Poetry from Carbon and Hanna Authors
Page by Bob Leathers
1922
H. H. S.
by
Cora Ellis
by
Cora Ellis
Hanna is a little town, a mining
camp you know.
Where there are not many people -
Just two thousand or so.
But education has not been neglected here,
For schools have been enlarged and
bettered every year.
Till now it has a high school, the
pride of every heart.
When this year's term is ended ten
Seniors will depart.
We must not forget to mention the
Sophs and Juniors too.
And the class of little Freshies who
think they know more than
they do.
We have a fine big lab with apparatus new;
Many experiments loom up for the
Physics class to do.
Just look into the Commercial Room,
and typewriters you will find.
There are a great many there, all of
standard kind.
The girls have glee club, the boys
play basketball;
It seems we are progressing fine
when taken all-in-all.
And the teachers - you must know
them to appreciate their worth,
They are very serious sometimes, but
there is not lack of mirth.
(Poem by Cora Ellis, The Pioneer, February 1922)
camp you know.
Where there are not many people -
Just two thousand or so.
But education has not been neglected here,
For schools have been enlarged and
bettered every year.
Till now it has a high school, the
pride of every heart.
When this year's term is ended ten
Seniors will depart.
We must not forget to mention the
Sophs and Juniors too.
And the class of little Freshies who
think they know more than
they do.
We have a fine big lab with apparatus new;
Many experiments loom up for the
Physics class to do.
Just look into the Commercial Room,
and typewriters you will find.
There are a great many there, all of
standard kind.
The girls have glee club, the boys
play basketball;
It seems we are progressing fine
when taken all-in-all.
And the teachers - you must know
them to appreciate their worth,
They are very serious sometimes, but
there is not lack of mirth.
(Poem by Cora Ellis, The Pioneer, February 1922)
1928
A dip into a scrapbook packed full of poetry kept by Mrs. Jack Crawford of Hanna, and in which there are poems written by her during her early grlhood and through the years, disclosed these two “Good for Trade” and “the Kitchen Full of Shoes” which will touch a responsive cord and recall common experiences of busy of busy experiences of busy mothers and homemakers. Mrs. Crawford has had several poems and a very interesting Christmas story published in Wyoming papers. (UPCCEM, March 1928)
Good for Trade
by
H.E. Crawford.
The boys came home with a gleeful shout,
“Oh, Mother, we’ve had such fun,”
But the mother heaved a weary sigh,
She studied, but yet she couldn’t tell why,
The back of their pants were out.
The boys went forth with a gleeful shout,
And they thought they’d have more fun,
The mother had been to the store again,
She liked them tidy if they were plain,
The back of their pants were out.
The boys came home with a gleeful shout
Which very soon turned to pain,
The mother had them all explain
Why the backs of their pants were out.
Then she got the strap and let it fall
Where the backs of their pants were out.
No more of the “chute the chute” for them,
For now when tempted they still recall
Where the back of their pants were out.
H.E. Crawford.
(UPCCEM, March 1928)
by
H.E. Crawford.
The boys came home with a gleeful shout,
“Oh, Mother, we’ve had such fun,”
But the mother heaved a weary sigh,
She studied, but yet she couldn’t tell why,
The back of their pants were out.
The boys went forth with a gleeful shout,
And they thought they’d have more fun,
The mother had been to the store again,
She liked them tidy if they were plain,
The back of their pants were out.
The boys came home with a gleeful shout
Which very soon turned to pain,
The mother had them all explain
Why the backs of their pants were out.
Then she got the strap and let it fall
Where the backs of their pants were out.
No more of the “chute the chute” for them,
For now when tempted they still recall
Where the back of their pants were out.
H.E. Crawford.
(UPCCEM, March 1928)
The Kitchen Full of Shoes
by
H.E. Crawford.
We get up in the morning
And we surely get the blues,
When we see the snow a-coming,
And the kitchen full of shoes.
When we see the rivers running
From the snow the night before,
And we see the children coming,
Then we know what is in store.
If wishes all were granted
And wishes would come true,
We’d be so much excited
We wouldn’t know what to do.
Great changes we are seeing,
As we’re living day by day,
Progressives of Wyoming,
Good will surely come your way.
Then we get up in the morning
And we hardly get our dues,
When we see the mud is here again
And the kitchen full of shoes.
