Picture This...

Mohamed Ali could float like a butterfly, and

with a well-placed uppercut, he could sting like

a bee.

Snakes and lizards, never complain about the

inhospitably of their desert terrain. And what

on Earth could be said about you and me—

friends perhaps, or diametrically opposed adversaries;

merely passers by in cars, strangers, who cross paths

daily on heavily trafficked streets?

Without rhyme or reason sometimes we just don’t

know. Which begs to question, Mary, Mary, quite

contrary, how does your garden grow…?

Sugar is nice, bit I prefer spices. This is where my

writing got me to today when I was left to my own

devices.

Remember this, when left alone, snakes and lizards

never complain. And Mohamed Ali, well that’s a whole

different story.

Confused? It’s all about imagery…words which paint

pictures, you see. And don’t forget, like it or not, poetry

can include rap music too.

Word Play is the name of the game today.

Chris Hanch 5-7-19

Travels Over Time (for Sindee)

Over the years my travels have taken

me to some deep and dark places. Oh,

and along the way there were also those

resplendent and sunny days. I spent far

too much time lingering in boxed can-

yon badlands trying to negotiate a way

of escape. I have known too many who

never made it out of the confounding

dead ends of their own undoing. I am

reminded of a train trip I took years ago

from Sydney to Newcastle, Australia.

It was a long trip, for it sent me from

daylight to darkness in a foreign land

with which I was totally unfamiliar. Pas-

sengers continued to disembark at the

many stops along the way, and no new

ones boarded to replace them. I began

to wonder, was Newcastle really a des-

tination I wanted to see? Well, it was late

evening when I finally arrived, and I was

the only one left on the train. I stepped

down from the car, and there was no

one at the station. (I swear, this was the

stuff of Twilight Zone Episodes.) The

nearest pub and some shots of vodka

and schooners of beer helped temporarily

alleviate some of the pain and fear. This

ludicrous and habitual behavior of mine

explains why I may have obliterated mem-

ories of you and others from my past. I am

truly sorry for leaving you and your friend-

ship behind. I was drunk and depressed.

I was self-absorbed and blind. Ah, but I am

dry today, and being old and gray and for-

getful in my way, I remember only some of

that which has long since been drowned. I

do thank you, however, for reuniting with

and reminding me. It has been a long ride

alone from the darkness of night into a light

of this new and more sobering day.

Chris Hanch 5-6-19

A Special Day, Today

Today is a special day:

I wrote a letter of admiration

and profound appreciation

to good friends.

I was button-busting proud

to congratulate my grandson

and his lady love on their

graduation from college.

I posted a photograph of young

people of varied cultures bonding

together on a bridge taken

several years ago.

My heart and mind are elated

in joyfully celebration of

a loving world today.

My sharing these blessings

with you and others

gives me great hope

for tomorrow.

My wish is that the sunshine

of promise reaches and warms

each of you in your own way.

Chris Hanch 5-5-19

Stagecraft

While sitting in the peaceful morning

I create for myself most everyday, while

I stare at the blank screen of the computer

in front of me, looking at the letters im-

printed on each key, wondering which

words will come to mind and inspire me?

It was then I thought of Shakespeare’s

famous monologue, the one about, “All

the world’s a stage, and all the men and

women merely players..Now, every thespian

knows that actors depend upon queues from

others in the ensemble to deliver their next

lines. Well, what if this is a one act play, and

you’re the only one alone on stage…What

in hell happens then? What if you’re dumb-

struck and at a loss for words? Sometimes

that shit happens, you know. Head down,

I suppose, and exit stage left in shame.

No curtain call today.

Chris Hanch 5-4-19

A Price to be Paid

With all the muscle and might which

can be mustered, you must pay. Each

and every day with tears of sorrow,

with smiles of joy and satisfaction,

you pay. Build and tear down new

worlds and old, even for the darkness

of night and light of day, willing or

not, all must pay. No one gets through

the maze of everyday Scott free.

There are no free lunches, it is said,

everyone must pay. It is much more

manageable if you pay incrementally

as you go. It was wise you saved for

those rainy days. The haggard old man

has paid the price with his youth; the

weary mother has sacrificed everything

to raise a family. There are costs to be

paid for good and bad deeds done and

received. For you and me, the bill comes

due eventually. Hidden fees or stated

outright in black and white, I reiterate

emphatically, there is always a price to

be paid. And for the opportunity at yet

another chance along the way, with each

and every breath taken, one way or an-

other, with gratitude or anger, everyone

must pay. A timely reminder, my friends,

the energy bill is due today.

Chris Hanch 5-3-19

Swear Word Use in the Modern Age, Today

When I was a youngster, many years before

you were born, I am sure, to call someone a

“bird brain” was an insulting and degrading

thing. Today, our disdainful vocabulary has

expanded exponentially. There are a thousand

more vile words in common use these days

which refer to idiots who do stupid things.

I myself am guilty on occasion of such unbe-

coming actions. Why hell, if called a birdbrain

today, I would be more than flattered, spread

my feathery plumage and fly away. I may even

circle ‘round my accuser and drop doo-doo on

their pea brain. There are similar words and

phrases rarely used in this modern day—

poo-poo, doo-doo, to name a few. I love the

vernacular used in the good old days. It seemed

so appropriately quaint. As I see it, beats the shit

out of the more acceptable vulgarities in use today.

Chris Hanch 5-2-19

A Mother's Wishing

I often wonder what my mother thought

about me, and if she had any ideas or wishes
for who and what I might grow up to be? She
has long since departed this life, and might

be amazed how things actually turned out for
me. An artist and writer? Well perhaps, but
not one of fortune and fame. Nothing against
you personally she might say, but in my

experience I have never known one of those.
And chances are...perhaps a salesman like
your father or a stock clerk at a grocery store.
Bet Mom never expected I'd be writing a poem

someday about what her dreams for me may
have entertained—a good boy generally, she
might say, but a poor performer with his aca-
demics in school. Unfortunately, not voted by

his classmates as “the most likely to succeed.”
I can see into her wistful eyes looking down on
me, as she somehow hopes for all the best.
Now go and wash your hands, Christopher,

she would likely say, it’s almost time for dinner.

Chris Hanch 5-1-19