My Poetry

Sometimes at 3 AM in my dreams.

Sometimes awake in my visioned

imaginings, a found memory perhaps.

Sometimes it arrives with the wind

or on the wing, such a revolutionary

awakening. An eye-catcher, which I

may have passed and ignored a hundred

times before. That unexpected knock at

the door. A single word in a book,

sometimes, is the proverbial bolt of

lightning out of the blue. I could say

it happens that way come sunshine

or rain on any given day. It comes to

me in a garden variety, this tossed salad

of poetry. The lines may find a rhyme, or

climb the staircase of my mind unevenly.

There’s a leak in the roof of my reality.

A bucket underneath to catch the drippings

one by one is good enough for me. Only

sometimes, mind you.

Chris Hanch 4-18-18

Few Words Spoken

With few words today, and still I remain amazed.

Corn fields line up in rows, their secrets husked

and unspoken. Lobsters off shore rest beneath briny

seas. Mountains cast their long shadows into receding

valleys below, as few explore the depths of imagining.

Strange worlds are growing beneath our feet. We praise

the sun. The gods of wisdom and fright hide behind

every tree. All mysteries are exposed. It takes an eternity

of so little to amaze. And the words chosen to proceed,

are they coming from you or me?

Chris Hanch 4-17-18

Late in the Day

Late in the day, a golden day the sun has laid.

I have done all I was meant to do. No accounting

for my deeds which were few. My thoughts

were random, no plans have I made. Late in the

day. Tomorrow, the same? Not quite. In a word or

two, perhaps golden again, but then who can say?

Chris Hanch 4-16-18

Not Just Another One of Those Days

Ever had one of those days when you have

said to yourself, were I a Mendelssohn or

Monet, I may have done something more

masterful with my day? Had I conjured up

a bit of the Edison within, I may have given

more light to the world. Had the Ford part of

me been exercised more effectively, I could

have possibly driven farther to places never

seen. Oh but today, just a touch of Jobs and a

smidgen of Gates have allowed the digitizing

of my thinking. And I find that with a measure

of Kahn and Cerf, these words of mine are able

in light-speed time to freely encircle the earth.

Who knows...in his time, with Smart Phone

and Twitter, and the instantaneous advise of a

good friend on Facebook, van Gogh may have

been spared the loss of an ear.

Chris Hanch 4-14-18

                                     African American Drummer, Denver, Colorado, 1995.

                                                   Adobe Shanty, New Mexico, 1991.

In the Eye of the Retriever

This I know, my dogs depend upon me to feed

them, and provide for many of their creature needs.

I can teach them to retrieve, to lie down, roll over

and shake, but never will they laugh at jokes I tell,

no matter how uproariously amusing to me. In a

weird way some people are the same, many of whom

I find have no sense of humor at all. Come on now,

my timing may be off a little bit, but conceptually,

you’ll have to admit, that last one I told is pretty

damned funny. Okay then, try this on for size...fetch!

Chris Hanch 4-10-18