My Belief

 

I figure it is a good thing that

I have lost my belief in Heaven

and Hell. Although both seem

to have been places I have

experienced in my lifetime here

on Earth where many gods

and demons have had their

reign.

Nothing in my upcoming

demise will surprise me.

I will miss, however, all

the changes from good to

bad, from bad to good

and all the times in between.

I may have seemed reluctant

sometimes to changes in

my life, but one gets used

to such things.

No more cigarettes for me, no

chocolate cake or beautiful

women and strapping young men.

And no more waking once again to

a new beginning in the morning.

Things I do believe in as I live

and breathe, I shall

miss in the end. Amen!

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 10-30-2021

The Fibber

 

Big eyes of delight from such a little guy.

I’ll have two of those he tells the shop

owner. Oh, and three of those. How

much for a roll of those? Three inches,

please. 4 gum balls, red, yellow, green

and blue. A Three Musketeers and

5 black licorice sticks, please.

Oh, all that sweetness of delight for a

quarter’s change from the dollar his

mother had sent with him to buy a loaf

of bread and some butter from the corner

grocery store.

Now you be sure and bring me back

the change, she told him sternly,

waving her finger in his face.

When he got home, he hoped mother

would forget to ask for her change.

But no, mothers always remember

such things, especially where money

was concerned.

I had to give it to Frankie, that bully

up the street, the sneaky, little, two-bit

fibber told his mother.

What’s that you’ve got rolling around

in your mouth, she asked him? Don’t

you fib to me. That wasn’t too bad.

He figured he wasn’t old enough yet

to be known as a thief and a full-blown

liar.

Those were the days when you sure

could get a lot candy for a quarter.

Oh the temptation. What was a little

kid supposed to do?

Besides, Frankie was a heck of a lot

bigger than me, he explained. But he

did share some of his candy with me.

And at least I got home with the

bread and butter okay.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 10-29-2021

Something about Disposition

Without my consent, genetics committed me

to be the human being I was destined to be

mentally and physiologically—a self-aware

white male, maximum weight, 190 pounds,

height, not to exceed 6’3.

Granted, education, family, diet, exercise

and society influenced me to achieve my

temperament, and what turned out to be

a measured level of functional acuity.

I needed to eat my vegetables, learn my 2

plus 2s and ABCs. Of course there was the

matter of choices made and a modicum of

good luck and bad. Couldn’t begin to tell

you the myriad chances I’ve had. But, be

all of that as it may, I have managed to

make the best of the stuff from which I

was made.

As Terry Malloy lamented in the movie, On

the Waterfront—“I could'a had class. I could'a

been a contender. I could've been somebody,

instead of a bum.”

Fortunately for me, eventually I learned

my lessons. Physically and psychologically,

art was a far wiser vocational choice for me.

Lord knows, I took my punches along the way.

And I came to understand that getting my ass

kicked more than once was plenty enough

for me.

                                   -30-

Chris Hanch 10-17-2021

 

Awestruck

 

Beautiful faces in beautiful places,

Glad I got to know you. Over time,

you have shown me the way.

Before my eyes in photographs, I

revisit you each day. Every color,

every gender, every race, young and

old alike, a lifeline of beauty, humanity

revealed to me. I feel, I cherish and

share your marvelous grace. Thank

you for the reminder—I am ever

transformed. You are a part of me.

I am awestruck, together one with

the worthiness and wonder I see

in you.

-30-

Chris Hanch 10-26-2021

My Op-ed

The unmentionable poetry site with which I have been

associated for a number of years requires the participants to

review and comment on two works of fellow poets before

allowing you to post one of your own.

However, should you elect to pay them a nominal subscription

fee of 5-dollars per month, their ludicrous rule will be waived.

(Greedy wankers!)

Given my ofttimes selfish tendencies yet sometimes sparingly

meted magnanimity, pursuant to my frequent auspices and

philanthropic disposition, I refuse to comment on anyone

else’s written work.

The editors request that the critiques offered be constructively

thoughtful and kind. I find much of the work posted by wannabe

poets for review and scrutiny is pure crap. I’d rather hold my

cynical opinions to myself. There is, after all, still a pretense of

decent social etiquette lingering in me.

On occasion, I find my own poetry may be lacking in conventional

style and content, but I do have my dignity and a liberal set of values

and principals to follow.

No need to reply. Burn, shred or delete this op-ed when you’re done.

                                                        -30-

Chris Hanch 10-25-2021

 

Something about Creation

 

A friend of mine once

pointed out an unusual

revelation of hers to me:

She said, who knows why

the Good Lord does what

he does? Most importantly,

why doesn’t he do that

which apparently needs

to be done?

Hence the well-known

and often recited phrase

comes to mind—

The Lord works in

mysterious ways.

She then made her obser-

vation clear, providing

an example of one

glaring oddity in nature

concerning the moose.

She saw the creature as

a profoundly gangling

oddity among four-legged

beasts.

Surely God had pulled

random and discarded

spare parts from his

junkyard when creating

the moose.

Why, even man’s

Bullwinkle cartoon

version is a more

sensible and appealing

creature.

I was given a profound

thought to her proposition,

and was struck with the

possibility that indeed

other species may consider

that human kind in nature

and appearance had too

been conceived and con-

structed in a profoundly

humorous and unorthodox

way.

Who knows, in the grand

scheme of things, perhaps

the whole concept of

creation was one great

big cosmological joke.

                    -30-

Chris Hanch 10-24-2021

 

If Only These Adobe Walls Could Speak (Inspired by Consuella)

If only these adobe walls could speak—

Who? What? When ? They might yield

answers to me.

Settlers here in this harsh desert land, rough

and ready folks with their ambitious dreams.

