Still Cancer-Free . . .

Still CANCER-FREE . . .

After a year my baby boy is still CANCER-FREE . . . My boy is now nineteen, going to college. And every four months we sit and worry through those TESTS. Scans of every kind, it takes a whole day. I’m not complaining, my baby boy is still CANCER-FREE.

CANCER is still a killer, though research has made remarkable strides in the last five years. And more importantly, families don’t feel so alone, not so isolated any more . . .

Sure you still lose friends, but new friends are gained also and so is that new found wisdom. And now there’s a regimented procedure for most kinds of CANCER. How much Chemo is necessary? How much radiation? Surgery? Sure there’s still the hair loss, but the side effects such as nausea is manageable.

The studies have created guidelines for the cure. That means to you and me, there’s HOPE, there’s survivors . . . No more just lying down and rolling over one last time . . . They know how to fight the BIG-C.

I’ve learned that CANCER is about survival, survival of the fittest, a fight of tooth and fang. Whoever tires first is going to be the loser . . . And attitude is all of it.

Keep the faith . . .


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

AT Dream Training
Day 25 Zero Days 4
Current Miles/Day (20 M/D) 8.6
Total Miles . . . . . . 135.2
Average Miles . . . 5.4
Weight Loss (100 lbs). . 15 lbs
( ) . . . My Goals Go to Trail Journals

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

My Mission . . . Dreams are yours to share is dedicated to DREAMS, learning to dream again, learning to be happy again. Everyday we are bombarded with unhappiness, news of wars, killings, lies and deceit. And no where can we go to balance the load . . . My message is simple, change only happens when we change. Happiness is contagious and it stops wars dead . . . Find you bliss, follow your dreams, live a life with no regrets . . . Dreams are Yours to share.

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
This Side Of Midnight
The World Outside My Window
Dan Hanosh poemhunter.com
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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Getting in Shape for the AT . . .

Getting in Shape for the AT . . .

That’s right, I am getting in shape. I’m on a diet and walking the neighborhood . . . I’m up to two laps a day, around three miles. I’m planning on making a dream come true . . . I’m planning on attempting the AT. Now my success isn’t tied to finishing. For me, it comes by putting my foot on that famous trial and just taking a step.

For so many years, I have wanted to hike the path and have had to resolve myself to never doing it . . . Now I know that the dream for me is taking that first step and knowing I did . . . And I know after that first step, I’ll take the second, stay the second day, walk the second hundred miles because I’m not one to quit once I’ve bothered to start.

And of course I will blog along the way, somehow. For Dreams are yours to share, and I will definitely share my dream for all to experience . . . There is so much I want to write, so much that needs to be told, so many people to ask why? Why must you walk this path? What is this pilgrimage that we must make? We are complex beings us humans . . . And I’m pretty sure the answer will come back something like this; we all want to know that we haven’t squandered our life, the gift that was given to us.



Trail Journals



We are such complicated beings.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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Sitting on a dock of a bay . . .

Sitting on a dock of a bay . . .

Many years ago, I sat on a dock of a bay wasting time with a stranger and I found evidence of what I suspected all along. Were all connected. It doesn’t matter what color our skin is. It doesn’t matter what our religion is. It doesn’t matter where we grow up or even how. For the most part, all of us think the same and we all are good people.

And on a dock in St. Augustine, Florida, I met a stranger, he fished and we talked . . . He was from a much different life than I and his dialect depicted that. He fished to bring food to his table, most fishermen fish to bring food to their family’s tables. He talked and I listened . . . He told me of discriminations, lies and tragedy. He told me of his job, jail and of his family and their burdens. And I listened. As a writer, I’ve learned how to listen. I’ve learned how to feel, their pain.

Their stories; their dreams is why I write . . . They must be shared.

Sitting on a dock of a bay, wasting time . . .


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
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Dreams Are Yours To Share The Story . . .

Dreams Are Yours To Share, The Story . . .

