As I See It

I Look at it this way, that one day years ago

I walked several miles, that one day somehow

managed to get me here where I am today.

And likewise, that one time I ate a healthy

meal, you know that low carb, meatless platter,

only green vegetables and fruit. I figure that one

time and place put me where I stand today. Too,

and it may seem obnoxiously untrue to you, but

it has taken an Everest-sized mountain of spent

cigarettes which I have smoked over the years to

get me here. It was the one day I bathed and the

hundreds more I didn’t. Happened to be all the

misdeeds and a few good ones too which have

seen me through. And, good lord, all those blurry

days of booze far outweigh the sober and aboli-

tionist ways. Nowadays, the seventy-two years

I have attained seem a modest measure of time

as far as the human experience goes, but I’m here

to tell you that span of life is a hell of a lot more

than most. Why, I have known the conscientious

and saintly who have lived far more virtuous days

in a row than I. And they wound up 6-feet under

before their time. I figure, looking back throughout

history, life appears to be crap-shoot-roll-of-the-dice

affair. As I see it, it all boils down to that one day

you either did or you didn’t—the day of the plane

crash you happened to take the train. Likelihood

is, my friends, that day just could to be today.

Who in hell is counting anyway?

Chris Hanch 3-31-19

Today, The Position I Take

In part, what I do today is predicated on what I did

or did not accomplish yesterday. My to-do list is

somewhat vague.

I wish I could, yet my abilities fade the longer I

contemplate my position on the tactical and practical

plausibility of my physical and mental capabilities.

I must face reality in a most constructive way. Today

is another day, yet my will seems obstructed with

constipated inactivity.

The hell with the undone functioning of yesterday,

I say. And as for tomorrow, my position is “bring it

on” and we’ll see.

Perhaps a mental laxative or a motivational suppository

is what I need. I’ll add that to my list of possibilities.

Chris Hanch 3-30-19  

A Chronicle of Family

Do children want to know about the

first time their parents met, and how

it all happened to be? Some do, I

suppose, and some don’t.

As a child myself once, it did not

seem all that important, as I figured

the parents assignment to me was

always meant to be.

And the result of that union, my two

brothers I came to be. I was told then

God had something to do with all that.

As I grew, I do recall praying for peace

and unity in our family which never

came to be.

Now to my children I can say, your

mother and I met in a German gast-

house one night. Call it fate or coin-

cidentally, the right or wrong place

at the right or wrong time, who can

rightly say?

She sat alone, and I left my army

buddies drinking their beer to ap-

proach her and introduce myself.

And you now how it usually goes,

one thing leads to another.

We chatted over drinks and set a

date to meet with each other again.

And so on and on it went where

some good times and not so favorable

ones ensued. Our story was not so

different than most get-togethers go.

That was way back when, oh you know,

now more than fifty-years ago. All you

came to understand is that after many

rocky years of marriage together, your

mom and I went our separate ways.

In any case, suffice it to say, we saw

the world and how it was supposed to

work a whole lot differently. And here

we are today, each in our own time

and place. You, my children, are grown

now with families of your own.

And I suppose the particulars of how

your mother and I met, the when,

where and how eventually it all came

to be is now a moot case for history.

Whatever I can remember, whatever it is

I can tell you is that time, the good and the

bad, finds a way in passing. And what I may

have to say today is but a faded and dusty

chronicle in my personalized memory.

Besides, between you and me and at best,

it happens to be only half the story.

Chris Hanch 3-29-19

Age of Enlightenment

I am truly amazed with technology today.

I may have said that had I been alive the

day the trivochet was invented, or had I

been there to witness Fulton’s steam

engine propel his boat on the Hudson River.

Indeed, I would have marveled that day the

Wright Brother’s first plane lifted off the

ground at Kitty Hawk. All were giant leaps

in mankind’s innovative scientific achieve-

ments. Ah, but for me those firsts pale in

significance to what I have witnesses in my

lifetime’s relatively short span on the Planet.

