I Am There

At a point in life (and for me that was in my mid to
late thirties), I left the world of parental upbringing
and a course which society had laid out for me. I
chose a different journey to experience my personal
odyssey of discovery.

I Am There

I am there.
I am there.
I have come
this far.
My past got
me here.
No future lies
lies ahead
for me.
The time is now
and forever
it shall be.
I have arrived.
All along
the way,
Oh, sunrises
and sunsets,
miles and miles
of earth traversed
beneath my feet.
This was meant
for me.
I have opened
my eyes and
come to realize
I am here,
I am there.
Al last
I am home.

Chris Hanch 4-6-19

Urgency and the Pending Emergency

Unless there is an emergency

most will not see the urgency.

Life perpetually unfold its mys-

teries. We flee without haste in

case of flood and fire. We rush

to the bedside of a loved one ill

or on the edge of eternity. A gush-

ing faucet must be remedied im-

mediately. Otherwise routinely

we often fail to open our eyes and

see. The baby you held in your

arms just last week it seems is

on the verge of earning his or

her college degree, and is suffi-

ciently sized to carry you around.

The old friend you haven’t seen

in years appears, and you think

silently to yourself, what in hell

has happened to you? You look

into the mirror one day, and sur-

prise! Adding insult to injury, top-

ping the gray hair which you’d

swear was not there yesterday

are the sagging bags under your

eyes. And that star ballplayer on

TV happens to be 40-years younger

than you. He just signed a ten-year

contract for a hundred and ten mil-

lion bucks. And you’re drawing a

paltry twenty grand per annum on

Social Security. And your best friends

happen to be Tylenol extra strength

and Bengay three times a day. The

urgency you failed to see yesterday

slipped up behind you tip-toe silently,

and grabbed you by the ass...Gotcha!

Suddenly you pause to wonder, what

in hell, is today Thursday or Friday?

Hurry, hurry, urgency! You’ve only been

up an hour and this is third time you’ve

got to pee.

Chris Hanch 4-9-19

Something About Ideals

When my children were younger and

still under my parental care at home,

had someone asked me what I would

do to make the world a better place

for them when they grew enough to

be on their own, I may have answered,

stop the wars, eliminate famine and

provide good and decent jobs for every-

one willing and able to work. Those out

there who know something about gram-

mar and structure would say—there is a

better way. You used too many words

without a break, causing confusion with

the run-on sentence you have just con-

structed. Forgive me, dear reader, I have

been known to compound and draw-out

many a situation. Besides, those wishes I

have stated are pie-in-the-sky ideals which

in my lifetime or my kids could likely never

be achieved. There are just some things of

great and overwhelming proportions which

one man could never hope to realize. Now,

you take may grandmother for instance, an

astute student from the Old School Way of

thinking—survivor of the Dust Bowl and

Great Depression, who proudly yet grudg-

ingly sent her two sons off to World War

Two, had you asked her what she would

prescribe to help make the world a better

place for the next generation, she would

have most assuredly said—That sort of thing

has to be left to a power far greater than I.

What say we bake a batch of your favorite

oatmeal cookies, enough to share with the

neighbors? Let’s begin there.

Chris Hanch 4-8-19

Sometimes Weather

Sometimes weather is a friend;

sometimes a formidable foe.

It all depends on how the four

winds blow.

Nature nurtures and destroys as we

cheer and curse her fickle ways.

We check to see if there is a need

for an umbrella or sun screen today.

There is a fifty-fifty chance, the TV

weather woman says. (She has been

known to make mistakes before,

you know.)

Last night just past bedtime, the fury

of lightning and thunder struck with

a clamorous vengeance. I pray for

forgiveness; I did no wrong today.

I fell asleep with the lights on shortly

after midnight on a whole different

day. What were the odds, right or

wrong, fifty-fifty? I suspect she was

hedging her bets. Suppose it could be,

with a smile on her face, she was taking

no chances, and was just playing it safe—

the TV weather woman that is.

Chris Hanch 4-7-19

Professions and Dreams

As I kid, I thought of becoming a priest.

I fancied the black frock and Roman

collars they wore each day. Besides, I

thought it a safe bet being on the side

of saints rather than a sinners. I had given

up my childhood dreams of leading the life

as Roy Rogers with Dale Evans riding by my

side. I got to figuring that the age difference

and the distance between Hollywood and

the Midwest where I lived would prevent

such a thing from happening. After my

service in the military, I considered a career

in law enforcement, but decided handing

out citations for traffic violations and pack-

ing a lethal weapon was not my style. By

nature, I am a peace-loving, Hippie wanna

be anyway. Needless to say, I wound up try-

ing many different professions in order to

earn a decent living and support a family.

Be all that as it may, I find myself retired

today and living on Social Security, having

turned seventy two just the other day. And

now in my spare time which consumes 99.9%

of each and every day, I write poetry. I have

finally discovered who I really was in the

first place, and who I was always meant to

be. Simply put, at this point in time, I am

in life exactly where I ought to be. Screw the

frock and badge. Occasionally, though, I still

have fond fantasies about Dale Evans and me.

(What red-blooded American male could resist

falling head over heels with a cowgirl who rode

a buckskin quarter horse named Buttermilk?)

I do understand that I am somewhat resistant

in letting this ridiculous notion of mine go. And

you, dear reader, may call me a lot of things,

but crazy I ain’t. I do realize that Dale Evans and

Buttermilk passed away quite some time ago.

These days in reality, however, I find there’s a lot

of dust which has accumulated over the years

in this closet of mine.

Chris Hanch 4-6-19

What's Age Got to Do with It Anyway?

Yesterday was my birthday.

I had no choice (organs still

functioning and all) to see

it through into my seventy

second year. Actually, I

somehow managed to attain

this age quite remarkably by

surviving a series of days,

months and years all strung

out in a row –The luck of the

Cosmic Draw, I suppose.

In any case, an old friend

whom I haven’t seen in ages

sent her greetings to me via

e-mail. She stated: “Hi - not sure

I have this right,  but think it is your

birthday - so hope you have a good

day. I can't say I'm enjoying my 70s

but at least we are here! You must be

73?  If I am 75.” Oh my.., and I

replied: “Thanks so much, Pat. You

got the day right, but I'm only 72. I just

look like I’m 73.”

Chris Hanch 4-5-19

Plea for a Little Charity

If talk is cheap, my friends,

then indeed I have a bargain

for you. Today, this one day

alone and on its own, I shall

share in sparse measure an

economy of words which

when laid side by side will

begin then quite abruptly

lead you to an end. Period.

What I had to say was of no

real consequence anyway.

Talk is cheap, you see. Send

twenty-five cents right away.

A text message with your

credit card number will do.

Chris Hanch 4-3-19