Shameful

 

Don’t get me wrong,

there are a lot of

good people out there,

but one would think

after some 250,000

years of human

development on the

planet, given all the

wars and famine,

given all the diseases

and stresses, all the

natural disasters,

the murders and mayhem,

we as a species

and society have

caused and endured

on a daily basis,

you would think

we may have learned

how to better care for,

understand and respect

one another.

Far too many of

our kind are living

proof that our actions

and apathetic attitude

tend to give

the jack ass

a bad rap.

And the only

dreadful thing

about being “woke”

is that far too many

are afraid to wake

the “F” up.

Just saying.

                                     

                -30-

Chris Hanch 3-30-2023

A Poet's Thought Today

 

Nothing profound or profane today.

Nothing brilliant or insane, the thought

of things in life to remain the same.

Thoughts of slow-motion stagnation.

Foolish he knows, nothing ever, not

even in a million years works that way.

But that’s what we do as life inevitably

passes us by, no emotion of laughter

or tears to arise before the eye as the

time slips away. Even the stars, millions

of light years away have something to

say about change. Acceptance he

figures is key, knowing the growth

and decay around him, within him.

What sort of fool am I, he asks of

himself? He laughs.

His emotion flows, and he knows,

life is the gift to grow or waste away.

Even his thoughts are transformed into

the words he writes upon the page.

Enough is always good enough. Life

and the living, until death overtakes,

will always find a way. He digs deeper.

Poets can always find something to say.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 3-28-2023

My Wishes

 

I have a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate order) taped

to my refrigerator. I told a friend over the phone

today that should I contract cancer or some other

invasive disease, I would not elect to have sur-

gery or choose to take chemotherapy.

For god sake, I’m damn near my 76^th year and I

live alone, figuring I have been around long enough.

I am disabled with arthritis and have no hope of

regaining any portion of the mobility I once knew.

Besides, I have been more places around this world

than most, and have had a full lifetime of experiences,

both good and bad. I am satisfied with what I have,

one day at a time.

My bucket list might include, dying a peaceful end

of life at home. Perhaps having a cold beer or two

while still able, not while I’m still functioning and

semi-ambulatory. (As a recovering alcoholic of more

than ten years, I’m sticking with my sobriety.)

I don’t subscribe to heaven and hell, so judgment

of me will be up to those who survive me. But

before my last breath, hopefully with still a mod-

icum of consciousness, I would like to see the day

when Donald J. Trump is convicted of one of his

myriad heinous crimes and is sent to prison.

Had I been a religious person, that hateful wish

of mine may be enough to restrict my access to

a heaven hereafter. Besides, when Trump is

meant to meet his maker, I’m pretty sure he’d

be bound for hell as well. And the thought of

spending eternity with him would get the best

of me.

Enough so, were I still alive, useless as

it may be for me, it may just give me pause to

reconsider resuscitation, surgery, even chemo-

therapy. Hellfire, castration would seem more

agreeable to me. Besides, given my age and

current situation, I no longer have need of my

equipment anyway.

                             -30-

Chris Hanch 3-25-2023

random things

random things

the blue bird sings

random

odds and ends

such things

odd and outa place

happenings

ocean’s deep

never sleeps

fish keep

keep

keep

keepin’ on

night and daylight long

monkey wrench

makes no sense

to the dyslexic elephant

crosses of ashes

signed on foreheads

of believers

for lent

bobby pins bent

to keep the curl

on the head

of the girl

weird world

say hey

any other day

sunshine or rain

the pauper complains

wheels turn

butter’s churned

who in hell explains

preacher don’t know

the blue whale blows

anything goes

after the rent is paid

dumb found its place

smiling on your face

can’t you see, man

it’s you not me disgraced

there is a time for everything

right time

wrong time

mean time

a time for song

a time to sing

bluebird

he don’t know no better

ain’t no law of the letter

that is why

because

because

because

there ain’t no cause

to wonder

random no matter

that’s why the bluebird sings

hush up your mouth

and listen

only two can tango

a bouquet of red roses

ain’t no rhyme sometimes

sometimes ain’t no reason

random things

the bluebird sings

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 3-25-2023 

The Big Picture--

 

the long and short of it, the before and after.

How you and I got here to this time and place.

Consider this—

The Earth is approximately 4-billion years old.

During that time, given the evolution of every

living thing, about 117-billion humans have

lived on this planet.

Driven by inertia and gravity, Earth’s elliptical

orbit around the sun is at an astonishing 67,000

miles per hour. It rotates on its axis at approxi-

mately 1000-miles per hour as the sun in turn

makes its way around the Milky Way Galaxy

at some 514,000-miles per hour.

(Now bear with me, I’ll get to my point in short

order, relatively speaking.)

It’s all very complicated, you see, considering

myriad scientific calculations which include biology,

anthropolgy, astronomy, astrophysics, quantum

physics and so on with which I am neither qualified

nor educated to contemplate, evaluate or even discuss.

Nonetheless, in order to illustrate my feeble intent,

I need to express my hypothesis with incomprehensibly,

ginormous numbers.

Now given all the scientific data and throwing in the

history and generational evolution it took we humans

to get here where we are today, I must utilize every

tool I have at my disposal (“Alexa”) in order to relate

the seriousness and complexity of our situation as

fellow cosmic travelers in this complex and massive

conglomerate known as the Universe, at least the

dimensional iteration of which we happen to inhabit.

In summation—

How hard the push must have been, and how strong

the pull is to this day. 4-billion years is a long, long way

to have come. And oh, the round and round elliptical

revolutions (inertia versus gravitational pull). And the

annual tilting on the axis, how in the world does it all

happen?

