July 2019 -- Chilly
June 2019 -- The Queen of Malvern
April-May 2019 -- India/Bhutan
March 2019 -- Swatting Gnats
February 2019 -- To My Valentines, Past and Future
January 2019 -- I'll Never Say Goodbye
December 2018 -- Grandpa
November 2018 -- Meditation
October 2018 -- Benediction
September 2018 -- Passages
August 2018 -- Feeding the Beast
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?
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.
Ancient Eagle Press
My uncle tried to shoot a bear,
While sitting in a rocking chair,
He didn’t think about the kick, it
Threw him back into the thicket,
The bear then ate his boots and hat,
But left my uncle where he sat.
I think my aunt is kind of whacko,
She chews a plug of brown tobacco,
Sits atop a kitchen chair,
And spits at buzzards in the air.
Once, I’m told, she bit a squirrel,
She is my uncle’s kind of girl.
My cousins are a bit bizarre,
They’re kinda like their parents are,
Their clothes are made of burlap sheets,
And all they eat is pickled beets,
They use a fan to cut their hair,
And yodel in their underwear.
But I live on a cul de sac,
And ride to school on a yak,
My parents both drive flying cars,
We spend vacations up on Mars,
My pet baboon is often snoring,
My daily life is just so boring,
It's homework questions by the dozens,
I sure am jealous of my cousins.
from "There's Poo on my Shoe", 2015
It has been a quiet spell. While the office was being renovated, we at Ancient Eagle Press hung up our cameras, set aside our quill pens, and pulled the cover over our type set for a couple months. Most of the work has now been completed; in another month we expect the chaos will have ended, construction material will have been cleared, and the lawn reseeded and covered with straw. In the meantime we have cleared a path to the computer and are intermittently back on line. To fill in a few gaps we have pulled some poems from “There’s Poo on my Shoe” and made them our June and July Poems of the Month. “Poo” is a celebration of childhood and appropriate filler for the months of summer vacation. August demands another theme, one more appropriate to the hot, humid, occasionally stultifying environment that settles over us on the East Coast this time of year. However, I choose to scoff at August and its demands. Here’s one more from “Poo” as we continue to celebrate the children in our life.
Where Old Fliers Come to Roost
Poem of the Month