Doing What Comes Naturally

 

Years ago it was not foreseen

that I would use the symbolic

term “pen and ink” instead of

“computer” to describe the

form of my writing nowadays.

Call me old fashion or romantic

that way. I’d rather be associated

with those writers of old who sat

in a dimly lighted room at night

pounding their typewriter keys,

or under a tree in the summer

breeze scribbling their thoughts

longhand into a notebook.

Computers seem too high-tech

and uncreatively easy when it

comes to writing prose and poetry.

Shakespeare may have felt the

same had he given up his quill

and ink well for a felt-tip or

ballpoint pen.

Now, I appreciate aspects of

modern technology today, but

there is something nostalgically

missing as the old man reads the

sports page of a newspaper at the

kitchen table over morning coffee.

Or seeing a young woman lying

prone on a mattress while diligently

journaling longhand entrees into

her diary.

There’s something grossly impersonal

about nearly everyone in society today

pressing the keys of their smartphone

or vocally conversing with the Alexa

A-I which leaves me frostbite cold.

There is something lost in the immediacy

of light-speed convenience. Something

is impersonal and unfeeling about virtual

reality. But that’s just old fashion me

who grew up to be 75-years tradition-

ally.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally

against technology. But respectfully

and with a measure of orthodoxy,

could you please put your smart

phone down and see eye-to-eye

when speaking with me?

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 9-29-2022

A Matter of Life and Death

 

Life can be beautiful in all its iterations,

and death as well. There are more reasons

to die than there are to live. The laws of

the cosmos shows us the truth of that.

Life ends and life begins again. There is

no escape from that—the tree and the bee,

the likes of you and me. Do and say what

you will, as the human species we were

given the gift of discovery—I am, I must, I can.

We speak not only for ourselves, but for

every Other which ever was. Paint a picture,

say it with an equation, put it into poetic verse,

make beautiful music alone, come together,

before it’s too late—life, death, rebirth,

creation, you and I, for all it’s worth.

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 9-26-2022

Another Day

 

Another day, more or less.

What shall it be for me?

I’m not at war, couldn’t

care less about gains and

losses on Wall Street or

diabolical plans some

politician has up their

sleeve. I say let the

magician pull a rabbit

from his hat. (I've seen

that trick done

a thousand times before.)

Don’t argue with the police.

If you know what’s

good for you, mind your

own business and keep

your big trap shut.

Take a lesson from the

drill sergeant you had in

the Army more than fifty

years ago—fall out and

smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

The world will never rid

itself from wise guys and

smart asses.

These days in my old age

I’m limited to certain things

I can and cannot do.

As Roger Miller said in

his 1960s hit song...”I’m a

man of means by no means,

King of the Road.” It took

me a lifetime to realize what

he was singing about.

Another day for me, one

more or less. Smokin’

‘em cuz I got ‘em. Doin’

and not doin’ as I’m able

and as I damn well please.

              -30-

Chris Hanch 9-24-2022

Nameless

 

She was born, lived her life

given her time and place.

All her friends and relations

have long since passed away.

She never bore children,

never recorded any legacy

or laid a single claim.

She was a good person

who never made an egregious

mistake, never for any reason

worth noting had she graced

the walls of any Hall of Fame.

A good woman was she

having done her duty without

fortune or fame. She was not

a stunner in looks, never stood

above the fray, presented

herself of average stature,

height and weight.

Think about it. For one brief

moment in all time consider

this, how many stars in the

heavens have lost their light

having passed alongside

countless numbers throughout

eternity without a ranking,

without being recognized

by name? Was she ever or

was she not?

In her life and with her passing,

no one could or would ever say.

What a pity, such a lovely

person who remains nameless

to this day. What a shame.

And to this day we give praise

and honor to the unknown

soldier who it is proposed

fought their way to defend

our county’s good name.

And it could have been she

is among the missing

who died one for all and

all for one anonymously.

               -30-

Chris Hanch 9-22-2022

How To

 

As a youth, I was inspired to draw

by Jon Nagy’s, Learn to Draw, on

1950s TV, and by the illustrations of

Bill Mauldin’s, Up Front, a WWII

book my father, a veteran, gave to

me.

As a youth, I was captivated by

Mark Twain’s Adventures of Tom

Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and

other stories my dad read to my

brothers and me at bedtime.

As a youth, I was impressed by

the visual intensity of black and

white imagery, the people photog-

raphy of Matthew Brady.

As a youth (and as an adult these-

days), people will look at me in

wonder and say, “Where did you

learn to draw?” admitting that they

can’t draw a straight line with a

ruler. I am quick to acknowledge

that to this day I use a ruler to draw

my straight lines. Using that con-

venient tool was a natural for me.

As for all the rest, it has been acquired

with an innate passion for the arts, and

dedicated practice over time.

                         

-30-

Chris Hanch 9-21-2022

Yesterday, Sunday

 

Yesterday, Sunday, off and on all day

thinking of friends and relations who

came before me and have passed away.

Sunday, an appropriate day for memories

such as these, especially for me not the

religious sort, a non-believer in a hereafter

of heaven and hell.

As a child I was raised otherwise, made

to recognize Sunday as a day of prayer,

praise and reconciliation.

One day inevitably, I too shall pass away

sans thought, sans feeling, sans memory.

But for today, Sunday, I give my thoughtful

prayers and praise to those, who at least

for now, live within the Memorial Eternity

of the Living Me.

