Here and Now

Over the years I have told many a story with

my poetry. These have not been presented

in chronological order, rather randomly as one

might select books on a shelf at the library.

In one I am five or six years old talking about

my very first best friend. In another, I am a teen-

ager seeking a new adventure. Mostly though,

I portray adult experiences, more recent happen-

ings which I can relate with some experience

or thoughtful questioning. And now, there is old

age with all its losses and limitations. I write

about time and pain, one I have a limited amount

which remains, and the other which is bound to

plague me till the end of my days. Oh, I go back

and forth in my span of time. One day I am young

again, the next contemplating the residual of days,

           

who knows? The spine of the book in my mind

at this moment reads, Here and Now. I’m sitting

in my recliner relatively comfortable. A Liszt

piano sonata plays on Music Choice TV. The

old dog asleep at my feet; the young one waiting,

at the ready to bark at the next noise outside. Lazy,

late, February afternoon. Before and after no longer

matter. No immediate expectations from me. I am

nearly seventy-three, and as the aforementioned
reads, Here and Now. I'm writing, and I’m just fine.

                                             -30-

Chris Hanch 2-18-2020

Creation

1.

It takes something of mind to unwind,

some symphonic sounds from Robert

Russel Bennett’s, Victory at Sea. It

takes a moderate measure of pain to

allay. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

2.

It takes a place made sacred, blessed with

recliner comfort and glowing end table light.

It takes a hefty brew to open the reluctant

gates. It takes a willingness to accept defeat

alongside previous victories.

3.

A sleeping dog or two helps spread an aura

of tranquility permeating the early morning

room. It takes keyboard of discovery to fashion

words and phrases into place. And you reach

far out into space.

4.

Beyond the Oort Cloud of imagining, before

first light, you grab for an ancient oncoming

comet in flight. From stellar stuff such as this,

the universe unwinds. And just maybe at the

break of day poetry like this takes shape.

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 2-17-2020

Sight

Sometimes it’s seeing the forest for the trees.

Sometimes on a clear day, you believe you

can see forever. We all know someone who

can’t see beyond their own nose.

They say hindsight is 20/20. He or she never

saw it coming. See, I told you so. Believe it or

not, seeing is believing, yet sometimes you’re

surprised and can’t see it with your own eyes.

He’s blind in one eye and can’ t see out of the

other. Even a blind squirrel finds the nut. Kind-

ness is the language which the deaf can hear

and the blind can see.

Oh, I could go on and on...Enough axioms for

today. You see what I’m saying. I leave you with

this: The only thing worse than being blind is

having sight but no vision. —Helen Keller

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 2-17-2020

The Unsung Song

If I could write lyrics to a song,

I might begin with, Move Along,

Move Along.

I am no McCartney, though, not

a Dylan or Bacharach; can’t read

or play a lick of music either.

But I find the title and chorus line,

Move Along, Move Along is moving

and sublime.

I can see Stevie Wonder, Alicia Keys

and Elton John at the piano playing

and singing my song, Move Along,

Move Along. Haven’t come up with

the rest of it yet. That’s why I opened

this poem with, If I could write lyrics...

Makes more sense for me to end the

song with, Move Along, Move Along

then what comes before won’t matter

much anymore. Nothing to see here,

nothing to hear or do. Can’t even write

the lyrics to this friggin’ song…

Never was meant to be. Ain’t no good

for you and me. So, Move Along, girl,

Move Along.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 2-15-19

Advertising Disease

I have seen far too many commercials on TV.

It started back in the 1950s and has continued

some 60-years later and to this day. Test me.

Throw a product or service at me and I shall

answer back with a brand name. Toilet paper?

Scott, Charmin. Automobile? Toyota, Chevrolet.

Insurance? Progressive, Allstate. Soda? Doctor

Pepper, Coke. Cereal? Frosted Flakes, Fruit

Loops. Credit Cards? Mater Card, American

Express. Banks? Wells Fargo, US Bank. See

what I mean. I could go on naming names till

the cows come home, and I am no rancher who

rustles, herds or owns a bovine of any kind.

My point then? Brainwashing. I shall go to

the grave with all these useless brand names

indelibly emblazoned into my brain. An au-

topsy slicing and dissecting me will most assur-

edly reveal that I am riddled with the dreaded

Commercial Advertising Disease. He succumbed

to an overdose, over exposure hype to buy

and consume the Major Brands. Ah, but notice

this element of resistance which prolonged his

life by months if not years...the Generic Gene.

Let it be known, thrift kept him going when

his finances demanded his frugality. Best Buy

and Save were labels which ruled many a day.

This was sacrosanct in him which TV could ne’er

dissuade...biblical speaking that is.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 2-15-2020

The Poet I Am

I can stay in my apartment all day

and write poetry when it moves me.

I could say that I have withdrawn

into my shell because the world

is a cold, harsh place some days.

How poetic of me you may be

thinking, how eccentrically creative

and aloof. Actually, I’m disabled and

have a hell of a time getting around.

I know that doesn’t portray a

romantic picture of reclusive me—

The artist absorbed in his work

fed up with the ways of the world.

And to that notion I say, get over it.

I have. Still, there are those days…

Disability notwithstanding, they’ll

run you over like the mangy dog
you are.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 2-14-2020

Chaos

It’s organized chaos, I tell you, the ebb

and flow of traffic on the Interstate,

shopping malls in the sprawling suburbs,

aircraft taking off and landing, contrails

and jet streams overhead, cargo ships load-

ing, unloading, sailing the seven seas, Amazon,

Fed X, UPS and USPS pick-ups and deliveries.

Google, Twitter, Instagram and Snap Chat,

all organized chaos we live with, go through,

and contribute to. It’s everyday, non-stop

pandemonium in motion. Deployment of

troops and weaponry to the Middle-East,

Dunkin’ Donut bakers and shakers at 4AM,

federal workers, GM plant robots and assem-

blers, Amtrak and subway commuters, movie

goers, gondola rowers, lawn mowers, leaf

blowers, all organized chaos, subscribers,

violators of our sanity. Mankind, I tell you

is wittingly and willingly under siege. In

this day and age, we are befuddled, be-

mused and confused by the kaleidoscope

cacophony of chaos. Personally, I would

prefer the warnings shouted out in those

good old days of yore: Tebuchets yonder

on the horizon...Women and children inside

the castle walls! Swordsmen and archers

man the ramparts! Bloody bastards, we’re

under attack!

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 2-14-2020