Many years ago, when I first started writing I met another writer. I bought several of his books and he signed one. Later I read his message along with his signature. His message moved me and I began on a search to find my own message, a signing message . . .

Today it’s much more than that. For it’s more of a life changing doctrine to live by. Share your dreams, live your dreams and be happy . . .

My dream began on a trout stream so many years ago. And there’s never a moment that I regret my path. I have always been a writer, I just didn’t know it. I was different than almost everyone else, you see I felt every pain, I saw every indiscretion, every struggle. I didn’t understand . . . Why me?

And on a trout stream I began to write and then I knew . . . My path was to share the dream, share their stories. My message is to you, Dreams are yours to share . . . Live your dreams and dare to dream, be happy.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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Where did I grow up . . .

Where did I grow up . . .

When I was a boy, ten years of age, I wanted to be a Geologist. I loved rocks, rock formations and especially fossils. The very first I ever found was a Trilobite an Arthropod. I was hunting along a railroad track.

My area was teaming with shells, limestone, quartz and coal. Occasionally I would find sandstone and once in a great while a piece of petrified wood from along the river. And in a lake south of where I grew up they found a Mastodon.

And just from that description you just might guess where I grew up . . . Not yet, eh?

The Mississippi was fifty to eighty miles to the west. In a field not far from my house we found loads of arrowheads from the local Indian tribes, the Fox, Pottawatomie, Sauk.

Barb wire was first created in a town thirty miles to the west, home of NIU . . . Any idea yet?

My hometown was known at one time for windmills . . . Home town of Dan Issel, leading scorer of the ABA, once a member of the Kentucky Colonels and the Denver Nuggets. And the once quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengal’s, Kenny Anderson.

Answer . . . LI, aivataB (backwards)


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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To Be Or Not To Be . . .

To Be Or Not To Be . . .

Several years ago I followed several AT thru-hikers on their attempt to complete the AT. So many try and a very select few ever complete the two thousand mile journey. I was curious . . . Why does someone attempt such a feat? Why do they fail?


Trail Journals


And I came away with my own answers from so many as I followed them. The trip is their Mt. Everest. They want to be different and don’t believe anything can stop them. And they want to prove it . . . We all strive to be different, we all believe we are.

What beats so many thru-hikers? It’s always the same . . . Themselves. Sure they have injuries, depression, loneliness sets in, shortage of funds or maybe time. But in the end it’s always the same, they just stop walking. Everyone rationalizes why . . . Most come back for another try. It’s just something huge they’ve left undone.

Now, if I resolve myself to hike . . . That’s if the wife let’s me, if I can find a way to duck my responsibilities for a while . . .

The end will not be as important as having started. It won’t be as important as the hikers I meet along the way or of their stories . . . I know I’ll have to stop at the place where Audi Murphy died . . . I have to give my respects to a WWII hero. And I know I’ll have to take pictures and blog along the way . . . And write poetry, Journal and write letters, for that’s who I am

. . . I’m a writer, I write.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

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Let's take a hike together . . .

Let’s take a hike together . . .

For so long I’ve dreamed of hiking the Appalachian Trail, the AT. For so long I’ve wanted to hike that trail and haven’t . . . To go from Georgia to Maine, to follow the path that so many have trudged.

I probably won’t, but it keeps tearing at me. Maybe it’s the freedom I seek or maybe it’s tying me to the past. What was it like living in the 1700’s in the states?

Maybe a two thousand mile hike is a pilgrimage to find oneself? Maybe it’s just in knowing you finished it or just in knowing you tried. Is it the beauty or nature picking at you?

I know why I won’t . . . The reasons stack up so easily. I can’t commit for six months. I’m too Old, can’t do it alone. I weigh too much, haven’t got the funds. Maybe I fear trying, fear failing. It’s not the right time, but then when would be? What about my writing? My blogs?

