All posts by Eric Robert Nolan

Eric Robert Nolan graduated from Mary Washington College in 1994 with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. He spent several years a news reporter and editorial writer for the Culpeper Star Exponent in Culpeper, Virginia. His work has also appeared on the front pages of numerous newspapers in Virginia, including The Free Lance – Star and The Daily Progress. Eric entered the field of philanthropy in 1996, as a grant writer for nonprofit healthcare organizations. Eric’s poetry has been featured by Dead Beats Literary Blog, Dagda Publishing, The International War Veterans’ Poetry Archive, and elsewhere. His poetry will also be published by Illumen Magazine in its Spring 2014 issue.

“Sonnet-Writing,” Frederick William Faber

Young men should not write sonnets, if they dream
Some day to reach the bright bare seats of fame:
To such, sweet thoughts and mighty feelings seem
As though, like foreign things, they rarely came.
Eager as men, when haply they have heard
Of some new songster, some gay-feathered bird,
That hath o’er blue seas strayed in hope to find
In our thin foliage here a summer home,
Fain would they catch the bright things in their mind,
And cage them into sonnets as they come.
No: they should serve their wants most sparingly,
Till the ripe time of song, when young thoughts fail,
Then the sad sonnets, like old bards, might be
Merry as youth, and yet grey-haired and hale.


“Drift we and rot, till something set us free!”

“Sonnet,” by Frederick William Harvey

Comrades of risk and rigour long ago
Who have done battle under honour’s name,
Hoped (living or shot down) some meed of fame,
And wooed bright Danger for a thrilling kiss, –
Laugh, oh laugh well, that we have come to this!

Laugh, oh laugh loud, all ye who long ago
Adventure found in gallant company!
Safe in Stagnation, laugh, laugh bitterly.
While on this filthiest backwater of Time’s flow
Drift we and rot, till something set us free!

Laugh like old men with senses atrophied,
Heeding no Present, to the Future dead,
Nodding quite foolish by the warm fireside
And seeing no flame, but only in the red
And flickering embers, pictures of the past : –
Life like a cinder fading black at last.


Peeking Cat 40 is available for purchase!

Peeking Cat Literary announced today that its latest anthology, Peeking Cat 40is available for purchase over at  A paperback copy costs just $12.35 U.S.D. plus shipping.  The publisher says that the book will also be available at Amazon in a couple of weeks.

I just ordered my copy.  Peeking Cat has always been one of my favorite indie lit publishers, and this issue includes 109 pages featuring 64 writers from around the world.  (Yes, one of those is me — my poem “The Rough, Violet Stone,” which Peeking Cat published in January, is included.)