H.E. Crawford.
(UPCCEM, March 1928)
1928
Carbon
O, Carbon, how we loved you, forty years ago today;
No one dream’t, old Carbon, that you weren’t on the map to stay.
You were prosperous and thriving, and the people held their own;
Who could tell them that today you’d be standing there alone?
Bright lights glittered in the night-time, and the days were busy, too;
Dark clouds always slighted Carbon, and her skies were always blue!
Such a jovial crowd of pioneers were seldom found--
And they’d braved the wilderness of the West to old Wyoming’s ground.
Snows or Indians could not scare them, for they had a world of grit;
This frontier life held charm—for heroes do not quit.
There you know’d everybody, and they all know’d you;
No one cared a penny what the other one would do.
The women dressed in calico, the men wore old-time jeans;
All of them were genuine and lived within their means.
They traveled with a team and rig—autos were unknown;
And just imagine these plain folks talking o’er a phone!
They hadn’t any phonograph, but danced after a fiddle;
The halls were always crowded—where they came from was a riddle.
They danced old-fashioned steps and sang old-fashioned tunes,
And they strolled in the silvery light of real old-fashioned moons.
Times have changed beyond description, and they have scattered one and all;
Some have gone to other countries; some have gone beyond recall.
And Carbon, you are shattered; you are dead, you are no more,
And the sight of you, dear Carbon, makes our heart ache to the core.
When we go to where you flourished, our spirits are depressed,
To think this hopeless wreck of now was once the very best.
Your houses are all tumbling down, the windows are broken out,
The doors are standing there ajar, the gophers run about.
The streets are full of tumble weeds, the bridges have fallen in,
And quiet reigns where at one time was industry and din;
The coyotes come within the wreck of this down-trodden place,
And howl in cheerless, mournful tones—there’s no one to give chase.
The sly jack-rabbits rack away and hide ‘mid the ruins there,
And o’er the whole of Carbon now is the attitude of despair;
The sagebrush flat is just as green, the hills slope toward the sky,
And Carbon now reminds us of the fact that all things die.
It used to be that spring winds made music in the air,
But now the night winds sob and sigh around the chimneys bare;
Out on the side hill north of town, a silent city lies,
Where monuments and blocks of stone among the graves arise.
‘Tis here that old-time Carbonites return to add another,
For here are resting old and young, the baby and the mother.
‘Tis here that many pioneers of these old times are sleeping;
‘Tis here that some good angel o’er the dead a watch is keeping.
So, fare you well, old Carbon, you are crumbling to the dust,
And our hearts ache at your downfall—which we cannot think is just;
And although you’re past redemption, still we reverence your name,
And always, dear old Carbon, we will love you just the same.
From Hanna Pioneer (UPCCEM, February 1928)
No one dream’t, old Carbon, that you weren’t on the map to stay.
You were prosperous and thriving, and the people held their own;
Who could tell them that today you’d be standing there alone?
Bright lights glittered in the night-time, and the days were busy, too;
Dark clouds always slighted Carbon, and her skies were always blue!
Such a jovial crowd of pioneers were seldom found--
And they’d braved the wilderness of the West to old Wyoming’s ground.
Snows or Indians could not scare them, for they had a world of grit;
This frontier life held charm—for heroes do not quit.
There you know’d everybody, and they all know’d you;
No one cared a penny what the other one would do.
The women dressed in calico, the men wore old-time jeans;
All of them were genuine and lived within their means.
They traveled with a team and rig—autos were unknown;
And just imagine these plain folks talking o’er a phone!
They hadn’t any phonograph, but danced after a fiddle;
The halls were always crowded—where they came from was a riddle.
They danced old-fashioned steps and sang old-fashioned tunes,
And they strolled in the silvery light of real old-fashioned moons.
Times have changed beyond description, and they have scattered one and all;
Some have gone to other countries; some have gone beyond recall.
And Carbon, you are shattered; you are dead, you are no more,
And the sight of you, dear Carbon, makes our heart ache to the core.
When we go to where you flourished, our spirits are depressed,
To think this hopeless wreck of now was once the very best.
Your houses are all tumbling down, the windows are broken out,
The doors are standing there ajar, the gophers run about.
