Scenery

Leisurely standing around on a sandy

Beach watching the ocean roll in doesn’t

Entice me to swim. Gazing at the rising

Mountain peaks just a short distance away

Never inspired me to climb. Likewise,

Driving through the vast expanse of

Planted wheat fields is a wondrous sight,

But realistically, farming is not a calling

Which ever appealed to me. Scenery—

Desert’s desolate landscape baked, river’s

Wide rolling passageway to the sea are

breathtaking sights indeed. Yet I am not

Moved to venture out or explore. But,

I will admit that I’m the product of the

Big city (born and raised) where concrete,

Steel and glass, and the choke of freeway

Traffic forever consume my view, where

I have skillfully adapted to looking both

Ways before crossing the street, even though

The light may be with me. A guy could be

In some serious trouble, even get hurt or

Worse around these here parts if they’re

Not paying close attention. One stands a

Far better chance with the sharks when

Their feet are firmly planted on the beach.

Chris Hanch 2-9-17

Wait and See (a game of words)

I am a different man than I was yesterday.

Inevitably things change. Some days I find

Myself formed anew by that which I feel

Compelled to say. Yesterday, in memories

Retrieved, I was a child at play; Today, thus

Far in reality, I feel old and gray by in large

Due to a plague of arthritic pain exacerbated

By an acute onset of advancing age. I do on

Occasion have those days where I choose to

Cherry-pick text from a tree of ripened vocab-

Ulary, yet fail miserably to state the proper

Position of my abstract reasoning. Some days

Are portrayed in darker shades of fear and

Rage; others are colored brightly in joy and

Tranquility. But that’s just me, fraught with

An ever-changing reality. Today, I am at a loss

As to who or what I shall be. And after I finish

With this retrospective of absurdity, I shall refrain

From any further notion or possibility. I’ll wait

Patiently for some proper inspiration to propel

Me into the next me I could be. And with a

Mixed bag of hope and trepidation, you and I

Will just have to wait and see. I suggest we

Pray for the best. I’ll try to avoid uniformity.

Chris Hanch 2-8-17

Something Happening Today

Something will happen today. When, where or how

Is not for us to say. Etna may rumble far below its

Base; clouds may unite into a storming rage. A poet

Writes her stanza and turns the page. Something,

Somewhere, somehow, beyond the realm of under-

Standing is bound to take place—Perhaps a child-smile

Which floods the parent’s soul with grace. All of us can

Be filled with hope for some glorious happening today.

Chris Hanch 2-6-17 

Again the Rent

I paid the rent today, and one more month

Passes before the grave as I rotate gravitation-

Ally around the black hole center of The Milky

Way and Sagittarius A*. We, here on Earth,

Rarely if ever consider our positioning hanging

Out here between two spiral galactic arms in

The vastness of universal space. And as I wash

My face and brush my hair, as I fastidiously

Prune some scraggly whiskers from my beard,

I am gobsmacked with the profound naivety

Of my thinking—the rent I have just remitted

Like me is rotational. So, round and round I go,

Month after month, year after year, not being

In actuality all that far from the galactic center

Of things—Sagittarius A*, home sweet home.

And as for the rent, I say (Ha!), a mere pittance

(cosmically speaking), such a laughably insigni-

Ficant price to pay. Think of the light years it
Took us to find this place.

Chris Hanch 2-3-17

Simply Put

I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it is to change

the channel on TV from the cacophony of partisan

political blather, to tune out the symphonic circus

of incredulous commercial crap which constantly

invades my sensibilities. Oh, to break away, to escape

for the day from the eye and ear barrage of nonsensi-

cal audio and visual buffoonery promulgated then

transmitted electronically onto the flat screen which

window invades, indeed stimulates this tumultuous

rage against all that is inspirational and decorous.

Folks, me thinks, indeed, something is rotten in Den-

mark. There is this perverse hops and barley distilla-

tion of disgust being brewed and transmitted into

my already fragmented and severely disrupted state

of mind. I have become inured, unduly infused, intox-

icated with the farcical fermented values of an addic-

tive society. Where is the sobriety, the unvarnished

truth and respectability? What ever happened to the

affable and amenable likes of Captain Kangaroo and

Bullwinkle J. Moose? At least through them there was

something of value to be learned while enjoying, at

times, a hearty laugh. I have changed the channel to

one of those “all music, all the time” programs. The

classical broadcast is sublime. As for all the other crap,

simply put, I can’t begin to tell you.

Chris Hanch 2-2-17

A Subtle Scene from Santorini

On the Greek Isle of Santorini in the South Aegean Sea,

there are two ways to move necessary supplies and mer-

chandise from the docks up to the towns which are most

tenuously perched alongside and atop the 800-foot high

cliffs of the horseshoe caldera: Either drive by motor ve-

hicle along the steep, circuitous, and ofttimes hazardous

roads form sea level up the dizzying climb to the intend-

ed destination, which can waste a good deal of time. Op-

tion two would be to strap goods, or perhaps side-saddle

a paying passenger to a well-adapted and sure-footed

donkey, and then plod up a vertical rocky trail much

more directly to your destination. The latter is a tried

and true method which has been employed successfully

for millennia.

I could spend hours observing the comings and goings

of these pack-animals and their dedicated handlers. Both

are precision masters of their profession, and are driven

by muscle memory each and every step of the way. In-

deed, they make quite an efficient and admirable team.

Day after day, without major disruptions or visible signs

of disgust or complaint, master and beast haul their cargo

with unrelenting determination, trip after trip seven days

a week.

Usually at the same time everyday, a bag of oats or some

other grain is strapped behind the ears and over the don-

key’s muzzle—It’s lunch time and a well-deserved respite

from their labors. The handler sits straddled atop his hoofed

comrade in commerce as he looks out, ruminating pensively

over the emerald-blue, sun-kissed Aegean Sea. I feel privi-

leged to witness this simple yet subtly powerful scene, this

living and breathing, on-going snapshot of history. I sit in

humility and awe as century after century spread out seam-

lessly before me.

Chris Hanch 2-1-17

The Pause...

There is a pause between words in

The conversation, a pause between

Thoughts spun in the brain.

There is a pause between notes in

Beethoven’s musical score, a pause

Before the engine ignites,

Before the toddler takes her next step.

There is a pause in mid-air flight before

The crow’s next flapping

Of its wings, a pause in the speech to

Emphasize some meaning presented

Before or after, a pause

Between heartbeats. There is a sudden

Stillness, the wind hushes, limbs hang

Motionless, clouds freeze

In place just before the storm. There is

A pause between loss and the shedding

Of tears, a hush before

The blinking of an eye, a split second,

A timed delay between on your mark,

Set...go. Even the sun

Hesitates briefly before the break of day.

We tend to pause ever so slightly before

Saying, “Well, maybe…

Someday.” Pay attention, my friends, to

The calculation, the precise and concise

Placement of the pause.

What follows may just amaze. Be ready.

The pause...it’s woven into the fabric of

Each and every day.

Chris Hanch  2-1-17