit, that last one I told is pretty

damned funny. Okay then, try this on for size...fetch!

Chris Hanch 4-10-18

A Tale of Two Wooden Stools

Two wooden stools stand by the table

in the kitchen, one poised on four legs

waiting to receive me twice a day, once

at lunch time, another to accommodate

me at the evening meal. Rarely do I partake

of breakfast most days. Always I sit on the

stool which faces me in the same direction.

The other stool waits patiently for those rare

days my son comes to visit. It remains empty,

at the ready, nonetheless, prepared for the

weight with a sturdiness all lifelong it was

built to hold.

Chris Hanch 4-9-18

Forever, Indeed What Would Life Be?

If I could live forever, I would not be writing

this today. If I could live forever, more than

likely, I would wait another day to clean my

my place. There would always be tomorrow to

consider getting things done. If I could live

forever, I would wait another hundred years

or so until I matured enough to consider

marriage again. No birthday celebrations

would be a necessity for me. Children would

grow old and pass away, and I as Dorian Gray

would tediously remain the same. I would,

however, have endless time to bear as my

deeds would exceed my ability to recall the

ledgered plus and minuses of my existence.

And should you be the one leaving instead

of me, I should never find the need to say

goodbye. On second thought, I suppose today

is as good as any other to give this finite time

of mine one more shot, as I should probably

consider tidying myself up a bit...just in case.

Chris Hanch 4-8-18

A Sense for Fashion

If it’s true what they say that clothes
make the man, then in my time I have
made some fashion-sense mistakes.
Blue jeans and a dirty t-shirt, PF Flyer

sneakers were appropriate for play.
A striped tie, white shirt and a fitting
3-button jacket were required for
weddings,funerals and many of the

jobs I’ve held throughout my life. I’ve
been teased a time or two for wearing a
sweater-vest knitted with a diamond
pattern. (I happened to love that damned

pull-over.) At work one day, a woman
called me a nerd because of my preference
in wearing apparel; another asked me if I
had a pocket protector in my shirt beneath?

Had I decided not to wear a pair of pants,
I’m pretty sure that I would have avoided
those embarrassing comments that day.
And as a footnote, I must say (to those of

you who may be wondering), I happened
to be wearing that sweater vest to cover
a stain which came from not wearing a
pocket protector on the only white shirt I

owned. And I ask you, dear reader, what in
hell is wrong with diamond shapes anyway?

Chris Hanch 4-6-18

What a Good Man Does

Some men pan for gold. Most never find the riches

they are seeking. There are those who long to see

their names lighted atop the marquee. Fame comes

to a select few. Mostly, I have known men who have

labored tirelessly, making their way each day, for

years on end just to pay the mortgage and feed

their families. Their wealth and riches come from

the content beating in their heart. I could name

some of them right here, but I know they would

prefer to remain anonymous. They may brag,

however, over a child who is about to graduate

from college with honors. How many days of

dedication and selflessness does it take to be able

to do that? A good man will often claim (and rightly

so): good kid, but I’ll have to say, she takes after

her mother.

Chris Hanch 4-5-18

Road Trip

Ever been on a long road trip, miles away

from the next town? You passed the sign by

the interstate—Abilene, 50 miles. And you

decide to test the gauge which indicates

you’re sitting on less than a quarter of a tank.

E means empty and you’re in a hurry to get

where you’re going, so you’re willing to take

a chance. How low is low, how far can you

really go? Gutsy move. That’s always been

you—Go for broke. Old Betsy won’t let you

down. It is then you remember that there is

a town named Abilene in Kansas and another

by the same name in Texas. Last time you

checked, you were driving on I-40 across

Oklahoma. Somewhere between here and

there you must have gotten turned around.

Towns around these parts are few and far

between. Come on, Betsy, old girl, you can

make it. The needle on your gas gauge is

doing its death wriggle on E...shame on you!

You awaken abruptly in a cold sweat. You
are nowhere near Abilene, Kansas or Texas.

Chris Hanch 4-4-18

It's Time

It’s time. You have lived past prime.

You had given it a thought or two in

passing before, but never envisioned

it coming to this. You have exhausted

your bag of tricks. Broken twigs and

a few choice memories are all which

remain. Still, you continue to haul it

around. You find a distorted comfort

in your new found routine. Another

New Year is of no consequence to

you; there are no more resolutions

to be made. It is purely symbolic of

your freedom from responsibility that

there is but one key remaining on the

chain. From the outside, it locks the

front door to your apartment. From

now on you can manage that from the

inside alone. You spread those broken

twigs out across the living room floor.

What worries remain? Nothing anymore.

Chris Hanch 4-3-18

Success

Secrets of success some wise men say—

work harder, work smarter each and

every day. Me, personally, I invoke my

own rule of thumb to claim with a smug

assuring nod and wide-spread smile

across my face—relishing time off mostly,

and when no one is looking, a lengthy nap

after lunch in the middle of day.

Chris Hanch 4-1-18