State of Mind

Earl Foster, loaned me his suit to get married, 1966.

David Anthony, a fellow resident at The Tower at

Speer, 2011.

Paul and Kathy Davis, minister/poet, and his wife,

1988.

Wayne and Phyllis Lang, professor and wife, friends

of my girlfriend, 1987.

Jack Randall, lawyer and property owner who gave

me free studio space, 1989.

Don Herbert, Mr. Wizzard, TV personality, 1960.

Iris DeMent, Folk country singer, 1995.

Again today, I’m playing the Name Game.

At my age (73), I sometimes find it necessary

to dig into my history and recall the names

of friends, acquaintances, and folks seldom

heard from anymore. For me it is an exercise

to keep my mental acuity active and alive.

In the past I have mentioned this before, but

it’s worth saying again (like any successful

exercise, repetition is the key ): Should the

name I wish to recall not come to me im-

mediately, my brain will wrestle with the task

for a while, and then drop it to the sub-conscious

level as I go about my regular activities of the day.

And when I least expect it, the name will pop up

from seemingly nowhere and hit me four-square.

I figure anything I can do to ward off dementia is

a worthwhile endeavor for me.

Lately, I’ve been searching for the name of my

deceased brother’s best friend. Were my brother

alive today, I could have called and asked him his

friend’s name, but that would have been cheating.

And my Hippocampus defering to the Fronto-insular

Cortex would have never forgiven me.

I’ve always been of a mind, if you can’t trust your

Hippocampus, who can you trust? If the person is now

or once was famous, or neurological nomenclature of

departments of the brain, Google or Alexa can sometimes

help.

I suppose these days artificial intelligence trumps

an aging mind every time. Damn, I forgot to turn the

oven off again!

...Mike Wagner!

                                     -30-

Chris Hanch 7-31-2020

Makes Perfect Sense to Me

You lift a twitching finger and think the world is doomed.

There was a mountain range to the West only yesterday.

Prairie dogs have been whistling a haunting tune all

day long.

Mr. Wizard hasn’t performed an experiment on TV

for years.

Someone saw a V2 Rocket lift off in the neighbor’s

back yard.

A call was made to 9ll, and a clown car responded to

the emergency.

The check in the mail arrived a day late and a dollar short.

Did you notice the Ant Farm down the street has been put

up for sale?

Last week, a world’s record, once in a Blue Moon appeared

twice in a single day.

Have you heard, Hildegard changed her name? She prefers

to be called Sonja from now on.

A pity, you raised your hand and no one called on you.

You just wanted to know, what in hell is going on?

The price of bananas today is hovering around 66-cents a pound.

The weight of the world is not on your shoulders after all.

There, are you satisfied now?

                                        -30-

Chris Hanch 7-30-2020

Cliches

I suppose

one could say

what’s fair is fair

Some say Karma

was involve

and the Piper

we’ve been told

must be paid

I wouldn’t listen

though

kept doing

what my body

was telling me

not to do all along

And now

I am saddled

with pain

for the rest

of my days

Some days

they say

It doesn’t pay

to get out of bed

I happen to hate

pain karma

and

overused

cliches

And I don’t

think a hell

of a lot about

they who

restate them

either

As far as I’m

concerned

in the end

even though

there may

be a

price to pay

cliches

in their

entirety

along with

the baby’s

bathwater

can be

thrown away

-30-

Chris Hanch 7-29-2020

A Feeling

I don’t feel like singing, and even if I

could, I don’t feel like dancing either.

I don’t feel like cooking or counting the

eggs which are remaining in the fridge.

I don’t feel like standing or sitting, or

even choosing one or the other. Lying

down doesn't seem a reasonable

option for me.

I don’t feel like trimming my beard

although I’m looking pretty shabby.

I don’t feel up or down. It would be

a falsehood to say I’m feeling fair to

middling.

I don’t feel like watching TV, listening

to music or reading or writing either.

I don’t feel like taking a trip to Florida

or Alaska. I must say, I’m not feeling

all that good about the State of Missouri

I’m in right now.

I’m not feeling sad or angry, neither lost nor

found. Ever feel that way some days like

something, but you’re not quite sure what?

Why, even the chronic pain I’m in doesn’t

feel quite the same. I’m not dead yet. I do

feel that in all likelihood I’ll make it through

another day.

Wondering, however, at seventy-three if

I’ll feel pretty much the same when seventy

four rolls around. Chances are more than

likely not.

Right now, though, I feel feeless if you know

what I’m saying. I know it’s Sunday, but it

feels more like a Monday to me.

                          -30-

Chris Hanch 7-28-2020

Unbirthday

This morning on Facebook, I got a reminder

that this is the birthday of a friend I maintain

on this social network site.

This fine fellow, and well-known poet, I knew

back in the hey-day 80’s, passed away a year

or so ago.

How could anyone not connected in some way

to the deceased even give a tinker’s damn about

his loss?

I am sure that the advertisers on his Facebook

feed still post their goods and services daily,

hoping he’ll respond and buy what they are

peddling.

You can never escape the marketing schemes

and listings. Not even death will erase the

memory of your name to the unconscionable

and greedy.

How many remain on the rolls and censuses

of the living? How many names are immortal-

ized by the monetarily gluttonous designs of

the profiteers who persistently list and chase

us all into oblivion even past the grave?

I say, two can play at that game. When I’m

gone, and on the anniversary of my birth,

don’t even bother to mention my status

or my name.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 7-28-2020

I Am Here Today

Here I am today, old and somewhat infirm, but

here in one painful and decrepit piece none-

theless.

Oh, there were times over the years when I was

younger and able. I had aspirations of making a

living with my art and writing exclusively.

I did make a few extra bucks now and again using

my talents, but consistency of income was never

meant to be for me.