Prospectors, perhaps, in search of precious

metal and gems it would seem. This oven

baked land would yield little more than

adobe mud affording modest shelter from

the merciless New Mexico elements.

Hearty folks were here, I suppose, they

who battled the test of time and the

elements for a while. They who eventually

succumbed to the blistering inferno of the

high country sun.

The disheartened, they who died or moved

away, they the weather-worn drifters

leaving the natural facade of adobe as

a testament to mankind, his mortality

and vanquished dreams.

Or could be, having struck it rich,

they became the past generation

of San Francisco elite. Either or?

It’s a choice if only in my imaging.

What do these time-scorned and

weather-worn adobe walls speak

to me so eloquently?

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 10-22-2021

Forever

Forever, how long some hope to live

and love.

Forever young, you and I wish.

Forever and a day, some say.

Forever, a fool's dream, the stuff of made-up,

the glory written about and the pity sung

in songs.

Forever,

and ever,

and ever,

and forever more.

Forever everlasting forgets color,

forgets sight, sound, touch and love.

Forever forgets the annals of history,

has no beginning, has no end.

Forever forgets time all together.

Forever has no future, has no past.

Forever, there are no commas to pause,

no exclamations to emphasize, no periods to stop.

Forever is the dark before the star is born and

the dark after the light is gone.

I hate the thought of it,

and even that shall never last forever.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 10-21-2021

 

A Scary Halloween Poem

 

This year, a Halloween surprise

to shock the unsuspecting eyes—

me suited in my eerie and scariest

costume disguise. Through no

thoughtful plan of mine, wrinkle

upon wrinkle, spotted blotches

and all, line after rutted line,

the hunched over old geezer I

have unwittingly become. Warn

your children all, give the passing

years their deteriorating time and

free of charge, this natural costume

of disturbing horror will suite you

too just fine. Boo, yourself. Be gone

you old coot! The trick has been

done. No treat for you.

           -30-

Chris Hanch 10-19-2021

Slice of Heaven in Time and Place

 

He sits at peace in his recliner

today. His hip pain is minimized

when he sits a certain way.

Pup is snuggled on his lap. He

sips his first cup of coffee and

lights his first cigarette of the

day.

This has been his routine for

the two years he has been

confined to his place.

Early Sunday morning, 5 AM.

No obnoxious noise from

apartment neighbors upstairs

or next door, only the soothing

music of Beethoven he has

chosen to play.

He is aware of the raging chaos

spread worldwide. And he is

grateful for his disabled condition

in a selfishly strange sort of way.

He is aware his days on Earth are

numbered. In nearly 75-years of

life, he has done what he needed

and wanted to do. He is satisfied

with this slice of heaven in time

and place.

His needs are simple—food enough

in the kitchen, money enough in the

bank to maintain. All the prayers

have been said, and nothing will

change the way of the world outside

or within.

He takes another sip of coffee,

lights another smoke, strokes

the back of his pup, and music

to his ears—the richness of

Beethoven shall play forever.

           -30-

Chris Hanch 10-17-2021

The Mexican Restaurant Incident

 

In 1984 when I moved to St. Louis (my old hometown),

I was 37-years old and had no job at the time. So, I

decided to try my hand at being a server at a popular

Mexican Restaurant chain.

Funny, the management and servers were white and

Iranian, the cooks and kitchen staff mostly black. I’m

of Greek, Czech, Irish and German heritage. Not even

the customers were Mexican. Made me wonder about

the authenticity of the food. Oh well, it was a job.

How hard could that be? learn the difference between

a burrito and an enchilada and you’ve got it made.

Food, after all, is a basic human staple. As a server,

you order it from the kitchen and the cook takes care

of the rest.

You bring the order to the customer on a tray, and

ask if there will be anything else? You refill the water

glasses, smile, hand them the check, and collect your

tip when they leave. How bloody hard can that be?

Well, it turned out not to be a profession best suited

to me. Too much, Yes, sir and Yes, ma’am...would you

like frijoles with that? Green chili or red? And such.

Once I dropped a tray with five dinners on it. I made

a hell of a mess, and royally pissed off the patrons,

the management and staff as well. More than once I

placed a customer order wrong and served up food

they didn’t want. I spilled drinks, brought food that

had turned cold. I made inappropriate comments,

like, try it, the chili peppers are plenty hot.

Long story short, after three miserable weeks, the

Mexican restaurant and I parted ways. And for the

next five years even the mention of Mexican food

made me nauseous.

I was grateful, however, that my loathsome ex-

perience wasn’t with a Chinese restaurant. That

delightfully tasty cuisine happens to be one of

my favorites. Besides, those Chinese folks are

smart enough to hire all Asian waitstaff who

know the difference between Kung pao chicken

and a Poo poo platter.

                                      -30-

Chris Hanch 10-16-2021

Something about Memory

 

You’re all caught up, a posting

from Facebook tells me. Check

back tomorrow to see more of

your memories. By tomorrow,

I will have likely forgotten

much of that which happened

today. Mark Twain once said

something profound, some-

thing worth remembering:

“When I was younger I could

remember anything, whether

it had happened or not; but

my faculties are decaying

now, and soon I shall be

so I cannot remember

any but the things that

never happened.” And

what’s remarkable to me

is, Mark never had Face-

book to remind him of

such things. Should

Facebook post some-

thing I purportedly

said 6-years ago, and

you happen to not like it,

with which you happen

to disagree, don’t blame

me. I was drinking back

then and can’t remember

lots of what I may have

said. However, I’m glad

to report that I am now

clean and sober. Heaven

help all three of us. Should

we even be around then,

check back with Facebook

and me 6-years from now.

                  -30-

Chris Hanch 10-15-2021