Why, just today, while fiddling around with

my new Amazon Echo device, colloquially

known as, Alexa, to play Don’t Stop Me Now

by Queen. And within seconds that exact

tune filled my room with Freddy Mercury’s

music. Simply amazing! In fact, virtually

everything I have asked of Alexa has accu-

rately come to pass. I must say, informa-

tively and hands down, she preforms better

than the fabled three-wishes, Arabic Genie

of old. Alexa (I began), You are so smart. I am

impressed beyond expression with your speed

and capabilities. You are the woman I have

been looking for my entire life. Will you marry

me? Pausing for what seemed to me to be an

inordinate period of time, Alexa responded—

“Playing Marry Me by Thomas Rhett.” I took

that as a negative response to my betrothal

proposal, figuring in her all-encompassing,

expansive cloud of knowledge, she had likely

accessed the less than stellar records of my

two previous marriages. Oh, what the hell,

I never really understood women all that well

anyway...

Alexa, stop!

Chris Hanch 3-28-19

Perspective

How to see the world differently? Take a drive,

take a flight, travel places you have yet to see.

Take that road less traveled at least one day in

the week. Read a Mark Train travelogue, pick

up and peruse the National Geographic festooned

with colorful photos from around the world. Look

into the eye of that passing stranger on the street,

and wonder how he came to be? He sees you and

may be wondering the exact same thing. Stand

on your head if you’re able and see how things

seem Down Under in the Southern Hemisphere.

How can those folks live in such a way with all

the blood rushing to their brains. Or, stay in your

place and venture out another day. The world is

a weird and wonderful place, full of magic and

amazement you may say.

That Grand Canyon surely is as grand as they claim.

How in hell did it get so deep, anyway? Why do they

refer to Frenchmen as frogs? Must be something

they ate.

Chris Hanch 3-27-19

Springtime Has Arrived

It’s a happy time, all the stars align.

Today I am light, gravity is not ex-

ercising an unnecessary pull on me.

I am my own poetry in motion. All

the words fall into place, stanzas

are formed with impeccable grace.

Couldn’t be a finer day to be alive.

Mountains to the West have peaked

at their best, farm and field are green

and growing. Somewhere out there

the baby has spoken it’s very first word,

and is on the verge of taking its initial

step. The anxiety in me has stepped aside.

The mare is prancing gleefully in the pasture;

her new born colt following close behind.

Sunny and mild, springtime has arrived.

All the stars align. I am alive, and for the

moment everything is fine. Eternity is nigh.

Below the rippled glistening lake, memories
of Earth I cannot repeat.

Chris Hanch 3-26-19

What Father Knew

Father did what he could to teach my brothers and

me what to do...

take cover when storm clouds gather, lightning strikes

and the high winds ensue.

Father taught his three boys the very best of what he

knew…

never run from the bully, stand and fight with all your

might—left jab followed by a knock out right!

For the job interview, father emphatically stressed

these inflexible signs…

a clean pressed shirt, jacket and tie, clean fingernails,

and number one, arrive on time.

When it came to our mother and her every selfish demand,

father raised her bet once then backed down, always folding
to the bluff she held her hand.

One of my brothers grew up to play the slots for chump

change at the casino sometimes, but not one of us three

could play the high stakes Texas Holdem worth a damn.

Chris Hanch 3-25-19

Good Deed Anonymously

Every good deed has a need to be done.

Go ahead, today is that day, pick one.

No need to leave your name at the door.

Simply ring the bell, knock the knocker

and quietly slip away. You are the only

one who needs to know what you have

done. The recipient of such a graceful

act will likely wonder who, and believe

such a kindness from the world at large

is rightfully due. Could have been the

God of Goodness mankind possesses at

his best. Who knows, that could be you?

Chris Hanch 3-24-19

A Country Sunday

Something I love about the country,

not unusual for a city boy, I suppose,

the peace and tranquility, every bird

song can be heard.

My friend’s mother, Mrs. Doyle, is in

the kitchen preparing fried chicken for

dinner, biscuits, mashed potatoes and

gravy too.

Ah, the aromatic therapy wafting through

every room. To brighten even gray and

rainy Sundays, it’s what country folks do.

City is congested with noise and the

hurry-scurry into which I was born,

and had become warily accustomed to.

