Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.


New England Magazine

by
 Upon Bottle Miche the autre day
While yet the nuit was early,
Je met a homme whose barbe was grey,
Whose cheveaux long and curly.
“Je am a poete, sir,” dit he, “Je live where tres grande want teems— I’m faim, sir.
Sil vous plait give me Un franc or cinquatite centimes.
” I donne him vingt big copper sous But dit, “You moderne rhymers The sacre poet name abuse— Les poets were old timers.
” “Je know! I know!” he wept, contrite; “The bards no more suis mighty: Ils rise no more in eleve flight, Though some are beaucoup flighty.
“Vous wonder why Je weep this way, Pour quoi these tears and blubbers? It is mon fault les bards today Helas! suis mere earth-grubbers.
“There was a time when tout might see My grande flights dans the saddle; Crowned rois, indeed, applauded me Le Pegasus astraddle.
“Le winged horse avec acclaim Was voted mon possession; Je rode him tous les jours to fame; Je led the whole procession.
“Then arrivee the Prussian war— The siege—the sacre famine— Then some had but a crust encore, We mange the last least ham-an’ “Helas! Mon noble winged steed Went oft avec no dinner; On epics il refusee feed And maigre grew, and thinner! “Tout food was gone, and dans the street Each homme sought crusts to sate him— Joyeux were those with horse’s meat, And Pegasus! Je ate him!” My anger then Je could not hide— To parler scarcely able “Oh! curses dans you, sir!” Je cried; “Vous human livery stable!” He fled! But vous who read this know Why mon pauvre verse is beaten By that of cinquante years ago ‘Vant Pegasus fut eaten!

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - New England MagazineEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...


Top Ellis Parker Butler Poems

Analysis and Comments on New England Magazine

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem New England Magazine here.