The Eyes Have It
Ancient Eagle Press
Is it Safe Yet?
Where Old Fliers Come to Roost
Archives
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
November 2018
It has been a watershed month for the staff of Ancient Eagle Press. Our resident photographer and archivist of all things digital has had two of his images given international exposure. "The Eyes Have It," his picture of a hoverfly, was selected through the 2018 National Insect Salon to be shown at the Entomological Society of America's annual convention in Vancouver. In addition, his picture of a flying squirrel, "Is it Safe Yet?" was chosen from among 23,000 images submitted to the National Wildlife Federation's 2018 Photo Contest to be included in the Dec-Jan issue of National Wildlife magazine. Meanwhile, he's just kicking back and letting his imagination run wild, practicing his own brand of Meditation.
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.
Poem of the Month
Meditation
At rest in my aerie above the water
Where currents carry memories
Unquestioned and untested,
Cosseted by the lake
Until dream-gusts roil the surface,
Kick up waves,
Muddy the water.
It is then I dive
Into the chaotic colloid of memory-dreams
Emerging acid-washed,
Tie-dyed,
Half blind and disoriented
By events that may have been
Or never were.
Of such is Poetry born.
Lee Alloway / 2018