Archives

  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?

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

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 month.  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