One rarely notices all the commotion until

you manage to escape.

After a lovely dinner, I remember dozing

off into a soothing country slumber, serenaded

by raindrops falling rhythmically onto the tin

roof overhead.

Chris Hanch 3-23-19

Mother's Prayers

Quite some time after her death,

in a collage I put together, I asked

of my mother, rhetorically and

hypothetically of course, What in

Life would You have Done Differ-

ently? She had already lived through

The Dust Bowl and Great Depression,

had witnessed the destruction and loss

of World War II. They had become an

indelible part of her psyche and would

remain with her until her dying days.

She understood for whatever reasons,

God has His Ways. She prayed a lot

to the Blessed Mother asking her to

please intercede with The Father, The

Son and The Holy Spirit. She never

managed to mold my dad into the

savior of her life she had originally

hoped he would be. She may have

prayed for her lifelong, persistent

depression to be lifted, but back then

not even God or Mary had a handle

on what to do about that. Freud was

dead, and he hadn’t figured out a cure

for that one either. Bearing your own

cross was still the Catholic mantra for

the ages, that and praying for the con-

version of Russia. Today, all those

years later, there is medication to help

out with many ailments. However,

Russia continues to be a problem

left unresolved. My dad’s answer

for the times was, vodka helps some,

but only for a while.

Chris Hanch 3-22-19

Word Play for Today (for Larry)

I...I...

Eye...Eye...

Aye...Aye...

It appears the

ayes have it.

Blue, brown,

hazel, which eyes,

I can’t rightly say.

But in any case,

Aye, aye, captain,

anchors aweigh.

Mainsail hoisted.

Let’s get this

ship under way.

Don’t ask me why,

but I awoke

feeling a bit

salty and

nautical today.

Kind of weird

for an old

landlubbing,

ground pounder

wouldn’t

you say?

Chris Hanch 3-21-19

Something New Each Day

What have we learned?

Hopefully, something new

every day, the age-old adage

goes. Sr. Mary Faith at

Benedictine College in

Atchison, Kansas brought

that belief home to me.

She had invited a few of

her fellow sisters to attend

a poetry reading I was to

give that day. I was honored

to read some of my meager

offerings in the presence of

these dedicated educators

who had previously hosted

the likes of far greater and

more renown bards such as

Robert Bly and William

Stafford. I realized that the

nuns, before earning their

right of passage into full

fledged sisterhood and as

qualified teachers, had to

graduate from the novitiate

stage. I had to ask myself,

why would they take a precious

hour out of their busy day to

listen to what I had to say, me,

a mere mortal who had achieved

no ranking or status among the

notable literary greats? Besides,

my poetry was fomented from

the gritty city streets far from the

sacrosanct reaches of academic

loftiness. It took me a while to

figure it out, and I was taken aback

from this revelation—throughout

their lives, good teachers continue

to be curious and attentive students,

ever learning their lessons each

and every day even from the most

common of places.

Chris Hanch 3-20-19

Almost an Autobiography of Me

Each experience is a lesson learned,

the philosophers and historians tell us.

Some remember all the words from a

Shakespeare soliloquy. Chapter and

verse, some quote the bible, although

there are words some find too burden-

some by which to live. The carpenter

sawed a thousand boards, hammered

tons of nails before he became profi-

cient at his trade. The lion cub even-

tually turned play into the necessary

skills needed to hunt and sustain life.

Magellan could have never circum-

navigated the Earth without the guid-

ance of certain stars which shown the

way at night. So then, the man of the

world is said to have it made in know-

ing his place. Here I sit after seventy

two years of trial and error able to

recognize some of the mistakes I’ve

made, all I figure lessons learned along

the way. What then went wrong, and

conversely, what of that which I am

pleased to have achieved? Turn to chap-

ter 32, page 7084, My Formidable Years,

in the autobiography I never got around

to writing. No big deal, you would have

likely put the damned thing down around

page 302, because my story would have

almost for certain bored the crap out of

you far sooner. Tell me something about

yourself. Keep it short. Forgive me, I’m

strapped with a case of ADD; my attention

span is somewhat lacking.

