My State of Mind Sometimes

 

Travels at home and abroad,

Leaping lizards, fried livers and gizzards.

Rustic rural roots, shined city slicker shoes

and mud encrusted country boots.

Sun shone glares and shaded glens, dismal

mid-towns halfway to nowhere, bed bug

infested mattresses shared.

Fear and loathing in Peoria, elated wellspring,

mine-shaft happenings, Rocky Mountain

highs, why me whys sometimes implied.

Captain Kangaroo attitude. A mixed myriad

of moods and modicum of wishy-washy platitudes,

sour-grape elongated facial attitudes.

Brewing oyster stew, a bit of nonsense me

and a bowl of oblivious you.

It is what it is, nothing more or less is said

face-off with the living and cheek-to-cheek

with the dead.

Hyperbolic fodder, comedic folly, cross-country

steamboat, Hello, Dolly. Is that a banana

under your apron or am I hallucinating?

Footfalls along the way, disjointed pathways

from Here to Eternity about which it seems,

upon awakening, my lifetime has been made.

Goodnight, Rachmaninoff, hum me a lullaby.

And as the saying goes, life is short...

Be there or be square.

                                  -30-

Chris Hanch 1-21-2022

What It Takes

It took Mark Twain to show me

how wonderfully witty and humorous

life can sometimes be.

It took Bukowski to show me

where the nasty and lousy abuse

of self and others can lead.

It took Carl Sagan to explain to me

the immense properties of cosmic

universality.

It took Joseph Campbell to

enlighten me on the influence

of mythology in our society.

It took John Wayne, Clint Eastwood

and Arnold Schwarzenegger to depict

what it’s like to be tough.

Mother Teresa and Fred Rogers

showed the way to community,

compassion and understanding.

Jesus Christ, Gandhi, Martin Luther

King Jr. conveyed the personification

of righteousness and self- sacrifice.

Mom and dad did the best they could, but

genetic predisposition threw some wrenches

into the workings of them and me.

The learning curve can come from myriad

sources and yet I find, it sometimes takes

a bunch of tries and a lifetime to get it right.

                                -30-

Chris Hanch 1-29-2022

 

If I was...

 

a Husky, I would be on a team pulling

a sled through the snow strenuously.

If was a harvest moon, I would shine and

may inspire lovers to spoon romantically.

Were I a tune, all day long, someone

could hum me melodiously.

If I was a fox, the hen house would be

enticingly open game for me.

And as a skyscraper I could rise stories

high over the city gracefully.

Had I been made of sandpaper, I would

be gritty and rough as could be.

But now being the man, old and gray,

I turned out to be snippy and curmudgeonly.

If I was Jefferson, heads, and buffalo,

tails, I’d still be old and wouldn’t be

worth a plug nickle monetarily.

Inflation, you know. That’s the way it goes.

-30-

Chris Hanch 12-27-2022

Almost Somewhere

 

Midday

halfway

between

sunrise

and

sunset

one foot in

one foot out

turning

around

earthbound

nothing

much

to say

nowhere

special

to go

up

down

spinning

around

lost

and

found

you

and I

wondering

what for

and

why

in this

intervening

interim

in space

and

time

homegrown

home alone

hopeful

of once more

tomorrow

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 1-26-2022

An Offering

 

Well, today is the day finally arrived.

To be picked up and delivered, seven

original works of my art, some four

hundred pounds of photographs and

writings neatly bound.

I have made this contribution of my

life’s work to my home State of Missouri

Historical Society. I am pleased that

my offerings will be available for the

interested public to see for a long time

to come.

Oh no, I am not yet ready to go,

although at nearly seventy-five

years of age one must plan for the

pending inevitable.

I feel as if I have sent my creative

offspring out into the world to spread

and share the best part of me with

generations to come. And for now,

I am basking in the Sunlight of Life.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 1-25-2022

Autocracy USA

 

Unfortunately, it is apparent

Our Great American Experiment

in Democracy is in critical condition.

Gerrymandered redistricting, white

supremacist, extremist militia groups

along with right-wing sympathizers,

a complicit Congress and the political

leanings of a majority appointed

Republican Supreme Court, under the

guise of fraudulent proceedings, are

succeeding in undermining our election

and voter validation processes across the

country.

Folks, we are in jeopardy of losing

the rights and freedoms granted

us under the Constitution. Of course

the blacks and other minorities, why

hell, even women have never been

given all the inalienable rights Our

Constitution purportedly grants

all of its citizens equally. What of the

sacrifice, the labor and death of

all those who gave everything

so that our Democracy could

flourish and shine as a beacon of

hope and light to the rest of the

world?

Shame on those of us who would

turn away, close our hearts and

minds allowing such a horrific

thing to happen. Our children shall

pay dearly, and history will not be kind.

                             -30-

Chris Hanch 1-24-2022

A Message to Humanity:

If one day, let’s say a hundred or so

years from now, someone discovers

this writing of mine, say in a binder

or a drawer, a cluttered closet or some

other library of antiquity, this unbound,

misplaced, random piece of my thoughts,

one of thousands I have committed to

paper for no other particular reason

than to speak my mind on a day where

nothing of historic proportions was

happening, and I had nothing of

particular consequence to say.

What if, let’s say, it was intended by

me to reach out into future generations

as a message in a bottle sent aimlessly

adrift, floating in the timeless sea of

infinity meant to let someone know that

I am stranded on this island, a desert

wasteland all alone. And likely by

the time you find this, I will have

long since dissolved into the nothing-

ness beach of unrecorded history?

And I have been reduced to and

shall remain one useless grain of

sand among the countless trillions,

no one of consequence, not even

the feckless TV, movie or gaming

industries would have an interest

in me and my story.

