Some Other Time and Place

In all likelihood, you don’t know me.

And it’s quite possible I’ve never met

you. After all, millions of us spend a

lifetime in passing one another each day.

So many faces, names and places never

known, never remembered. It could be you're

writing this instead of me today, or perhaps

someone else all together who thought about

or told of it near or far on yet another day.

And so it goes each and every day never

making the news, never becoming note-

worthy or monumentally engraved. Perhaps

You have traveled to or visited San Francisco

or Boston, spent time in Frankfort or Rome.

There is a vacant farmhouse in rural Iowa,

an old train station in Kirkwood, Missouri

built around 1900, an enchanting castle in

Neuschwanstien, Germany. Could be we

crossed paths one day on a hiking trail in

the Great Smokey Mountains of North

Carolina. By the way, there’s a great place

for barbecue in Kansas City...Bryant’s, yes

Bryant’s, that’s it. I had the burnt ends…

What was that on your plate​? Ever been

to Boulder Colorado?

Chris Hanch 10-7-17

Revelations

Do you remember how proud you were

the day you learned to tie your own shoes?

And how amazed you were the first time

you took off peddling and the bicycle agreed

to balance you on two wheels. Can you

recall the moment vowels and consonants

made sense to you? Remember your first

experience with an umbrella, how it popped

open above you into a sheltering bloom,

keeping your head dry in the pouring rain?

Recall when just the right words popped

into your brain, allowing you to explain?

And do you remember that day when you

reckoned you knew enough to run away

from home?

When was it that the profound revelation

hit you, when you figured out that you could

change your mind if you wanted to?

Chris Hanch 10-6-17

Play for Me, Nice and Easy (for Ed Marthey)

Woke up this morning and turned on the TV.

Saw my cable was out, nothing but black

on the screen. I usually tune to music and

write poetry at this time.

Don’t have a radio either. It was destroyed in a

fire some months ago. No TV, no radio, no music.

How is a poet to write his lines in the dead and

deafening silence of the early morning?

If I had my musician friend, Ed and his piano

here, I could ask him to play. Something soft

and thoughtful, I would say. Go smooth and

easy on those keys.

Here’s a couple of bucks for your trouble. Go

nice and easy on those keys. I’m trying to write

poetry this morning, waiting on the damn cable

company to fix my TV.

Chris Hanch 10-5-15

The Dreamer's Dream

Finally, I do believe I’ve got this thing

figured out. (Finally, I say, after 70-years

and hopeful of surviving yet another day.)

Now of course, I speak for myself alone;

Others will most assuredly have notions

of their own. Our thoughts are often

personal, you see, and some are kept

silently sacred for good reason, I believe.

No one wants to be labeled as ridiculous

or a fool. At my age, it rarely matters

anymore what I have to say, so call me

crazy, senile or what you will. In any

case, here goes: This life of mine, all I

have seen and done, every sight, sound

and feeling, every word heard and spoken,

the Mississippi Rivers of thoughts which

have flowed, the Rocky Mountains of

hope and Death Valleys of despair have

all been part of a dream I have been

dreaming since retiring sometime late

last night. And when I awake, I will

have forgotten all of it. There will be

no sunrise to open my eyes. I’ll turn

over and fall back into sleep, my head

resting comfortably on the down-filled

pillow of eternity. And no one, not even

you dreaming your own dream shall not

remember me. Goodnight. Sleep tight.

Chris Hanch 10-4-17

The Last Line

The line, feeling inadequate, multiplied by a factor of five.

The envious field mouse admired the elephant’s poweful size.

The checkbook, line for line and needy, sought balance in life.

The forest fire set ablaze aquired an insatiable appitite.

Beside himself, the psycologist lost his inclination to analyze.

Magnified ten times, you and I outgrew our ability to empathize.

Robert Frost would have devised a rhyme for this poem’s last line.

I am no Robert Frost, but I do admire the elephant’s powerful size.

Chris Hanch 10-3-17  

Someone Out There

There is someone out there
with a song of beauty the likes
of which has not been heard
before.

There is someone out there

who will one day take up the
brush and paint a masterpiece
for the ages.

There is someone out there
who will discover a cure for
cancer, Alzheimer, who will
rid the world of diseases
which have plagued mankind
since the beginning of time.

There are so many someones
out there who have yet to be
revealed, some who shall one
day amaze with their beauty
and some who will repulse with
inflicted terror, the likes of which
our world has never seen.

There is someone out there
with a gun and a rage which
will never be understood.

There are those someones out
there, and who can say, today
just may be the day.

Chris Hanch 10-2-17

This Place

This place, this humble plot of land on
which I now stand has never before been
stood upon quite the same.

Here I stand alone on this humble plot of
land which has never known glory, has
never seen the light of fame.

This plot of land I occupy temporarily shall
remain nameless, the grasses of its story
growing humbly in the silence of no shame.

Chris Hanch 10-1-17