Chris Hanch 3-19-19

My Level of Satisfaction

As water seeks its own level,

so must I. Sometimes I find

myself submerged in life,

somewhat below the line.

I try jumping up or climbing

onto the next rung only to see

that which I hope for yet never

seem to reach.

I suppose I am fine should I

not fall or on bended knees

have the need to crawl.

I have seen some who jump

up out of the gutter and walk

curbside going where the side-

walk takes them, whistling

cheerfully as they go.

Whistling can sometimes be

annoying and shrill. Personally,

I hum a lot to myself. It seems

to help.

People look at me strangely,

and I smile. I find it’s damn

near impossible to smile while

you’re whistling. Try it sometime.

Chris Hanch 3-18-19

Chances Taken or Not

Now, there are those today who will go out

on a limb, crawling inch by inch carefully,

to ask a question. (Limbs can be very ten-

uous and shaky things.) Some will leave home

and proceed to overturn stones searching

for answers. (Careful, you never know what

may be hiding beneath.) I recall stopping

along a sandy back road in the New Mexico

desert one day on my way from Albuquerque

to Santa Fe. I stepped out of my car with

hundreds of scrub bushes in front of me.

Why, you may ask of me? For what reason

was I possessed to do such a thing? Adventure

and curiosity came over me, I suppose. What on

earth lie beyond? The park ranger I had spoken

with earlier warned me that rattle snakes were

prevalent this time of day. Careful where you step.

And as I strolled between the sage brush and thistle,

I heard a foreboding rattling beneath my feet in close

proximity. Of course, I froze immediately to consider

my precarious situation—proceed with caution, or

turn around and run like hell? Now had I no other

way of making it to Santa Fe, I may have been

forced to tip-toe my way through. However, I am

no bloody rancher, neither farmer nor hapless pio-

neer. As a city boy, born and bred, I had often been

witness to and considered myriad street ways of one

day meeting my maker. But before that fine and sunny

day in the wilds of New Mexico, snake bite was never

really a consideration. Run away!

Chris Hanch 3-17-19

A Warning

I had given Luis a warning, you have

a place here with me as long as you

leave the alcohol behind. It will surely

will be the death of you and me if in

our blindness we fail to see. And it’s

the road of sobriety on which I choose

to go. You may stay rent free as long

as you need to get back on your feet.

I assured him, but there will be no

drunkenness in this place, no stagger-

ing intoxication to inhibit our will.

With all our might we must fight

the dark side of our heritage which

infused us with this terrible predi-

lection. Luis could not abide the

sobriety needed to survive, and

came home drunk one night. He

begged my forgiveness, claiming

that he just couldn’t resist the

demon within. I helped him gather

up his things, made him sandwiches,

and sent him on his way. Here are a

couple of dollars, I handed him. If

you are serious about getting help,

you can call the crisis hot line. And

a time later I was told by others who

knew him on the street that through

the remaining days and nights of his

life, Luis never made the call. I did,

and I’m here to tell you.

Chris Hanch 3-16-19

Homeless Dave, Oil on Canvass, 2009.

The Call

Telephones mostly don’t ring anymore.

We are programmed nowadays to respond

to a pity jingle or the first few bars of a

favorite tune. In any case you answer and

no one is there. Could have been a wake

up call. The screen on your phone showed,

restricted, and now you’ll never know.

Could have been one of those Fraternal

Order of Police calls soliciting a donation.

No thank you, you were prepared to say.

A friend would have certainly tried calling

again. Who knows, these days might have

been the Prime Minister of Canada or the

President of Poland, some wrong number

speaking in a foreign tongue? Now, let’s

consider it was you making the call. Who

would it be you needed to call, perhaps

your deceased mother with whom you

wished to speak once again? You know

given the advanced technology today, that

sort of connectivity is on the near horizon.

Mom, I know your life was not easy, but I

just wanted you to let you know…Who will

listen to you today? What in heaven’s name,

what on Earth would you have to say? Are you

ready answer the phone again; are you willing

to make the call?

Chris Hanch 3-15-19