Yet here we are, nonetheless, the oblivious creatures

along for the ride of our lives. And all the life that is,

and all the life that ever was or will be is worried and

bemused by our history and petty beliefs. To us, the

course of our lives is simply predictable, birth, death,

all the payments and expenditures, the credits and

debits in between. This over-and-over-again repetition

can’t continue on forever, however. Oh well, what’s

forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, or a hundred

years compared to the universal ride of life we’re on?

And as the old saying goes, “Round and round we

go. Where she stops no one knows.” Dark matter,

the quantum and astrophysics powers that be are

in control.

And as we go round and round on the cosmic wheel

of eventuality, we fallible humans foolishly tend to

rely upon predictability. Not to worry, there’s not a

damned thing we can do about it anyway.

Take all of this in if you can in its immense, convoluted

and complex entirety, all the known and unknown we

face in this day and time. Given the numbers, imagine

all the realities and alternative possibilities.

Instead of you and I it could have been the unborn

other guy. And as of the here and now, why did we

decide on Burger King rather than Wendy’s for lunch?

Man, all this compelling and inane shit blows my

flummoxed and friggin’ mind! Scientifically speaking.

                                   -30-

Chris Hanch 3-22-2030

Monday, Monday

 

Monday Monday,

Robert bought a new car today.

Monday, Monday,

Becky went to lunch with a friend today.

Monday, Monday,

this one, this year, the first day of Spring today.

Monday, Monday,

cloudy skies went away.

Monday, Monday,

a meatloaf baked in the oven today,

Jesse ran a red light on the way to work.

A dog barked twice,

a mouse sprung the trap and lost its life.

Monday, Monday,

the plan is, calendar-wise,

this one, and every one before follows Sunday.

Life is great or not so nice.

Monday, Monday,

a chance roll of the dice.

Monday after Monday,

all the changes made came undone

except the one.

Monday, Monday,

whether heard or unheard,

what you have to say has already been said before.

Monday, Monday, this one and those which follow,

Monday will never be quite the same.

Monday, Monday, for some Tuesday will likely follow.

                                   -30-

Chris Hanch 3-20-2023

Prepositionally Speaking

 

I have prepositions nipping

at me from head to toe, from

above, below and often in-

between you and me.

Strange as it seems, without

those crazed prepositions

preceding us, we would other-

wise be in conjunction with

one another as you and I.

Then properly, sans the

prepositiom, we two

would be specified,

you and I. You and me,

you and I, confused?

Give it another try.

          -30-

Chris Hanch 3-19-2023

Me, Historically Speaking

 

What I have learned about history

is that incrementally and methodically,

I have changed every day markedly.

They stopped admiring my growth

over time as I inescapably grew old

and gray. No one expects to see

you persist after a certain age.

I have learned that it takes a hell

of a lot to grow old. Why, back in

the day, I had my way. But over time

biology and history have caught up

with me.

And we who have survived the ravages

of our allotted time are destined to pay.

So many others younger than I have

long since passed away. In life, I never

did manage to break into the literary

annals of history. Now, I’ve got yester-

year besetting muscle and bone, as a

rutted chronicle of time lines my dried

and leathery skin.

Might as well incinerate me when I’m

gone. Ashes scattered over land and

sea have a venerable, tried and true,

time-tested history as well.

Why hellfire, ashes to dust from 25,000

B.C.E. still exist. And so it shall be inevitably

with the history of me.

                                -30-

Chris Hanch 3-17-2023

A Time Before

 

As a newborn you can’t remember

anything because you have no words

with which to relate or identify.

Your brain is a clean slate not yet able

to comprehend. You have no idea what

your fingers, hands or feet are for.

Your sight is a blur, but naturally,

without nomenclature you feel cold,

heat, hunger and pain. No wonder you

cry or squirm around stupefied. Figuratively

in the vernacular, you don’t know shit from

Shinola, up from down or that that

is your finger sticking in your eye. Ah, little

one, all too soon the wonder begins. All of

us alive today got our start this way.

And to this day, there are still lots of

folks out there who don’t know shit

from Shinola.

                       -30-

Chris Hanch 3-16-2023

Let the Music Play on

 

At certain intervals during the day

I play music to accompany me as

I eat my lunch or read and write to

begin my day in the morning.

Music, various genres, classical,

jazz and some ‘60, ‘70 and ‘80s

oldies serve as a soothing salve

for my aging and aching mind.

Sometimes I’ll play Name That

Tune Game. If right, I’ll be satis-

fied and continue on with my

previous activity. If I’m stumped,

I’ll look up at the title on TV

music channel I’m tuned to; or,

should I be listening to tunes

provided by my Echo device,

I’ll ask, “Alexa , what is this

song?” And she answers me

immediately with the title and

artist.

I love my music, and especially

at bedtime at night. When I’ve

tuned off all the lights and

external devices, my brain

automatically continues the

musical stream as I am peace-

fully lullabied, and eventually

fall asleep.

Now, I am not your standard

religious believer in heaven

and hell in the hereafter, but

if I could have music to

accompany me through the

eternal darkness of death,

I would be appreciative and

mightily satisfied. Let’s begin

with the Beethoven Symphonies.

And then some Dizzy Gillespie

after that.

                -30-

Chris Hanch 3-16-2023

No One is Alone

I shake my head,

a rattling of words

to be heard.

My dog gnaws

at her bone.

She and I

are not alone.

I have my words,

she has her bone.

Out in the yard

a crow caws

from a tree.

My dog gnawing,

the crow cawing,

unraveled words

defined

and arranged

into this poem.

Including me,

no one is alone.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 3-14-2023