Well, I could get in shape. It would give me a goal. I could blog along the way. Maybe I could go after my novel is done. Maybe start planning and see? I don’t have to go, but if I did I could probably go next February or March? But you won’t finish . . . I don’t have to finish, I just have to start.

Maybe I’ll just start with a plan and see where it takes me . . . Maybe I’ll just start with moving one foot.

And go one step at a time . . . Hikers Journals – 2007


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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I Have A Dream . . .

I Have A Dream . . .

I have a dream that one day the world will walk as one. That we will throw away thoughts of hatred and realize that we are more alike than we are different . . .

I have a dream that we will one day embrace our brothers from all over the world and work together to solve hunger, health care, poverty, slavery and the killing . . . I have a dream to rid this world of war once and for all, to take killing out of the political arena forever.

I have a dream that we face our challenges with love and not hatred, that we offer our hand rather than our sword.

Once I believed that the United States stood for Honor, now I’m not so sure . . . We our traveling on a road disillusion, our leaders aren’t sure of the way they should take us . . . We have little choice in following or do we? We are not Republicans nor are we Democrats before we are Americans.

As Americans what is our legacy? . . . Will our children be proud, the way we were?

I have a dream that my United States will come together again in peace to be the great role model we always thought it was . . . That we will never start a conflict, and always come to the aid of the weak. That again we will hold our constitution to be sacred and be the keepers of the eternal flame for all that is good. And never to go against the Geneva Conventions, never ever . . .

I have a dream, that our leaders will always do the right thing even when it goes against their parties wishes. And the dream starts with each of us . . . We are the keepers of the flame . . . Only we set the bar for our leaders. If it’s too low than we need to expect more from ourselves. If they lie, we can not. If the steel, we can’t. If they cheat, we must hold them responsible.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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Bill . . .

Bill

I couldn’t sleep, someone haunted my dreams. He came from my past, several years before. I met him when I was in the computer business, a customer. Everyone does things their not proud of, for oh so many reasons. Mine was trying to build a business. Some of us have no business . . . in business, that’s me.

The man of my visions was seventy plus years of age, his name was Bill. He was retired. A friend, his brother in-law had introduced us. Bill lived in a trailer park off a busy street. I remember driving to the trailer park. It sat across from a large cemetery, white markers lined the road. And a feeling of sadness entered my thoughts, I didn’t know why, not then.

I turned onto his drive. Shabby trailers lined the pot holed pavement one after the other. I drove by his trailer there wasn’t a place to park. I continued on, maybe there was another further on, there wasn’t. Turning around, I thought about leaving and running for cover of home, but Bill was standing by his car, a faded green Oldsmobile sat rusting in the drive. Bill stood motionless, probably wondering if I was there for him. I stopped and opened my window. “Are you Bill England,” I asked? “Yes,” he said.

His expressionless face never changed. Dressed in faded worn wrinkled clothes, long gray wisps combed over a vacant field of hair. His graying starchy bristles dusted his mouth. A weather beaten face supported a sandpaper growth of several days.

He wanted me to park next to his car, a spot half the size for comfort. Slowly I threaded my GMC into the opening. When I opened my door, I tapped his car, leaving me just enough room to squeeze my oversized frame out of the cab. It felt like peeling a wrapper from an old piece of bubble gum. I really needed someone to push on one end and pull on the other, but eventually I got out. “Nice day,” I said, trying quickly to forget the embarrassing moment. “Yea, I suppose,” he said.

In my mind I secretly hoped I didn’t mark his old rust bucket. At least he didn’t go over and start examining the car closely. To be honest, I was more concerned that I might have dinged the paint on my door, crappy green on black, great.

There five minutes and things were already going south. Sometimes we cherish what we value, but more precise I was concerned how I could possibly make enough from this old man to make all my trouble worth it? Not nearly enough, although I had to keep telling myself I was building something for the future, a business . . . right.

His trailer was from another time, built many years ago. It was made from dull sheets of aluminum, flat silver patched with gray bondo. Pre-cast steps led directly to the door. Once this trailer might have had designs of sitting at some exotic lake setting, but this was no lake property.