So, dear reader, the least I can do is

to dedicate this final offering of mine

to you.

I remain truly yours—The man who

under different circumstances, may

have been, but never was.

Anonymously,

Unceremonious Me

 

Perhaps Tomorrow We Shall See

 

Tomorrow, what on earth will be for

you, for me, for any and everybody?

Astrologist use the stars and heavenly

bodies to predict what will be. Look

to the sky and each night appears to

shine the same. Strangers on the street

pass by as strangers every day with-

out names. The rich get richer, it is

said, and the poor get poorer. There

are rules which apply and rules which

defy, rules with which we all must com-

ply. And what happens tomorrow has

already happened over light years

millennia ago. Perhaps tomorrow,

we shall see. Could be the last leaf

on the tree will surrender to the

harsh winter breeze. An infinitesimal

crack in the bridge eventually

leads to a disaster of collapse. Look

around you, my friends, tomorrow

is already underway today.

-30-

Chris Hanch 1-21-2022

Differences Between You and Me

 

I like dogs; you prefer cats.

I say felines are perfectly fine most

of the time. (And I say this in order

to create a rhyme within my lines.)

Either way, a pet is a pet

and I’d say, both cats and dogs

are perfectly okay.

You like apple pie and I’ll

stick with my chocolate cake.

Pie in the sky, by which you

may subscribe; still, I’ll have

my cake and eat it too.

There are these differences

indeed to be noted between

you and me.

The preposition “between”

you and me is grammatically

correct. Otherwise,

“you” would still be appropriately

stated first, and instead,

“you” would be followed by

“I” not “me”

which seems ludicrously silly

because “by” is a preposition as well.

Confused? I confess, I am too.

By the way, ever been told

to mind you own p’s and q’s?

What’s up with that?

The hell with cats and dogs,

and the differences between

you and me.

Let’s begin again,

this time alphabetically—

A B C D E F G...

           -30-

Chris Hanch 1-21-2022

 

Forever and Ever

Two years ago I lost my Chihuahua, Apollo.

He was eighteen years old and in bad shape.

Blind, emaciated, weak and losing more hair

than usual. It was his time to go, although

still, he was tenaciously hanging on to life.

Not wishing to see him suffer any longer,

I had him euthanized. It is, I guess, what we

as compassionate and responsible humans are

supposed to do. He, as a strong-willed living

creature instinctively clung to every last

second of life no matter how painful it was.

No matter how bad things are, it’s what

animals are instinctively built to do. For

them, there is no concept of illness or health,

no ideology of devils or gods, no joy or fear

of heaven or hell. Life and the hereafter are

now, every minute, every day, every breath

taken, only the here and now.

We humans with our misguided intellect and

farcical notions and bogus beliefs in something

inevitably better awaits us around the bend.

For us, it’s the promise of forever and ever

without end.

I admire the dogma of dogs which happens

to instinctively be—survive no matter what

comes. This is it, all I have. I shall live by that.

There is no other way it was meant to be.

I had Apollo put to sleep because I felt his

pain and was an insufferably weak and

fearful human being. What else was I

supposed to do?

It was then with Apollo’s last breath, I realized, he

never once rationalized, scrutinized or apologized. 

And each breath of mine became more meaningful

to me. Thank you, my friend. Good boy, Apollo.

Good bye.

                                 -30-

Chris Hanch 1-20-2022

Something about Signatures and Friends

Quite some time ago, before he died,

my uncle Buddy told me that he was

not very popular in high school, and

that he more than likely signed fewer

than ten year books of fellow students.

Huh, I thought to myself at the time,

I was worse off than that, having

dropped out of high school in what

would have been my senior year.

I probably knew fewer than ten

students by their first and last names.

I stormed out of that place in a huff

one day and never returned before

the year books were even handed out.

In my case, no clever sentiment was

needed; I had no friends worth remem-

bering; and no signatures were required.

A few years later in the Army, I had one

good friend at a time, Earl Foster, I recall,

and got a GED instead.

-30-

Chris Hanch 1-15-2022

Indulge Me, Please

 

Allow me to bring you up to date.

Yesterday, cold and cloudy was

less than great. 1947, the year of

my birth, was a very good year.

I don’t recall the particulars of

that event at all, but so I was

told by those who were there,

most of whom have since become

the Dearly Departed. The nearly

seventy-five years I have been here

have flown by, my sordid history

has summarily swept me off my feet.

Oh for me, there was a heaven on

Earth as well. In any case, I’ve

somehow managed to make it all

this was into the 21^st Century.

Some of my contemporaries were

no so fortunate, many of whom

I can recall the years of their birth.

For the most part those were good

years as well even though we may

mostly agree, life can be a bitch

sometimes. And should you be

among the lucky ones, well now,

you’re all caught up, and here I

am to tell you.

                       -30-

Chris Hanch 1-11-2022

Sunday, Sunday

 

The holidays play tricks on me,

each day of the week seems like

Sunday to me. Now being the

retired guy from work and society,

such an illusion is not that relevant

for me, you see.

I have no other place to go or be,

nothing much to do or say.

Each day now, Sunday after Sunday,

monotony in time and place, and me

hobbling alone into the old and gray.

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 1-9-2-2022

Old Men

 

Old man one, Athens, Greece.

Old man two, Sydney, Australia.

Old man three, Quincy, Illinois...

Old man me, more than four,

seventy-two years more than three.

Old men here, there, everywhere

as far as the eye can see,

old men destined for the dust bin

of history. Ain’t it a shame, but it’s

all in the game—that’s

what so many young men grow

up to be.

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 1-3-2022