Richard Bone

When I first came to Spoon River I did not know whether what they told me Was true or false.

They would bring me the epitaph And stand around the shop while I worked And say "He was so kind," "He was so wonderful,"

"She was the sweetest woman," "He was a consistent Christian."

And I chiseled for them whatever they wished, All in ignorance of the truth.

But later, as I lived among the people here, I knew how near to the life Were the epitaphs that were ordered for them as they died.

But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel And made myself party to the false chronicles Of the stones, Even as the historian does who writes Without knowing the truth, Or because he is influenced to hide it.

Silas Dement

It was moon-light, and the earth sparkled With new-fallen frost.

It was midnight and not a soul abroad.

Out of the chimney of the court-house A gray-hound of smoke leapt and chased The northwest wind.

I carried a ladder to the landing of the stairs And leaned it against the frame of the trap-door In the ceiling of the portico, And I crawled under the roof and amid the rafters And flung among the seasoned timbers A lighted handful of oil-soaked waste.

Then I came down and slunk away.

In a little while the fire-bell rang-- Clang! Clang! Clang!

And the Spoon River ladder company Came with a dozen buckets and began to pour water On the glorious bon-fire, growing hotter Higher and brighter, till the walls fell in And the limestone columns where Lincoln stood Crashed like trees when the woodman fells them.

When I came back from Joliet There was a new court house with a dome.

For I was punished like all who destroy The past for the sake of the future.

Dillard Sissman

THE buzzards wheel slowly In wide circles, in a sky Faintly hazed as from dust from the road.

And a wind sweeps through the pasture where I lie Beating the gra.s.s into long waves.

My kite is above the wind, Though now and then it wobbles, Like a man shaking his shoulders; And the tail streams out momentarily, Then sinks to rest.

And the buzzards wheel and wheel, Sweeping the zenith with wide circles Above my kite. And the hills sleep.

And a farm house, white as snow, Peeps from green trees--far away.

And I watch my kite, For the thin moon will kindle herself ere long, Then she will swing like a pendulum dial To the tail of my kite.

A spurt of flame like a water-dragon Dazzles my eyes-- I am shaken as a banner.

E. C. Culbertson

Is it true, Spoon River, That in the hall--way of the New Court House There is a tablet of bronze Containing the embossed faces Of Editor Whedon and Thomas Rhodes?

And is it true that my successful labors In the County Board, without which Not one stone would have been placed on another, And the contributions out of my own pocket To build the temple, are but memories among the people, Gradually fading away, and soon to descend With them to this oblivion where I lie?

In truth, I can so believe.

For it is a law of the Kingdom of Heaven That whoso enters the vineyard at the eleventh hour Shall receive a full day's pay.

And it is a law of the Kingdom of this World That those who first oppose a good work Seize it and make it their own, When the corner--stone is laid, And memorial tablets are erected.

Shack Dye

THE white men played all sorts of jokes on me.

They took big fish off my hook And put little ones on, while I was away Getting a stringer, and made me believe I hadn't seen aright the fish I had caught.

When Burr Robbins, circus came to town They got the ring master to let a tame leopard Into the ring, and made me believe I was whipping a wild beast like Samson When I, for an offer of fifty dollars, Dragged him out to his cage.

One time I entered my blacksmith shop And shook as I saw some horse-shoes crawling Across the floor, as if alive-- Walter Simmons had put a magnet Under the barrel of water.

Yet everyone of you, you white men, Was fooled about fish and about leopards too, And you didn't know any more than the horse-shoes did What moved you about Spoon River.

Hildrup Tubbs

I MADE two fights for the people.

First I left my party, bearing the gonfalon Of independence, for reform, and was defeated.

Next I used my rebel strength To capture the standard of my old party-- And I captured it, but I was defeated.

Discredited and discarded, misanthropical, I turned to the solace of gold And I used my remnant of power To fasten myself like a saprophyte Upon the putrescent carca.s.s Of Thomas Rhodes, bankrupt bank, As a.s.signee of the fund.

Everyone now turned from me.

My hair grew white, My purple l.u.s.ts grew gray, Tobacco and whisky lost their savor And for years Death ignored me As he does a hog.

Henry Tripp

THE bank broke and I lost my savings.

I was sick of the tiresome game in Spoon River And I made up my mind to run away And leave my place in life and my family; But just as the midnight train pulled in, Quick off the steps jumped Cully Green And Martin Vise, and began to fight To settle their ancient rivalry, Striking each other with fists that sounded Like the blows of knotted clubs.

Now it seemed to me that Cully was winning, When his b.l.o.o.d.y face broke into a grin Of sickly cowardice, leaning on Martin And whining out "We're good friends, Mart, You know that I'm your friend."

But a terrible punch from Martin knocked him Around and around and into a heap.

And then they arrested me as a witness, And I lost my train and staid in Spoon River To wage my battle of life to the end.

Oh, Cully Green, you were my savior-- You, so ashamed and drooped for years, Loitering listless about the streets, And tying rags round your festering soul, Who failed to fight it out.

Granville Calhoun

I WANTED to be County Judge One more term, so as to round out a service Of thirty years.

But my friends left me and joined my enemies, And they elected a new man.

Then a spirit of revenge seized me, And I infected my four sons with it, And I brooded upon retaliation, Until the great physician, Nature, Smote me through with paralysis To give my soul and body a rest.

Did my sons get power and money?

Did they serve the people or yoke them, To till and harvest fields of self?

For how could they ever forget My face at my bed-room window, Sitting helpless amid my golden cages Of singing canaries, Looking at the old court-house?

Henry C. Calhoun

I REACHED the highest place in Spoon River, But through what bitterness of spirit!

The face of my father, sitting speechless, Child-like, watching his canaries, And looking at the court-house window Of the county judge's room, And his admonitions to me to seek My own in life, and punish Spoon River To avenge the wrong the people did him, Filled me with furious energy To seek for wealth and seek for power.

But what did he do but send me along The path that leads to the grove of the Furies?

I followed the path and I tell you this: On the way to the grove you'll pa.s.s the Fates, Shadow-eyed, bent over their weaving.

Stop for a moment, and if you see The thread of revenge leap out of the shuttle Then quickly s.n.a.t.c.h from Atropos The shears and cut it, lest your sons And the children of them and their children Wear the envenomed robe.