All the trailers sat intertwined with each other, merely additions to an odd sort of family. Strangers brought together out of necessity, they call this low income housing.

Bill showed me in. A black and white TV blared from the corner of his kitchen table. A computer took up the rest of the dinning space. A pull down light blocked my view and any traffic in and out of the kitchen. A half filled pan of water sat on the stove, next to it was an old round edged pink Fridgair.

Covering the doorway leading to the hallway was a sheet of opaque plastic. The entryway led to two bedrooms, one was cluttered odd stuff and had not an inch left to walk. An old window air conditioner sat on the bed.

Bill was an alcoholic, that’s what Joe said. But that was long ago. Once married, no longer a father. I wondered how anyone could no longer be a father. Children die, but I was curious so I asked Joe. He said Bill had treated his wife badly . . . abuse. She ran off with the kids. Joe said, it was his fault, he didn’t deserve them. That was twenty years ago. The kids stayed away and he never bothered to see them. Joe said it was for the best.

Bill was lonely, I knew that instantly. I was there to see if I could help him, to fix the problems with his computer. It was so old, it wasn’t worth it. But what’s worth to anyone, especially when you’re on a fixed income . . . Retirement is such a cruel joke.

Two saw horses sat in his living room, holding up a piece of plywood. Stacked on top were books, pictures and papers. On the wall was a framed picture of a group of sailors standing on a ship. Everyone wore their dress blues. Bill pointed to himself.

He had served on a supply ship in the south pacific. He said he never saw action with the Japanese, but I know he wasn’t far away, for on a map I knew that is right where all the action was. He hopped from island to island, right behind the fighting, delivering supplies.

His small group’s historian had just passed away and Bill was sent all the historic records. He had boxes everywhere. Every five years they had a reunion and he never missed a one. He loved the navy, but I wonder if he had left a big part of himself there long ago.

Now Bill was the editor of a quarterly news letter for those boys that were still alive. “Bill what do you want the computer for,” I asked? “I bowl in a league. I want to keep the scores for them.”

He showed me a text document he used to manually compute their scores each week. He showed me his financials. He had merely hundred thousand in a mutual fund, the type that paid earned interest once a year. His earnings for the year amounted to just eleven thousand, interest with social security. This year he planned on going to a bowling tournament in Florida. He had it figured to the penny.

Bill told me he had bought a plot in a cemetery. He said he had just made the final installment. He reached above the TV, pulling down a picture, brilliant white markers all in row, each one the same, cars driving by out front. Then I knew they were the ones I had driven by that first day. Everything was set.

Joe introduced me to his neighbors, Walter and Millie. They were having computer problems, something about a modem. One afternoon I went to see them at their home. They lived in a small ranch house across from the airport. I remember the roar of planes every few minutes. It was like that all day and night. Their yard was fenced. A sign at the front door said to go to the back. I entered the gate and Maxwell bounded around the corner. His bark proceeded his old framed beagle body. He old and grouchy and could hardly move. But he barked at anything and everything. He was Walter and Millie’s child. Maxwell’s bark was the worse thing about him. He wasn’t mean, if anything, he would sniff you to death.

Walter and Millie were in their early to mid-seventies. Millie was tied to a wheel chair and had cataracts and was almost blind. The doctors couldn’t do anything more for her. Walter walked with a cane and still was able to get around pretty good. Still they had their sense of humor and never expected anything for nothing.

I knocked on the door and they invited me into their home and their life. “Hi I heard you have some computer problems,” I said. “Yes, we need to get the internet going. Millie wants to receive emails from our Grandson, Steven. He is away at college. He is an engineering student.”

It’s odd how the elderly attach to youth, but they do. I don’t know why? It was obvious that the elder couple found great joy in their grandson. Is this what all that’s left?


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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Friends Around The World . . .

Friends Around The World . . .

