Being There

 

Being there. It’s far better than pictures

in The National Geographic Magazine.

You browse the open market in Athens

and see the delightful array of meats,

produce and baked goods.

You stop at a stand and get the attention of

the proprietor. Able to speak but a few choice

words in Greek, you choose English instead.

Smiling you say, “Good day,” and point your

finger at the Baklava. And then you raise it

into the air indicating “one.”

The proprietor smiles and asks, Ameicanós?

You smile back and nod your head, yes.

(Must be the haircut or the clothes you’re

wearing. Perhaps the accent, definitely

not a Brit, you’re sure he can tell.)

He wraps the delicacy in parchment paper

and hands the sweet treat to you. You pay

the man and smile with a Greek thank you,

“Efcharistó.” Now isn’t this much better

than reading the National Geographic

from your chair at home 5600 miles away?

You unwrap the gooey Greek goody

in your hand, close your eyes and take

a first big bite. The honey and nuts

drip down your face as heaven invades

your senses. Wow! A hell of a lot better

than that old issue of Nat Geo Magazine.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 1-30-2021

Poetry 3

 

Poetry—a puzzle piece

to see.

At times an odd fragment

of what life professes

to be.

More than a word,

occasionally

a rhyme

sensations in a given place

and time.

The reason for completion,

this vision —

a hodgepodge imagery

of life

otherwise defined.

        -30-

Chris Hanch 1-29-2021

Something about Matrimony

 

Larry King died the other day. He was the king

of personality interviews. In his TV eulogy they

made mention that he had been married seven

times. For business or pleasure, I’m sure he had

his reasons.

I was curious to find out how many times Elizabeth

Taylor had married. She bested King by one, having

walked down the isle eight times. Then I remembered

Mickey Rooney. He had tied with Taylor at eight.

Little Mickey didn’t like to be bested. It must have

had something to do with that Napoleonic “Little

Guy” syndrome.

It happened that my second wife had been married

six times. I didn’t find that out until sometime after

our twenty-year marriage eventually ended up on

the rocks as well.

I didn’t feel so bad about my two failed marriages.

Although I wasn’t thrilled that my two attempts at

marriage didn’t last, but at least I figured it out

before my life got completely out of hand.

Two failures at what I thought to be a sacred com-

munion turned out to be plenty enough for me.

Oh, at times I’ve missed the companionship,

but never the discord, the ill-will and unrest.

No thanks, six, seven or eight tries seems a

fool’s errand to me. I consider myself sort

of an inept and clumsy rookie at marriage.

I never was in league with or built to com-

pete with likes of King, Taylor and Rooney.

I find myself pretty compatible with dogs though.

Till death do us part, I’ve sworn my allegiance to

a few of those.

                    -30-

Chris Hanch 1-28-2021

The Artist's Way

 

What will be? I have no preconceived idea.

I am sure as I move along, my intuition will

lead me on.

Not everything for me begins this way, but

for today...We’ ll just have to see. I call it art,

you know, in its truest form.

A line here, a dab of that there, criss-crossing

everywhere. Pen and brush in random com-

bination.

Paint of every hue, splashed, dashed,

trickled and dabbed. A conglomerate in

the flow of perpetual motion.

Move aside, Pollock, here I come. Ready

or not, when it’s done, it’s done. I call it,

the Amalgam Sum.

It’s meant to be a museum piece worthy of

intense and subjective scrutiny. I realize you

prefer Monet.

No, not today. I had something else in mind.

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 1-28-2021

The Phone Call

 

“Bettie, this is George...”

That’s how my Dad in Kansas City

must have began the phone conversation

with my Mom in St. Louis in 1962.

Shocked that her divorced husband of

17-years would have the audacity to call

and open up sore wounds again, my Mom

likely worried about my well being

took a deep breath and responded,

“Is Chris all right?”

I’m certain she she didn’t expect Dad

to call her apologizing for being late

again with child support owed her for

my two brothers left at home with her.

No, that S.O.B. wouldn’t have a shred

of decency to do that.

“Well physically, Chris is okay, but

emotionally, that’s what bothers me.

He’s doing poorly in school. He

has no friends, and unless I’m at

home, he spends most of his time alone.

I’d like to bring him back to St. Louis

to live with you and his brothers. I think

he’d be better off with you all back

there. I’m at a loss as to what else to do.”

Knowing my mom, I’m sure her

first response would have been, “Well,

what in hell about my back child support?

You’d better be paying me that? I can’t

be taking care of three growing boys

on my own. At least you owe that to me.”

I know Dad had to commit to that in

order to get me and his problem off his back.

“I’ll take care of it...” Dad would have

promised. “Next Saturday then?”

“All right, but you’d better pay up!”

And so the deal was done. And I had no

say in the matter. So, there I was,

15-years old with nowhere to go, nowhere

to belong.

Looking back on it after some

60-years have passed, I hated that Dad

had taken me back to live with my mom

and brothers. Sure I was depressed,

but I had emotionally formed a bond

with my dad. It was just the two of

us depressed, dealing with the

world together. My mom would

never understand that. To her Dad

was the same S.O.B. she always

knew him to be.

As Dad let me out of the car

in St. Louis that fateful Saturday.

