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.

Ancient Eagle Press

The Cousins

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.

Lee Alloway

from "There's Poo on my Shoe", 2015

August 2019

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