On Warriors and Wars, I am trying to promote friendship around the globe. Maybe if we reach out, we’ll be able to diminish the hate . . . And so I’m gathering comments. Please go there and leave a little message, your city, state and Country, etc. Warriors And Wars



Today I Start a Journey

Today, I start a journey,
somewhere between birth and
death,

Sitting, analyzing, wondering,
what makes a man
remembered?

Is it, his frailty,
his pride or just his
naivete?

Today, I remove the worn
planks of decking, exchanging them, for
concrete,

For those I have touched, have I given them
a strength or a weakness, to be ground away by time?


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



Leave a Comment at Warriors . . .

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My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
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This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write
My Poetry at PoemHunter

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It's up to you . . .

It’s up to you . . .

We live in a world of lies and deceit . . . That’s nothing new, unless you’re trying to raise children that hold their word to be sacred. Growing up I was taught never to lie and I don’t, come what may.

My son was in a car accident on school grounds. You see one of those jacked up pickup trucks swerved to miss an oncoming car and hit my son in the other lane. All of this boy’s buddies stopped and waited for forty minutes joking and laughing. Finally a sheriff made it there. And that cop never issued any tickets . . . He seemed to be buddy, buddy with the other boy’s father.

And so we got the vehicle fixed, around five thousand dollars and the other boy he fixed his headlight. Farmers insurance wrote my son a letter saying it was obviously the other boys fault and that they would pursue his insurance for the claim. And then after talking to him and his two witnesses, my son had no witnesses . . . They decided not to pursue it and stated that both were of equal blame. When did the law become a Popularity Contest?

It’s because we don’t hold anyone accountable any more . . . Lying is not acceptable in our form of law. And soon we will all realize that.

You be the judge. But for me, I’m tired of the lies and the liars.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write
My Poetry at PoemHunter

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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The Wonders of my World . . .

The Wonders of my World . . .

Ever walk in a field filled with monarch butterflies, only to become part of their frenzied antics?

Dreams are not just make believe . . . They serve as reminders that life is oh very special.

Once I was walking in a field . . . Beautiful butterflies of orange and black flew dogfights, sortie missions dodging and ducking until they landed on a yellow dandelion flower.

Have you ever looked closely at a dandelion? Their pedals are so tiny, so petite and so beautiful. I raised a finger and two butterflies softly landed there, right in front of my very eyes. And I knew I had just witnessed something oh so very special . . . One of the Wonders of my World.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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A Second Chance . . .

A Second Chance . . .

Doesn’t everyone deserve another chance? What if you were the one in need? No one can tell what tomorrow will bring. You may be the one that needs someone to reach out to them and just be a friend.

I have traveled all over the U.S. and in each town I saw someone in need of a hand . . . Homelessness is on the rise and most of us turn our heads away, look toward the ground as we walk by.

Once I was in a Taco Bell in New Mexico. A man entered tattered and torn, pack on his back. He placed his bag on a chair and counted his change. Then he went to the counter . . . Five minutes later another man walked up to the counter. The teen finally stopped what he was doing and went to help the second man. The first man stood there a moment and then went back to his pack and sat down.

I watched, I felt the rage enter me, enter my heart . . . Then I reached into my pocket, found the crumbled five I had placed there. I stood and walked over to the man and tossed the money on his table . . . He simply said, thanks, brother. His sullen eyes looked into mine quickly and then back to the table. Tears began to fill my eyes . . . Why must we be ashamed?

What if you were in need? What would you feel then? This is not something new. They are not doing better than you. They don’t secretly live in mansions on a hill looking down on you and me. Someone once said to me, I saw it on TV those buggers make thirty thousand a year begging.

Right . . . Someone else said they were tired of those on the gravy train, once they were in a grocery line and someone was buying steaks, paying with food stamps . . . I had to ask them, I just had to . . . What if you were charged with getting the meat for company function and your only means was with food stamps? Sure you’d be reimbursed put how would you pay?

