Ancient Eagle Press

                            Archives

  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

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.

May 2018


Winter just won’t let go.  30 April, and there’s frost on the daffodils.  Expected by those in Maine; a heat wave for my Alaska family.  But Virginia knows better, or should.  Still, nature works around these anomalies.  Today, ahead of the long-awaited warmth, two harbingers of spring: our first Indigo Bunting, and the return of the Myrtle warblers.  They join the newly-arrived Ruddy ducks in a celebration out the back window.  Soon enough the days will warm, school will be out, and we can spend another summer lazily sharing our wisdom with another generation.


                               Advice to my Grandson

    Forget about corns, son.
   That worked for your dad and me 
   But you have better.
   And wooly bears don’t know squat,
   Like as not have another warm one.
   The birds in the silage might just be
   Birds in the silage.
   And if the hogs is squealing at noon time,
   Maybe they’s just plain ornery.
   You got better.  That phone of yours
   Can show you a picture of a storm
   A hundred miles away.
   Can tell you a week ahead
   When the rains will come,
   What the temperature will be,
   When to plant and when to sell.
   So spit in your hand and hope
   Your next phone doesn’t fall
   Into the thresher or get stepped on
   By the milk cows.
   But right now we better get in
   Cause the crows is flying backwards,
   A sure sign there’s a storm brewin’.


  Lee Alloway 2018
 

Where Old Fliers Come to Roost