Edna and Jake Huwa

 

 

Edna Huwa has been a longtime
member of the Greeley Poetry
Club. She was born and raised
in Windsor and it was there that
she met the love of her life, Jake
Huwa. They hosted the June
Poetry Club picnic at their farm in
LaSalle for many years, with Jake
always having jokes for the mem-
bers. Edna's poetry has lightened
and lifted many hearts.

 

This drawing, by Fritz Meyer, is Wild Blue Flax

 

THE LAMENT OF AN EGG

I came to this kitchen all in unbroken bloom
And here is where I met my terrible doom!
I was battered and broken
And this is only a token
Of torture that for me was in store!
There's more, oh yes, much more!!!
In the beater I was mixed with flour,
Now, doesn't that just sound dour?
Then was kneaded on a hard, hard board
Till I was real stiff and sore,
Then to the "wringer" I did go --
My, I was really feeling low,
So I commenced to cry,
They then hung me up to dry.
That's not all, they cut me into bits:
I was just about to lose my wits
When lo and behold, hey doodle, doodle!
I realized I was a beautiful noodle!!
                      Written by an "incredible egghead"

in Poems by the Greeley Poetry Club, November 16, 1981


This poem is dedicated to the memories of my father and mother, Jake and Emma Boltz, and to the memories of my husband Jake's father and mother, Henry and Mary Elizabeth Huwa.

MY ANCESTORS*
          A ballad

Brave men did travel far
The fore part of this century
Seeking freedom and peace
Escaping Lenin's tyranny.

Homes, friends were left behind
Crossing lands and an ocean wide
To seek an unknown world
With hope and, some, a young new bride.

They learned a new language
Weathered storms and endured new ways
Worked hard in city and on farm
Hope and Faith led them through their days.

Sweating in toil they kept their goal
To better their families.
They worked, saved, and kept their faith
In God of centuries.

Opportunities for them all
And freedom too, no more
For just these they plowed and prodded
Freedom rang door to door.

We the present generation
Can look back with real pride;
They asked not for handouts or help
A proud people who tried.

Brave people were these immigrants
Who many hardships bore
Through sweat and toil, their bread they blest
To God, they asked no more.

*German-Russians who immigrated to Colorado in the early 1900s.
in Poems by the Greeley Poetry Club, November 16, 1981


FOOLING AROUND

Spring seems to be in the air
Birds are flying everywhere
Bees are buzzing and droning
Ol' man winter is groaning.

Spring has come as Queen Supreme
I can bask in sun and dream
Of the many sun-filled days
To enjoy in many ways.

Till I leave home with no coat
Ol' Man Winter, that old goat,
Sees me and blows his cold air
Snow is blowing everywhere.

Is it Spring or Winter yet?
Mother Nature, one can bet,
Cannot be fooled, so they say.
Chilled, she sure fooled me today!


THE SCOOP ON THE COOP

Now just understand me right --
I said this with all my might --
No more chicken coops would I clean!
That is exactly what I did mean!

But guess what -- I did just that
All because of that word "cat."
In fact, 5 of them the neighbors donated,
So the chicken coop was renovated.

We first swept out the old chicken coop
Now there is no more remaining chicken poop.
We also laid down a remnant of a new rug
So the cats can be warm and snug.

Jake, my husband, is the one who helped me --
Reluctant and not too enthusiastic was he!
Airtight is the coop -- no intruders, not even a mouse!
Now Jake can say "In my backyard, I have a cat house!"


TO A BEAUTIFUL STATE: COLORADO

Within your boundaries there is many a splendid thing --
Sculptured mountains, hills and vales and laid-out open plains.
All year long many birds in your assorted trees melodiously sing
While above blue skies vary, usually with the sun shining through.
Your seasonal moods changing picturesquely your terrain's countenance
From spring and summer greenness to autumn goldenness then winter whiteness.
Often in moments of your beauty I stand spellbound as if in a trance
Gazing on peaks and lowland geometrical patterns, God surely did you bless!
Your roads, within hours, run from rural to urban and to mountain scenes,
No monotony is yours to give, you offer many a multiple choice.
Now with overpopulation, pollution, and trash piling up in your ravines,
To protect your grandeurs so rare, our protests we must voice.
Tis you I love, for here I was born but far did roam,
But till the day I die, tis here I want my home.

 

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