Doesn’t everyone deserve a chance at the American Dream?

Life is not so easy to everyone. Many didn’t start at the same place as you or I. Many never make it far away from where they grew up . . .


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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Are You An Organ Donor?

Are You An Organ Donor?

Have you thought about your demise? What’s your legacy?

Someone once told me, Organ Donating was against their belief . . . And I wondered what kind of religion would let a child die rather than help them with a liver, a kidney?

But freedom is just as important as living to me. I could never ever imagine everyone being required to donate. That would be so wrong . . . Many may think the end justifies any means, I disagree. For freewill is what makes us great.

So let me say it simply . . . What better way to help your fellow man? . . . In Wisconsin all you have to do is let your family know your desires and put a sticker on your driver’s license to let first responders and doctors know you’re an Organ Donor.

A heart, a lung, a kidney would give life to another at a time when you no longer need them. What a legacy, to leave, to give life to another. Why not carry the proud sticker? Signup to become an Organ Donor Today . . .

organdonor.gov


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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My Last One . . .

My Last One . . .

Here I was, wading knee deep in a river named after a town that was the site of one of the worst forest fires in American history. It happen in October of 1871 on a Sunday, over a hundred and thirty-some years ago and all the land around me was a blazing inferno, a fire storm. And the real twist, it happened the same day as the Chicago fire, the only difference; up here approximately 800 lives were lost that day.

Tragedy always looks closely for bizarre coincidences . . . The two fires happened on the same day, around the same time. William B. Ogden, prominent citizen of Chicago, owned The Peshtigo Company, a cranberry producer. And on that fateful day he lost most his wealth in two separate fires, two hundred miles apart. If you look closely at the Peshtigo tragedy, you would find survivors within an arms reach of those that perished that day. Why? While others sat in the open and died, others ten feet away survived. A boy wadded in this same river with his two brothers. He held them in his arms, periodically dosing their heads putting out flames. And when he got out of the river, he had found that his brothers had died at some point of hypothermia.

In the town of Peshtigo stands an old church, today it is the town’s museum honoring those that died and those that rebuilt the devastated community. Next to the church sits an old cemetery, where 350 of its citizens were buried in a single grave.

And here I was daydreaming and dragging a fly I had made behind me as I wadded back to camp. And then a fish struck. I know it was a fish, I felt it struggle momentarily before snapping my leader and making off with my last one, my last fly.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
This Side Of Midnight
The World Outside My Window
Dan Hanosh poemhunter.com
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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Why Do We Become What We Despise

Why Do We Become What We Despise?

I wonder if we Americans are just a bunch of hype . . . I mean aging values in a world filled with others that don’t think the way they do?

This week I went camping, staying in a campground in Northern Wisconsin. Is a campground the modern version of the dream of owning your own town?

There, I ran into Leroy Brown, not his real name, I’m being flippant. This old gent reminds me of the old man on the corner, the guy everyone passes by, crossing to the other side of the street.

Sheriff Leroy likes red shirts, Sheriff Leroy, talks with every gun toting varmint that enters his town . . . All from the porch of his office, doubling as the camp admissions. And he gazes at everyone as if their vermin . . . There’s a sheriff in town and he wears red.

And that’s when I do something stupid and cross sheriff Leroy. I drive into the campground going too fast, 15 in a 5 . . . Sheriff ‘red’ Leroy waves me to a stop. He saunters up to my truck. I’m thinking he just wants to be friendly. I stop, roll down the window . . .

“That’s too fast!” he shouts.
“Was I going too fast?”
“Yea, way over,” he said giving me that eye. You know, I’m watching you and you’re f***Up, if it continues I’m a going to run you out of this here town.

. . . And that’s when I really get peeved. All the while, his boy darts around the place. And I say to myself, I thought there was a speed limit . . . Maybe not for some?