No self-pity or complaints from me, though. I did

what I needed to do at the time to satisfy my cor-

poral and creative needs.

I suppose I was smart enough to realize that from

time to time I’d have to get a job and perform non-

sense for others and money in order to survive.

Now, I am no longer able to paint, sculpt or draw,

but at age 73, I have been gifted with the time and

facility to write everyday. The hell with catering

to others for accolades, promotions or pay.

I no longer have to sacrifice or waste my time,

effort and state of mind to do things my way.

                                                -30-

Chris Hanch 7-27-2020

The Engineer Boot Affair

I was thirteen and my friend Ronnie, who I

always thought was cool, wore engineer boots

when he wasn’t in school.

Oh, I suppose he could have worn them if they

didn’t have horseshoe taps on the heels. They

made a cool snappy sound every step he took.

And on concrete they even shot sparks out the

back. That’s why the nuns at school wouldn’t

allow them.

Anyway, I thought they were cool, and so was

Ronnie in his t-shirt and jeans with a Lucky Strike

hanging from his lips while he talked. Only Rebels

without a Cause like James Dean could be cool

like that.

I smoked too, only with Ronnie, though. Ronnie’s

folks even let him wear his hair long, all slicked back

with Brylcreem into a duck tail. My mom and dad

would have none of that. And if I wanted engineer

boots, they told me, I’d have to buy them

with my own money.

I sure couldn’t afford the fifteen or twenty

dollars they cost at the time, and I believe

the horseshoe taps were and additional

seventy-five cents a pair.

Well, winter came and it was a particularly

cold and snowy one that year. We had a big

snow storm in St. Louis and school was called

off for two days in a row.

I made the best of the adverse conditions,

and shoveled snow in my neighborhood. I

worked my ass off and made just enough

to buy those cool engineer boots I always

wanted.

I went to the local dry goods store and tried

on a pair. They were really slick, but didn’t feel

quite right. Having never worn boots before,

I figured I would eventually get use to them.

I had the shop owner nail on the coveted

horseshoe taps to the heels and off I went,

proud and pleased as could be.

Well, I wore those boots every day when I got

home from school, and the heels made clacking

noises and sparks okay, but I just couldn’t seem

to break them in. They were still stiff and my feet

slogged around in them. When I wore two pair

of socks my feet were too cramped and very un-

comfortable.

Ronnie never complained about his boots that

way. I suppose some kids are just made to wear

engineer boots and slicked-back hair; some kids

are born to be cool like James Dean and Ronnie.

Not me, though, I couldn’t even hold a cigarette

in my lips while talking without getting a bunch

of smoke in my eyes. Those boots remained in

my closet until I went into the Army at seven-

teen. I got GI boots then, and they fit me just

fine. Even without a duck tail, cool!

                               -30-

Chris Hanch 7-26-2020

Word Change

I wrote a poem earlier this morning

as I do most days. Usually, if a thought

hits me after I read some, the words

usually come.

That marvelous formula of mine applied

today. And it took about an hour for me

to say what I had a mind to say.

It was a decent piece if I do say so, about

a page and a half double spaced.

Later this afternoon one word from my

morning poem suddenly came to me.

This sometimes happens within a few

moments after I finish my work, but

today without provocation I was struck

with that one word, hate.

A strong word indeed, a displeasing

word to me, one which has practical

use describing feelings for migraines

and toothaches and appendicitis.

So, I changed the word to anger, which

was appropriate in its place. Anger is a

much more acceptable emotion for most

folks.

Many people think of hate associated

with murder, war or some other deed

or heinous crime.

You won’t get the electric chair or go to

prison if you kill a migraine or toothache

with a pain pill.

You can be angry all you want, and often

times it is righteous and okay. Just don’t

pick up a gun, a knife or a baseball bat to

take out your frustration.

With anger you can curse, rant and rave

or scream into a pillow. Anger is a more

sensible emotion anyway. Hate in itself

is, well suffice it to say, just plain hateful.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 7-25-2020

What It Has Taken

Trillions of cells, and it took everyone.

A double helix chain of DNA, molecules and atoms too.

It took sperm and an egg commingling biologically,

a 9-month period of gestation and years after that

in the making.

It took condensed milk and pablum,

diapers changed.

It took Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Trigger and Bullet,

a book of Dick and Jane.

It took turning over, crawling on hands and

knees, a first step and all the rest to follow.

It took numerous stumbles and falls along the way.

It took Ms. Frances at Ding-Dong School and

Captain Kangaroo, the Little Rascals and Three Stooges.

It took PF Flyers and Lee Jeans, pairs of Buster

Brown Shoes.

It took a thorn bush, a hot skillet and a bee sting,

so many noxious and toxic things.

It took nuns and lay teachers along the way.

It took the US Army to reshape.

It took gallons of vodka and brandy to inebriate,

AA to reform and rehabilitate.

It took tens of thousand yesterdays and only one day

at a time.

It took misfortune, laziness and hard work, some anger,

some remorse and a measure of compassion and love.

It took a bunch of random luck more than planning,

failures and successes, a lot of hit and miss,

I can emphatically tell you that.

It took magnifcent vistas at home and abroad, many

roads leading astray and home again.

I could go on for years listing everything it has taken

to get me here as I live and breathe at age 73.

It could take some time yet to enumerate all which it

shall continue to take for the remainder of my days.

Now here’s the part which should blow your mind

as it has mine:

It took a Big Bang, the birth of the Cosmos as we

know it,

Nearly 14-billion years and the Stuff of Stars from

Super Nova explosions.

It took an Earth formed from the collision

and compression of granular-sized particles in space

to make the curmudgeonly and wobbly old me I have

come to be.

And more likely than not, having known you along the

way had something profound to do with it as well.

-30-

Chris Hanch 7-25-2020