Where Old Fliers Come to Roost

                            Archives

  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

Poem of the Month

Ancient Eagle Press

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.

July 2019


                            

                                               Chilly

  My brothers better all take care,
  I have a vicious polar bear,
  And if they’re ever mean to me,
  He just might bite them on the knee.


  When we are in my room alone,
  We speak a language all our own,
  Cause Mom and Dad would think it silly,
  To see me sit and chat with Chilly.

  When anybody is around,
  He barely makes a polar sound,
  And so they’ll never be aware,
  He’s more than just an old stuffed bear.

  But when the lights go out at night,
  And every one is out of sight,
  Then Chilly tells me special thing,
  Of Eskimos and polar kings,

   Of icebergs floating on the sea,
  And land without a single tree,
  Of months of darkness passing by,
  With colors dancing in the sky;

  He speaks of foxes that, he said,
  Are sometimes white and sometimes red,
  Of owls that fly without a sound,
  And build their nests right on the ground;

  He says that when the winter’s near,
  He takes a nap for half a year,
  And when he’s finally out of bed,
  The sun is always overhead.

  I told this to my good friend Ray,
  Who said I should be put away,
  He tells me Chilly isn’t real,
  But when Chilly burps…it smells like seal!

                                    

   Lee Alloway

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