I remember George Bush not wearing his seat belt . . . And for the first time I buckle mine . . . The law is not something to be held lightly, it’s all we’ve got. And anyone mocking it, well . . . Don’t let the door catch you on you’re A** as you’re leaving my Country . . .

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Ramblings on the wires, warriorsandwars, themoonalsorises, thissideofmidnight, theworldoutsidemywindow, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Dan Hanosh’s Sins of a Father, Sleepless Nights, The World Outside My Window, Dan Hanosh’s The World Outside My Window, dream, those fleeing rules and those making rules, I wonder if Americans are just a bunch of hype, Dan Hanosh

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Each day I walk my neighborhood . . .

Each day I walk my neighborhood . . .

Each day I walk my neighborhood . . . Yup, I’m on a diet and trying to get in shape. And everyday I wander two to three miles. Each day I notice something that amazes me.
Maybe a turkey in the woods, pieces of a sparrow’s egg or bats flying overhead.

Today two boys were outside playing catch with a baseball . . . Not so amazing you’d think, but ever since I came to this neighborhood, these two boys are always outside and always they are playing with a ball.

Today in the world in which we live, no one seems to be growing up the way I did. I was always running, fishing or playing basketball, baseball, football. In a world of cable TV, video games and the internet, no one seems to take the time for playing sports . . . Basketball has been replaced by globalization and soccer seems to be the game of choice.

Ever wonder why baseball is overrun by Hispanics? Why basketball players seem to come from every place other than the heartland of the U.S.?

Dreams . . . Sports are no longer an American dream. I wonder if fishing will go the way of the past? Everyone says change is good, maybe it is or just maybe we really are losing our heritage?


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com

My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, warriorsandwars, themoonalsorises, thissideofmidnight, theworldoutsidemywindow, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, Dan Hanosh’s The World Outside My Window, The World Outside My Window, Dan Hanosh’s Sins of a Father, dreams, sports, basketball, football, baseball, globalization, Dan Hanosh, fishing

Why Can't Things Be Like They Use To . . .

Why Can’t Things Be Like They Use To?

That’s easy we only remember the good things . . . We had dreams.

When I was a boy in the sixties, we had civil unrest. What’s civil unrest? People weren’t happy and they picketed for change. A war was being fought. Only they called it a police action and there was a draft . . . And draft dodgers went to Canada, College or the National Guards. Everyone knew that if you’re parents had position or money, chances are you weren’t going to the Nam.

And there were marches, riots and shootings on campuses. Civil Unrest . . . Negroes, the colored marched, then it was blacks and they fought for change, because they were required to sit in the back of the bus . . . Use separate doors, separate restaurants and separate washrooms. And there was civil disobedience, riots, and shootings.

And still I remember it as being a more relaxed, peaceful time. It doesn’t make sense and yet it does. Businesses were closed on Sundays. Children were bused to churches on Thursdays for religion classes. And television taught us right from wrong. There were cigarette commercials on T.V. and then they were banned. And then things started to change . . .

And we were kids . . . Drank beer on Friday nights, did pranks that today would get us thrown in the pen. I was a jock, a basketball player. Everyday we played on the playground with cops, pimps, drug dealers, and derelicts of all kinds. The stories I could tell . . .

And somebody was always there to give us a second chance. you see they remembered their own childhood unlike our selves. Fighting got us boxing gloves rather than suspensions and our parents fines . . . Sure the bad ones went to the boys homes . . . The real bad ones went to the toughest of them, Boys Town. And yea I knew one that went there, but I also knew others that worked at those places too.

And I was lucky. Our rules were like they are today only everyone saw them as gray . . . Guidelines to live by rather than break one and off you go . . .

Were they wrong? I don’t think so.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


My Poetry at poemhunter.com


My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, warriorsandwars, themoonalsorises, thissideofmidnight, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, Dan Hanosh’s Sins of a Father, Dan Hanosh’s The World Outside My Window, The World Outside My Window, We had dreams, dreams, Dare to dream, were they wrong, marches riots and shootings, civil disobedience

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