Sam Hookey

    I ran away from home with the circus,
    Having fallen in love with Mademoiselle Estralada,
    The lion tamer.
    One time, having starved the lions
    For more than a day,
    I entered the cage and began to beat Brutus
    And Leo and Gypsy.
    Whereupon Brutus sprang upon me,
    And killed me.
    On entering these regions
    I met a shadow who cursed me,
    And said it served me right. . . .
    It was Robespierre!

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. Born in Kansas and raised in Illinois, Masters is best known for his collection of poems entitled "Spoon River Anthology" (1915), which is a series of epitaphs of residents of the fictional small town of Spoon River. His works reflect the everyday lives and frustrations of middle America. Masters also practiced law and wrote biographies for historical figures such as Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain.

Edgar Lee Masters

Dora Williams

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Father Whimsett

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Herbert Marshall

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Will Paget On Demos And Hogos

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

English

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Zilpha Marsh

    At four o'clock in late October
    I sat alone in the country school-house
    Back from the road, mid stricken fields,
    And an eddy of wind blew leaves on the pane,
    And crooned in the flue of the cannon-stove,
    With its open door blurring the shadows
    With the spectral glow of a dying fire.
    In an idle mood I was running the planchette -
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    'Till the name of "Charles Guiteau" was spelled,
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    I rose and fled from the room bare-headed
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Edgar Lee Masters

Alfred Moir

    Why was I not devoured by self-contempt,
    And rotted down by indifference
    And impotent revolt like Indignation Jones?
    Why, with all of my errant steps
    Did I miss the fate of Willard Fluke?
    And why, though I stood at Burchard's bar,
    As a sort of decoy for the house to the boys
    To buy the drinks, did the curse of drink
    Fall on me like rain that runs off,
    Leaving the soul of me dry and clean?
    And why did I never kill a man Like Jack McGuire?
    But instead I mounted a little in life,
    And I owe it all to a book I read.
    But why did I go to Mason City,
    Where I chanced to see the book in a window,
    With its garish cover luring my eye?
    And why did my soul respond to the book,
    As I read it over and...

Edgar Lee Masters

Lucius Atherton

    When my moustache curled,
    And my hair was black,
    And I wore tight trousers
    And a diamond stud,
    I was an excellent knave of hearts and took many a trick.
    But when the gray hairs began to appear -
    Lo! a new generation of girls
    Laughed at me, not fearing me,
    And I had no more exciting adventures
    Wherein I was all but shot for a heartless devil,
    But only drabby affairs, warmed-over affairs
    Of other days and other men.
    And time went on until I lived at
    Mayer's restaurant,
    Partaking of short-orders, a gray, untidy,
    Toothless, discarded, rural Don Juan. . . .
    There is a mighty shade here who sings
    Of one named Beatrice;
    And I see now that the force that made him great
    Drove...

Edgar Lee Masters

Oscar Hummel

    I staggered on through darkness,
    There was a hazy sky, a few stars
    Which I followed as best I could.
    It was nine o'clock, I was trying to get home.
    But somehow I was lost,
    Though really keeping the road.
    Then I reeled through a gate and into a yard,
    And called at the top of my voice:
    "Oh, Fiddler! Oh, Mr. Jones!"
    (I thought it was his house and he would show me the way home. )
    But who should step out but A. D. Blood,
    In his night shirt, waving a stick of wood,
    And roaring about the cursed saloons,
    And the criminals they made?
    "You drunken Oscar Hummel", he said,
    As I stood there weaving to and fro,
    Taking the blows from the stick in his hand
    Till I dropped down dead at his feet.

Edgar Lee Masters

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!

Edgar Lee Masters

Jefferson Howard

    My valiant fight! For I call it valiant,
    With my father's beliefs from old Virginia:
    Hating slavery, but no less war.
    I, full of spirit, audacity, courage
    Thrown into life here in Spoon River,
    With its dominant forces drawn from
    New England, Republicans, Calvinists, merchants, bankers,
    Hating me, yet fearing my arm.
    With wife and children heavy to carry -
    Yet fruits of my very zest of life.
    Stealing odd pleasures that cost me prestige,
    And reaping evils I had not sown;
    Foe of the church with its charnel dankness,
    Friend of the human touch of the tavern;
    Tangled with fates all alien to me,
    Deserted by hands I called my own.
    Then just as I felt my giant strength
    Short of breath, behold ...

Edgar Lee Masters