Poem of the Month

Each month Ancient Eagle Press offers a poem appropriate to the season or the mood of our editorial staff.   Poems may be new or drawn from existing AEP editions.

Where Old Fliers Come to Roost


  July 2018 - One Can Have Knowledge...

  June 2018 -- The Unsinkable Molly Drown

  May 2018 -- Advice to my Grandson

  April 2018 -- Awaiting Idunn

  March 2018 -- Flight

  February 2018 -- Lakesong

  January 2018 -- Schrödinger's Cat

  December 2017 -- Daybreak

  October 2017 -- Night Watch

  September 2017 -- The Princess

  August 2017 - Pelham

  July 2017 --  Siena

  June 2017 -- Loyal, Straight, and True

  May 2017 --  A Thousand Flowers

  April 2017 -- Oboe Rap

  March 2017 - March Madness

  February 2017 -- The Cost of Doing Business

  January 2017 -- Reflection at a Winter Window

  December 2016 -- The Creation

  November 2016 -- Hemolymph Moon

  October 2016 -- Vortex

  September 2016 -- Do You?

  August 2016 -- Sailing
  July 2016 --  Mulberries
  June 2016 -- Off Tucker Point
  May 2016 -- Unforgettable
  April 2016 -- At Night She Cries

August 2018

We have just survived the wettest July on record.  The yard, normally bleached to amber by the July drought, is lush, verdant and soggy from house to bog.  It is a lovely scene, and one that supports a bumper crop of coleoptera, hymenoptera, hemipterans and their fellows.  For those who are a bit buggy for bugs, it is a bonanza.  Each day reveals another species previously hidden from even the most dedicated observer.  Here’s hoping the rains carry on thru August.  And speaking of August and carrying on, it’s time to write the August Poem of the Month.  Let’s feed the beast!

Ancient Eagle Press


                      Feeding the Beast

   Papers full of news that rankles,
   Chiggers chomping on my ankles,
   Storm clouds building in the East, 
   Time to go and feed the beast.

   Bills are piled upon the table,
   Stacked up like the Tower of Babel,
   Bread won’t rise without some yeast,
   Time to go and feed the beast. 

   Got no job to keep me busy,
   Too much coffee makes me dizzy,
   One thing I have left, at least:
   Time to go and feed the beast. 

   No one knocks and no one answers,
   Mimes admire the wooden dancers,
   Homeless nuns dream of a feast,
   Time to go and feed the beast. 

   Dumping letters in the chasm,
   Twitching with a sinner’s spasm,
   Tribute to a fallen priest,
   Time to go and feed the beast.

  Lee Alloway 2018