The Measure of Time

 

We keep track of time before and after.

With time we wait, we stand in line.

In our lives, good and bad arrive and

leave in time.

Even light obeys it’s limits to shine,

186,000 miles per second. There is all

the time you need, never enough. Time

slips past us in our dreams, makes or

breaks us, lights the way it seems.

We are swept away in the rapids of time

as tomorrow cannot come soon enough

and yesterday fades away. Time and tide

wait for no man, they say.

And then it comes to pass, all too quickly,

one last step. There is no measure of time

left for that. It took 13.8-billion years in the

making to get us to this place. How much

more time is left for us to waste? Whatever

stands the test of time, only the Everlasting

shall proclaim.

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 12-18-2020

Playing the Game

 

As sports go, I love a good football game.

As the pros go, I follow my hometown

Chiefs in season. They scrap most every

game and manage to win more than lose.

I played some sandlot football when I was

a kid growing up, but wasn’t very good

at it. I was a skinny and lankly lad who

never achieved the muscle, mass or speed

to be an accomplished player.

I never did aspire to be a pro when I was

older. Never did I play Pop Warner nor

was I on any organized youth team. I didn’t

even make it to college which was a necessity

to prove your gridiron prowess and physical

acumen.

Besides, I excelled in the arts, and knew early

on that that was where I would find my rightful

station in life.

Punt, pass and kick was not my game, but

I could see myself on the sidelines taking a

knee in protest of social injustice during the

National Anthem. Even slimly-built, less

athletic, artsy types could have enough guts

to do that.

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 12-17-2020

A Fairly Fine Day

 

What’s to say about today?

Cold and gray, a mid-December

day.

Trimmed the hair and removed

dried tears from around my

pup’s eyes.

Talked with my son over the

phone. His sewer backed up

at 4AM in the morning. Four

hundred dollars to Roto-Rooter.

Merry Christmas!

Gave him a Christmas check

yesterday for the grand kids.

They’re at the age when money

means more to them than some

inane gift I might buy. Grateful

I had enough cash to give.

Listening to Beethoven at

4:30 in the afternoon—Moon-

light Sonata soothes me most

anytime of the day. Earlier I

listened to some Cajun tunes

which leave me in an upbeat

mood.

Wish my arthritic hips would

allow me to dance. I adapt,

none-the-less, tapping my

fingers to the rhythm instead.

Roasted chicken, boiled potatoes,

spinach for dinner, and chocolate

cake for dessert.

TV, I suppose, for later this evening.

Nationally, Biden and Harris have been

selecting some pretty accomplished

people for cabinet positions in

their upcoming administration.

The pandemic is still reeking

havoc across the country. I’m

saddened and angry that many

have died while million of Americans

are suffering illness and financial

difficulty.

At least I have sufficient funds

in my bank account, food on

the table and good music to

accompany my mood.

Given the ways of the world,

I can live somewhat smugly

accepting of my pain and

an occasional cold and

cloudy day.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 12-16-2020

Friends

 

Friends, good Lord where on Earth

would I be without the grace of friends

next to me?

One or two at a time to refresh my sour

and beleaguered attitude is what I need.

You are a gift in my life, a green light

awakening to appreciate, to share good

will and joyously proceed.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 12-16-2020

A Butler Mountain Story

 

I was asked to house sit for a couple

of college professors in Asheville, North

Carolina while they vacationed in Europe.

Their house was nestled in a serene for-

ested area of Butler Mountain.

I am an urban, metropolitan flat-lander

from the Midwest, so I couldn’t resist

the opportunity to spend a glorious

summer month in the captivatingly

beautiful Smokey Mountain Region

of the Appalachians.

The professors warned me that if I was

to go hiking in the mountains to be care-

ful to stick to the marked trails lest I

get lost or perilously wander into an

illicit encampment of the notorious

and temperamental Appalachian moon-

shiners.

And be aware of the black bears. Make

some noise as you wind your way through

the wooded areas to warn them you’re

coming. Other than that and likelihood of

getting lost or slogging through growths

of poison ivy, you should be okay.

What the hell, I got to thinking, I’m

a big city boy just wanting to spend

some peaceful non-threatening time

out in nature.

On a hike up to the top of Black

Mountain one fine day, I did see a

golden hawk majestically circling

above me, and was elated by the

call of it’s shrill whistling. Oh, how

I do admire and love the pristine

natural sights and sounds of the

glorious out-of-doors.

I’m especially fond of that which

is either unwilling or unable to shoot,

poison or tear me to pieces.

                  -30-

Chris Hanch 12-14-2020

What's in a Name?

 

My maternal grandfather died in 1956

when I was 9-years old. I have this photo

of him sitting sternly in an Adirondack

chair taken sometime during WWII in

St. Louis.

From what I’ve been told, he was a

quiet man of few words, a wealthy

man of means who had fathered

seven children and had more than

twenty grandchildren at the time

of his death.

I do recall my mom and dad taking

my brothers and me to visit him on

his sick bed every other Sunday or

so. My brothers and I were allowed

to say hello to him, and were each

given a quarter then shooed away

to go outside and play.

We went to a little corner store

and bought candy, then went to

a neighborhood park and played

on a merry-go-round.

I never sat on my grandpa’s knee,

and don’t recall him ever calling

out my name or speaking to me

personally.

And when he died I don’t remember

crying. Probably because I never really

knew the man who never said my

name to my face.

At the time, I could name just about

all of my twenty-some cousins. I some-

times forgot the babies names. I figured

that was okay, for they never did speak

to me directly either.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 12-14-2020

The Good Old Days

 

Ah, the Good Old Days!

Most everyone claims to

remember them.

Most everyone reminisces

about the Good Old Days.

Your Good Old Days

more than likely were

either before or after mine.

Unless we were together

way back when, we each

see things about a far

different place and time.

Had those Good Old Days

been shared in close

proximity between you

and me, one of us may

have been either a

king or a queen, the

other a pauper who by

the skin of their teeth

barely made it through.

I clearly recall who I was

at the time. Which one

were you?

         -30-

Chris Hanch 12-11-2020