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I closed my eyes； yet I knew when their lashes
Fringed their cheeks from downcast eyes；
And when they turned their heads；
And when their garments clung to them；
Or fell from them； in exquisite draperies。
Their spirits watched my ecstasy
With wide looks of starry unconcern。
Their spirits looked upon my torture；
They drank it as it were the water of life；
With reddened cheeks； brightened eyes；
The rising flame of my soul made their spirits gilt；
Like the wings of a butterfly drifting suddenly into sunlight。
And they cried to me for life； life； life。
But in taking life for myself；
In seizing and crushing their souls；
As a child crushes grapes and drinks
From its palms the purple juice；
I came to this wingless void；
Where neither red； nor gold； nor wine；
Nor the rhythm of life are known。
Minerva Jones
I AM Minerva； the village poetess；
Hooted at； jeered at by the Yahoos of the street
For my heavy body； cock…eye； and rolling walk；
And all the more when 〃Butch〃 Weldy
Captured me after a brutal hunt。
He left me to my fate with Doctor Meyers；
And I sank into death； growing numb from the feet up；
Like one stepping deeper and deeper into a stream of ice。
Will some one go to the village newspaper；
And gather into a book the verses I wrote？
I thirsted so for love
I hungered so for life！
〃Indignation〃 Jones
You would not believe； would you
That I came from good Welsh stock？
That I was purer blooded than the white trash here？
And of more direct lineage than the
New Englanders And Virginians of Spoon River？
You would not believe that I had been to school
And read some books。
You saw me only as a run…down man
With matted hair and beard
And ragged clothes。
Sometimes a man's life turns into a cancer
From being bruised and continually bruised；
And swells into a purplish mass
Like growths on stalks of corn。
Here was I； a carpenter； mired in a bog of life
Into which I walked； thinking it was a meadow；
With a slattern for a wife； and poor Minerva； my daughter；
Whom you tormented and drove to death。
So I crept； crept； like a snail through the days
Of my life。
No more you hear my footsteps in the morning；
Resounding on the hollow sidewalk
Going to the grocery store for a little corn meal
And a nickel's worth of bacon。
〃Butch〃 Weldy
AFTER I got religion and steadied down
They gave me a job in the canning works；
And every morning I had to fill
The tank in the yard with gasoline；
That fed the blow…fires in the sheds
To heat the soldering irons。
And I mounted a rickety ladder to do it；
Carrying buckets full of the stuff。
One morning； as I stood there pouring；
The air grew still and seemed to heave；
And I shot up as the tank exploded；
And down I came with both legs broken；
And my eyes burned crisp as a couple of eggs。
For someone left a blowfire going；
And something sucked the flame in the tank。
The Circuit Judge said whoever did it
Was a fellow…servant of mine； and so
Old Rhodes' son didn't have to pay me。
And I sat on the witness stand as blind
As lack the Fiddler； saying over and over；
〃l didn't know him at all。〃
Doctor Meyers
No other man； unless it was Doc Hill；
Did more for people in this town than l。
And all the weak； the halt； the improvident
And those who could not pay flocked to me。
I was good…hearted； easy Doctor Meyers。
I was healthy； happy； in comfortable fortune；
Blest with a congenial mate； my children raised；
All wedded； doing well in the world。
And then one night； Minerva； the poetess；
Came to me in her trouble； crying。
I tried to help her outshe died
They indicted me； the newspapers disgraced me；
My wife perished of a broken heart。
And pneumonia finished me。
Mrs。 Meyers
HE protested all his life long
The newspapers lied about him villainously；
That he was not at fault for Minerva's fall；
But only tried to help her。
Poor soul so sunk in sin he could not see
That even trying to help her； as he called it；
He had broken the law human and divine。
Passers by； an ancient admonition to you：
If your ways would be ways of pleasantness；
And all your pathways peace；
Love God and keep his commandments。
Knowlt Hoheimer
I WAS the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge。
When I felt the bullet enter my heart
I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail
For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary；
Instead of running away and joining the army。
Rather a thousand times the county jail
Than to lie under this marble figure with wings；
And this granite pedestal Bearing the words； 〃Pro Patria。〃
What do they mean； anyway？
Lydia Puckett
KNOWLT HOHEIMER ran away to the war
The day before Curl Trenary
Swore out a warrant through Justice Arnett
For stealing hogs。
But that's not the reason he turned a soldier。
He caught me running with Lucius Atherton。
We quarreled and I told him never again
To cross my path。
Then he stole the hogs and went to the war
Back of every soldier is a woman。
Frank Drummer
OUT of a cell into this darkened space
The end at twenty…five！
My tongue could not speak what stirred within me；
And the village thought me a fool。
Yet at the start there was a clear vision；
A high and urgent purpose in my soul
Which drove me on trying to memorize
The Encyclopedia Britannica！
Hare Drummer
Do the boys and girls still go to Siever's
For cider； after school； in late September？
Or gather hazel nuts among the thickets
On Aaron Hatfield's farm when the frosts begin？
For many times with the laughing girls and boys
Played I along the road and over the hills
When the sun was low and the air was cool；
Stopping to club the walnut tree
Standing leafless against a flaming west。
Now； the smell of the autumn smoke；
And the dropping acorns；
And the echoes about the vales
Bring dreams of life。
They hover over me。
They question me：
Where are those laughing comrades？
How many are with me； how many
In the old orchards along the way to Siever's；
And in the woods that overlook
The quiet water？
Doc Hill
I WENT UP and down the streets
Here and there by day and night；
Through all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick。
Do you know why？
My wife hated me； my son went to the dogs。
And I turned to the people and poured out my love to them。
Sweet it was to see the crowds about the lawns on the day of my
funeral；
And hear them murmur their love and sorrow。
But oh； dear God； my soul trembled； scarcely able
To hold to the railing of the new life
When I saw Em Stanton behind the oak tree
At the grave；
Hiding herself； and her grief！
Sarah Brown
MAURICE； weep not； I am not here under this pine tree。
The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass；
The stars sparkle； the whippoorwill calls；
But thou grievest； while my soul lies rapturous
In the blest Nirvana of eternal light！
Go to the good heart that is my husband
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love：
Tell him that my love for you； no less than my love for him
Wrought out my destiny that through the flesh
I won spirit； and through spirit； peace。
There is no marriage in heaven
But there is love。
Percy Bysshe Shelley
MY father who owned the wagon…shop
And grew rich shoeing horses
S