The streets are full of tumble weeds, the bridges have fallen in,
And quiet reigns where at one time was industry and din;
The coyotes come within the wreck of this down-trodden place,
And howl in cheerless, mournful tones—there’s no one to give chase.
The sly jack-rabbits rack away and hide ‘mid the ruins there,
And o’er the whole of Carbon now is the attitude of despair;
The sagebrush flat is just as green, the hills slope toward the sky,
And Carbon now reminds us of the fact that all things die.
It used to be that spring winds made music in the air,
But now the night winds sob and sigh around the chimneys bare;
Out on the side hill north of town, a silent city lies,
Where monuments and blocks of stone among the graves arise.
‘Tis here that old-time Carbonites return to add another,
For here are resting old and young, the baby and the mother.
‘Tis here that many pioneers of these old times are sleeping;
‘Tis here that some good angel o’er the dead a watch is keeping.
So, fare you well, old Carbon, you are crumbling to the dust,
And our hearts ache at your downfall—which we cannot think is just;
And although you’re past redemption, still we reverence your name,
And always, dear old Carbon, we will love you just the same.
From Hanna Pioneer (UPCCEM, February 1928)
Old Timers
by
American Lumberman
Youth laughs at us old timers,
And maybe youth has cause,
For when your hair gets white and thin,
You don’t expect applause.
Perhaps we’re not so handsome,
Perhaps we’re not so spry,
But when youth gets old as us,
Then youth won’t wonder why.
For we have fought the battles,
And we have led the van,
And made this life an easier road
For many a younger man.
And he will do tomorrow
A lot of things that pay
Because old timers thought them out
And tried them yesterday.
We know the world is changing,
The ways of trade are new;
Men put new labels on their goods,
New roofs on houses, too.
But still the old foundation
That some old timer laid
Remains the cornerstone of all
The progress men have made.
So, gather ‘round old timers,
The friends of long ago,
The fellow’s folks were glad to meet,
The fellows good to know.
Some try their friends to purchase,
But seldom friends acquire,
For friendship, like all other gold,
Must go through the fire.
We’ve known the snows of winter,
We’ve known the rain of spring,
But when your heart is warm within
That doesn’t mean a thing.
We’ve made a little money,
We’ve lost a whole lot more,
But money was not all we sought
Nor all we hungered for.
For youth will talk of profits,
But age will talk of friends,
For friends are all that make you rich,
Or matter when life ends.
So gather ‘round, old timers,
And talk about the past,
For memory is the only wealth,
The only wealth to last.
So, here’s to us, old timers,
Whatever youth may think,
Yes, here’s a toast to fellowship,
In fellowship to drink.
Youth laughs at us old timers,
So soon upon the shelves,
But if youth will not drink to us
We’ll drink the toast ourselves
American Lumberman
by
American Lumberman
Youth laughs at us old timers,
And maybe youth has cause,
For when your hair gets white and thin,
You don’t expect applause.
Perhaps we’re not so handsome,
Perhaps we’re not so spry,
But when youth gets old as us,
Then youth won’t wonder why.
For we have fought the battles,
And we have led the van,
And made this life an easier road
For many a younger man.
And he will do tomorrow
A lot of things that pay
Because old timers thought them out
And tried them yesterday.
We know the world is changing,
The ways of trade are new;
Men put new labels on their goods,
New roofs on houses, too.
But still the old foundation
That some old timer laid
Remains the cornerstone of all
The progress men have made.
So, gather ‘round old timers,
The friends of long ago,
The fellow’s folks were glad to meet,
The fellows good to know.
Some try their friends to purchase,
But seldom friends acquire,
For friendship, like all other gold,
Must go through the fire.
We’ve known the snows of winter,
We’ve known the rain of spring,
But when your heart is warm within
That doesn’t mean a thing.
We’ve made a little money,
We’ve lost a whole lot more,
But money was not all we sought
Nor all we hungered for.
For youth will talk of profits,
But age will talk of friends,
For friends are all that make you rich,
Or matter when life ends.
So gather ‘round, old timers,
And talk about the past,
For memory is the only wealth,
The only wealth to last.
So, here’s to us, old timers,
Whatever youth may think,
Yes, here’s a toast to fellowship,
In fellowship to drink.
