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
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
Poem of the Month
Where Old Fliers Come to Roost