The Eyes Have It

Ancient Eagle Press

Is it Safe Yet?

Where Old Fliers Come to Roost


  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



  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,
  Half blind and disoriented
  By events that may have been
  Or never were.
  Of such is Poetry born.

   Lee Alloway / 2018