Youth laughs at us old timers,
So soon upon the shelves,
But if youth will not drink to us
We’ll drink the toast ourselves
American Lumberman
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town
by
H.E. Crawford
Now the election’s over;
Won are the bets of Al and Hoover
To lose or not to lose, or win.
Things of the past, the battle’s din
We turn our thoughts that will not down
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town,
Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town!
You tell ‘em we appreciate
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town.
We like to strut on Front Street
Where years ago, trod muddy feet,
No lights to shine upon dark night
But now we have electric light.
New York’s sidewalks have nothing on
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town!
You tell ‘em we appreciate
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town.
H.E. Crawford November 13, 1928
(UPCCEM, December 1928)
by
H.E. Crawford
Now the election’s over;
Won are the bets of Al and Hoover
To lose or not to lose, or win.
Things of the past, the battle’s din
We turn our thoughts that will not down
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town,
Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town!
You tell ‘em we appreciate
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town.
We like to strut on Front Street
Where years ago, trod muddy feet,
No lights to shine upon dark night
But now we have electric light.
New York’s sidewalks have nothing on
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town!
You tell ‘em we appreciate
The Sidewalks of Our Hanna Town.
H.E. Crawford November 13, 1928
(UPCCEM, December 1928)
1935
Mining Town Girl
by
M.E.H - Hanna
She’s a mining town girl,
With mining town ways,
She lives in a mining town,
A mining town dance is her one delight,
And she wears a mining town gown.
No “formal” affairs for this mining town girl,
Although she is dainty and pretty;
With fairy-like steps, she glides o’er the floor,
The envy of girls from the city.
Her brother’s a miner
And so is her dad;
They call it a fine occupation,
The city home’s heat is “modern” of course,
Yet they’re digging coal for the nation.
There’s no millionaires in a small mining town,
No high society’s swirl,
And to those who will act,
For some of them do,
Just be a mining town girl.
---M.E.H., Hanna (UPCCEM, January 1936)
by
M.E.H - Hanna
She’s a mining town girl,
With mining town ways,
She lives in a mining town,
A mining town dance is her one delight,
And she wears a mining town gown.
No “formal” affairs for this mining town girl,
Although she is dainty and pretty;
With fairy-like steps, she glides o’er the floor,
The envy of girls from the city.
Her brother’s a miner
And so is her dad;
They call it a fine occupation,
The city home’s heat is “modern” of course,
Yet they’re digging coal for the nation.
There’s no millionaires in a small mining town,
No high society’s swirl,
And to those who will act,
For some of them do,
Just be a mining town girl.
---M.E.H., Hanna (UPCCEM, January 1936)
1936
The Mine
by
Louis Unterneyer
God, we don’t like to complain;
We know that the mine is no lark.
But---there’s pools from the rain;
But---there’s the cold and the dark.
God, You don’t know what it is---
You, in Your well-lighted sky---
Watch the meteors whizz;
Warm, with the sun always by.
God, if You had but the moon
Stuck in Your cap for a lamp,
Even You’d tire of it soon,
Down in the dark and the damp.
Nothing but blackness above,
And nothing that moves but the cars…
God, if you wish for our love,
Fling us a handful of stars!
By: Louis Unterneyer
(UPCCEM, August 1936)
by
Louis Unterneyer
God, we don’t like to complain;
We know that the mine is no lark.
But---there’s pools from the rain;
But---there’s the cold and the dark.
God, You don’t know what it is---
You, in Your well-lighted sky---
Watch the meteors whizz;
Warm, with the sun always by.
God, if You had but the moon
Stuck in Your cap for a lamp,
Even You’d tire of it soon,
Down in the dark and the damp.
Nothing but blackness above,
And nothing that moves but the cars…
God, if you wish for our love,
Fling us a handful of stars!
By: Louis Unterneyer
(UPCCEM, August 1936)
1941
June 1941
by
Moses Boam
I sat by my window one evening
As the sun went down in the west;
I thought of the people of Europe
With their war, their strife, and unrest.
I thought of the people of Britain,
And the horrors of war they stand;
Of women and children, a-weeping
As England fights for her land.
Then I thought of the air raids,
And of the siren’s sound.
I could see the people hurrying
To their shelters underground.
And when the air raid is over,
And the people come back in the sun
To see what death and destruction
Was brought by the savage Hun.