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 9-19-2022

Something Profound Today

Something profound is bound to

happen today. Could be at home or

away, something natural or man

made, something profound or not,

either way, good or bad, who can

say, ? I’ll just sit right here and hang

out waiting in my place. Hope it’s a

slow motion happening in any case.

Have a hard time keeping up the

pace in my old age. Whatever it is,

should it involve me and I happen

to be on the toilet—profound my

ass, it’ll have to wait.

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 9-15-2022 

Cellularly Speaking

 

My cellular makeup has been

undone and remade over and

again in this lifetime of mine.

In effect, I am more or less than

the man I used to be. And given

the realm of possibility, it is truly

amazing that I ever came into

uniquely being me in the first place.

14-billion years in the making

since the Big Bang began its

cosmic expansion from virtually

nothing to all this matter is mind

blowing to say the least.

For those of us who are fortunate

enough to grasp the improbability

of this and all the stuff that ever

was, one must consider a single

cell when placed comparatively

side by side with all the other

living cells.

En masse, my cells must make

me a parallel universe unto my

own. What, given the matter

of all creation and quantum

physics wise, is up with that?

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 9-14-2022

"It"

As an infant I awoke

and I cried but, did not

know why? Hunger,

I suppose, a full diaper,

discomfort, could be?

Time and place had

no meaning to me.

No wonder, there

were no words or

memories yet to

describe what “it”

was, what “it”

could possibly be.

I was what I could

not see, not yet

formed into my

own universal reality.

And now at age 75,

nearing the end of life,

“it” was me, the “it”

I came to be, all

those words and

memories I learned

over time. “It” I

have come to learn

must come to an end

for you, for me, for

all that ever was, all

that shall ever come

to be. There will be

no “its” in eternity,

no peace, pain, no

turmoil or serenity.

Just as in the

beginning, no words

or memories to describe.

No sunrise to

open the eyes, and no

“it” to wonder, why?

              -30-

Chris Hanch 9-12-22

 

Some Day Over the Rainbow

The sun rose cockeyed today.

Crows fly backwards in a misplaced sky.

The limbs of trees cut the tune into ¾ time.

Cord wood has been maliciously maligned.

There is no rhyme to reason to end the line.

Two plus two no longer add up to four.

Upside down, all the windows and doors.

The rancher changed course and was

quartered by the horse. Topsy turvy the

mince meat pie. The season to end all reason

was chosen by the malfeasant conductor

of the Late Late Show. Gothic became

agnostic during the mid-term and no one

could explain. Glue lost its bond and

refused to hold on. You and I have not a

clue as to why things are the way they are.

The podiatrist awoke one morning denying

the existence of toes. Pass the mustard, my

reasoning is half-baked. The magistrate misplaced

his car keys and his whole day went to hell in a

hand basket. You ordered pastrami and discovered

too late that the butcher gave you corned beef

instead. It was then you realized you got up

club-footed on the wrong side of the bed.

There are no do-overs, my friend. Live with it!

After the Reformation nothing was ever the

same again. It’s no wonder old men tend to

succumb to incontinence. Here, pull my finger.

                                       -30-

Chris Hanch 9-9-2022 

Those Were the Days

 

I was 15 when I first got drunk on vodka at a

friend’s house when his parents were gone for the

evening. Some say, boys will be boys. My hangover

and my mother’s admonition the next day told me

that I had made a big mistake.

I was 16 when I was fed up with school and society,

and left high school never to return. Some say it was

too early. And I felt it was too late.

I was 17 when I enlisted in the Army with my mother’s

reluctant approval. I gave her no choice, refusing to go

back to school. I was just a kid who swore and oath to

the Constitution. Now my “ass belonged to the drill

sergeants” which controlled my fate.

I was 19 and still wet behind the ears when I got married

and had my first child. Not knowing who I was and hoped

to become, I was immature and not prepared to face the

errs of my way.

Fast forward and given the constraints of time let it be said,

I had a long road to hoe getting here to where I am today

in my 75^th year. And as the old adage may apply, better

late than never.

I suppose given patience and time, certain grapes ferment into

a fine vintage wine. Suppose then you could classify my life

more like the Thunderbird variety—a brand widely known by

urchins of the streets to have a kick-ass potency. Ah, but you

be the judge...Here, take a swig from the bottle of my life and

see, unmistakably a bitter bouquet, and on the pocketbook,

frugally pretty damn cheap.

                                               -30-

Chris Hanch 9-8-2022

Passage in Time

 

He, the old man, sat there in his

wheelchair noticing the elderly

woman across the room seated

in hers. It’s late and the day is

waning. He imagined the woman

years younger and wonders about

the life she may have had forty,

fifty, sixty years ago. Married with

several children, he’s guessing, or

perhaps single, committed to a

career? He bets she was a looker

in her day, pursued by many a

would-be-suitor. It’s of little or no

consequence now, he figures, for

too many years have passed before

the curse of old age had set in. Ah

sweet memories, all a flash in the

pan now. No regrets, though, they

did then what could be or that

which needed to be done.

Now here they were breathing

in and out as yet another long

day of enchanted and repulsive

memories comes to an end.

She sat alone, white-haired and

wrinkled in her chair across the

room. And he seated gruff and

rumpled in his time in place.

Neither of them with a single

word to convey. Orderlies came

and escorted them off to dinner.

Goddamned liver and onions again!

                            -30-

Chris Hanch 9-5-2022