I stood there and tears came to my eyes

as he drove off. What would become

of me now? Life was shit! That

was the first philosophical thought

I remember having. And the ransom

money for me? Dad promised to put

a check in the mail.

Mom and Dad are long gone now,

and as for me? Yes, life went on.

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 1-27-2021

In the Making

It took me years to learn I was not meant for

college. I grew up in a time when high school

was all that was required to get a job and make

a decent living.

It took me 3-years to understand that military

service was not a lifetime occupation for me.

For a time, I managed wear the uniform and

serve my country honorably.

It took me 17-years to admit I married too

young. And at nineteen years old, I was too

immature to make that unholy union work

out satisfactorily.

It took way too long to learn that the suit and

tie, shined-shoes and compliant mentality my

father taught me in my youth was not the way

for me to succeed amenably.

It took me years bouncing around from job

to job trying unsuccessfully to find a proper

livelihood fit for me. Working for “the man”

was never meant to be.

It took me wasted days and drunken nights,

hangovers and ugly sights in the mirror looking

back at me to see more clearly the reality of my

depressed futility.

It took blood, sweat and tears and one detour after

another to get me here. And having learned through

my experiences along the way, eventually I muddled

through my own self-inflicted misery.

My art was the god-seed within me which inevitably

lead to my salvation. And given all those nourishing

crumbs of heaven scattered across creation, somehow

I managed to survive.

Damn, near seventy-four years in the making.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 1-26-2021 

A Stroke of Genius

 

If there is a certain wisdom associated

with old age, it is in the knowing that you

are all of what you have grown to be.

And there’s not a damned thing you can

do about it.

I have come to have a great deal of gratitude

for making it to the bathroom in time. And I’m

allowed to swear like hell when I don’t.

It is also satisfying to know you remembered

to put an extra roll of toilet paper where it

could easily be reached when you need it.

Therein lies a stroke of genius. Damn, you’ve

still got it!

                                -30-

Chris Hanch 1-25-2021

The Christmas Card

 

Got a Christmas card the other day,

damn near a month after Christmas,

but I got it all the same. Sorry I’ve

been out of touch it read.

I hope you’re well, comfortable and

satisfied. I worry for my American

friends and family in your COVID

Crisis.

We’re doing very well here in OZ.

I ran through my checklist to affirm

how I was doing—No COVID for me

and my family.

Other than that, given the usual

aches and pain which come part

and parcel with old age, it does

no good to complain.

It was a simple card with an

illustrated Dove of Peace, an

olive branch in its beak, encir-

cled by an olive branch wreath.

I began to wonder how my friend

was doing? Is she well, comfortable

and satisfied? Apparently I needn’t

worry about her and COVID.

I’m supposing they don’t get pan-

demics where she lives in OZ. They

had a wicked witch once who raised

a bit of hell, but she died.

I began to understand why it took so

long to get her card. OZ is a good dis-

tance away. I had moved several times

since I last saw her. How she got my

address beats the bejesus out of me.

                -30-

Chris Hanch 1-24-2021

Movement Today

I’m mindful today of the movement

here and now, the way my fingers

gently strike the computer keys as

I type,

the way my eyes roll left to right

following each word being laid

across the page, my automated

breathing in and out,

the heart pumping, and synapses

of mind firing to find every

thought, my ears attuned to cello

music playing, everything moves

in symphonic harmony.

Here and now, I am the maestro,

conductor my own destiny.

And then, waiting out there in

the nearby beyond at the ready,

everything in movement toward

an inevitable silence in the Great

Gallery of Motionless Nothingness

Forever.

-30-

Chris Hanch 1-22-2021 

That Which was Meant to Be

 

Excuse me, my friend,

whether it interests you

or not, given my flaws,

my talents and all, what

mattered most to me

from early on was that

I was gifted to recognize

the transformational

changes at work within

me.

And despite myself at

times along the way,

I still grew into the

one and only genuine

me I came to be.

In its life cycle, through

evolution and deed,

the lowly caterpillar sheds

its cocoon having been

transformed into a butterfly.

It spreads its wondrous wings

and flies away.

Look around, feel the flight

within. Likely, the same has

happened to you.

Naturally, it was always

meant to be.

         -30-

Chris Hanch 1-21-2021

Alphabetical Tomfoolery

I peck two fingered

on the computer keys.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmms

are what I see.

I peck again

and what appears, a row of

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzs.

I appear to be

striking out random,

not in order chronologically.

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

ccccccccccccccccccccccccccc.

I do 2.

What the L

I ask myself?

X yes, even A and B I can C,

but at this juncture Y Z

when D E F G

would certainly B more orderly.

(I C U

Do U C me?)

O, if only I knew

that X Y and Z

would bring me

to the end

alphabetically.

But then,

have U ever fiddled with

special characters on

the computer?

They could drive an

otherwise

sane person craZ…

ᾯ ῂ € ∆ ∏ ∑ ₯ ₰ ₠ ₪ ₩

Excuse me if you were offended.

That is not what I intended.

This poem shall never be verbally

recited by me. For researching

the names and pronunciation of

“ ᾯ ῂ € ∆ ∏ ∑ ₯ ₰ ₠ ₪ ₩,” I’m

too damned lazy.

         -30-

Chris Hanch 1-16-2021