But Britain’s pilots are not sleeping
As over the Channel they roam
To bomb the German cities
As was done to theirs back home.
And then I thought of the future
When the dictators’ rule is o’er,
I vision the people of Europe
Happy and peaceful once more.
Then as evening grows darker
And my thoughts come back to me,
I think of my home in America,
And what it means to be free.
Moses Boam
Tippleman, Hanna.
(UPCCEM, June 1941)
by
Moses Boam
I sat by my window one evening
As the sun went down in the west;
I thought of the people of Europe
With their war, their strife, and unrest.
I thought of the people of Britain,
And the horrors of war they stand;
Of women and children, a-weeping
As England fights for her land.
Then I thought of the air raids,
And of the siren’s sound.
I could see the people hurrying
To their shelters underground.
And when the air raid is over,
And the people come back in the sun
To see what death and destruction
Was brought by the savage Hun.
But Britain’s pilots are not sleeping
As over the Channel they roam
To bomb the German cities
As was done to theirs back home.
And then I thought of the future
When the dictators’ rule is o’er,
I vision the people of Europe
Happy and peaceful once more.
Then as evening grows darker
And my thoughts come back to me,
I think of my home in America,
And what it means to be free.
Moses Boam
Tippleman, Hanna.
(UPCCEM, June 1941)
1993
Memories of Hanna
by
Betty (Daniels) Poulos
May 1993
This is a story of a town that survived
Through many a boom and bust–
Of folks who lived here for many years–
But left when they felt they must.
There are some of us here, who have stayed all these years,
And new one’s who have come to stay.
Hanna is a town we are proud of
It’s doing just fine today.
Remembering the days, that are long since gone–
Into the dim-distance of the past–
But so many things, from then to now–
Are the things that were made to last.
Like learning to live together-
Each day brought a different test-
When the cultures all were so different
And everyone gave their best.
From One Town, Two Town, Three Town-
Capital Hill and more-
They went to school and worked together
And learning opened the door.
They learned to speak a common language-
Found how alike they were at heart-
Through years of trial and error,
A new town had it’s start.
United Mine Workers had a party for all the kids
On every April Fools Day-
They went to a movie and had sweet tweets
On a day meant just to play.
And then, again on Labor Day-
They had another big to-do-
With games and races at this one-
And the grownups, got to play too.
There was an Opera House, a Movie House,
A Bakery, Bowling, a candy store,
A Coffee House and Dairy.
Wide open spaces to explore.
The grocery clerk would take your order
From his vehicle on the day before-
Then without fail the next day-
Delivered it to your door.
At one time Hanna was a town-
Separate from Elmo, a mile away-
They were combined a few years ago.
We are one nice town today.
We wish to welcome all of you home
And though things change as time marches on-
Memories stay the same in people’s hearts
And the old days are never gone.
by
Betty (Daniels) Poulos
May 1993
This is a story of a town that survived
Through many a boom and bust–
Of folks who lived here for many years–
But left when they felt they must.
There are some of us here, who have stayed all these years,
And new one’s who have come to stay.
Hanna is a town we are proud of
It’s doing just fine today.
Remembering the days, that are long since gone–
Into the dim-distance of the past–
But so many things, from then to now–
Are the things that were made to last.
Like learning to live together-
Each day brought a different test-
When the cultures all were so different
And everyone gave their best.
From One Town, Two Town, Three Town-
Capital Hill and more-
They went to school and worked together
And learning opened the door.
They learned to speak a common language-
Found how alike they were at heart-
Through years of trial and error,
A new town had it’s start.
United Mine Workers had a party for all the kids
On every April Fools Day-
They went to a movie and had sweet tweets
On a day meant just to play.
And then, again on Labor Day-
They had another big to-do-
With games and races at this one-
And the grownups, got to play too.
There was an Opera House, a Movie House,
A Bakery, Bowling, a candy store,
A Coffee House and Dairy.
Wide open spaces to explore.
The grocery clerk would take your order
From his vehicle on the day before-
Then without fail the next day-
Delivered it to your door.
At one time Hanna was a town-
Separate from Elmo, a mile away-
They were combined a few years ago.
We are one nice town today.
We wish to welcome all of you home
And though things change as time marches on-
Memories stay the same in people’s hearts
And the old days are never gone.