Processed

We all go through a process,

you and I, rich-man and poor-man alike,

black, white, yellow, red and brown,

Some are splayed, some filleted, and

then again some, such as I, wind up

in sausage, finely ground.

Chris Hanch 7-31-17

A Treasure Found

Rummaging through boxes in the attic

you find a memento, and you bring it

downstairs to view in a better light.

Attics, dark and dusty, are meant for

storing things such as this. Constant

exposure to the light and mind, even

treasured keepsakes tend to fade over

time. It would be like eating a favorite

food every day. What you have become

accustomed to on a regular basis can

become stale and mundane to the taste.

A rediscovery such as this is like a shot

of Tabasco sauce which tends to spike

and enliven the everyday with surprise.

That item you found in the attic takes

you back to a time somehow lost between

the swiftly turned pages in the story of

your life. But with this, the treasure you

hold in your hands today, right here and

now, you have been granted the power to

reunite with that fuzzy feeling from the

past, so soft to the touch, warm and com-

forting as those woolen mittens you wore

as a child stepping out into the waist-high

snow on a cold and blustery winter’s day.

Chris Hanch 7-30-17

Lessons Along the Way

Save your money for a rainy day. That’s what they say.
It’s a Windsor Knot only if tied a certain way.

People shy away from those who constantly complain.
These lines I write are growing shorter each day.

Golden Rules I learned as a child which got me where
I am today, have been jettisoned one at a time to

lighten my load along the way. No one taught me how
to grow old gracefully. (I was absent from school that day.)

Recently, it seems, I turned around and looked behind me,
and my youth waved goodbye. He shook his head and told me

emphatically, “No way in hell am I going there. Old man, you
and those worn-out shoes of yours are definitely on your own.”

Chris Hanch 7-29-17

Hope for Discovery

I’m hoping for a discovery today, perhaps a

new exoplanet in a galaxy light years away,

one which lies in the Goldilocks Region of

the star it orbits, you know, occupying that

perfect porridge zone of “just right,”not too

hot and not too cold, a rock-solid mass about

the size of Earth where liquid water is likely

to flow. Astrophysicists theorize that there are

billions of those in our own galaxy, you know.

I’m hoping that today will be the day we’ll get

a signal from some distant place to let us know

that we are not alone out here in the universal

vastness of things. There are those who fear that

the discovery of intelligent life other than ours

could threaten the existence of humankind on

this tiny speck of a planet on which we live. I,

for one, am more concerned about the clear and

present dangers we pose to ourselves. I continue

to hope (and pray) that Trump and his crew of

inept miscreants are but a distasteful and cruel

alternate-reality TV show which will not be

renewed for yet another season.

Chris Hanch 7-2817

Do the Math

If x = y and y > z.

and should these

letters represent some

equation algebraically,

what then happens to be

the numerical discrepancy

between you

and me?

I’ll take on the value

of i today, and you,

let’s say for the sake

of comparison, select

the letter u. Let’s keep

our value =, not assessing

the worth of i >u

or visa versa, ok?

See, I knew

(at least

mathematically),

there had

to be

a solution

to our

problem.

Chris Hanch 7-26-17

The Junk Drawer

You open that junk drawer at home.

Everyone has one, you know, loose

unattached screws get tossed in there,

rubber bands, unwound lengths of string,

mismatched odds and ends, slivers of

this and that which became unattached

from who knows what. You have a

leaking kitchen faucet and you need

a washer, one lousy rubber disc with

a hole in the middle, a small nothing at

all most days, but today the cure-all for

a constant drip which if left unattended

much longer will eventually become an

inundating flood of water. One lousy

rubber washer which today of all days

could make your world dripless and dry

again. Your fingers fumble furiously

through the useless discarded rabble.

There has to be one of those little round

bastards in here somewhere. You know

there is.

Chris Hanch 7-25-17

Time-Bomb Reality

The time-bomb of reality is ticking, my friends.

The ancient river gradually washes its own

banks away. A tree which was there yesterday

has gone missing, and the landscape changes

forever.

The priest leaves his ministry of thirty-years, and

runs off with the town librarian.

Surprise! A new reality has opened the eyes.

There is this constant and pervasive tick, tick,

ticking in the air. Are you listening, are you there?

Be aware! It’s not always a bad thing, you know.

Thoughts and ideas are exploding around us all

the time.

Beethoven hit a certain combination of notes and

a symphony was born.

How often has a sudden thoughtful act, an unexpected

rose garden, or perhaps the simplicity of a genial smile

from a stranger completely blown your mind?

Chris Hanch 7-24-17