Photo credit: “Hungry wolves (4197676650) (2)” by Sander van der Wel from Netherlands – Hungry wolves. Uploaded by russavia. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
All posts by Eric Robert Nolan
“Your need to love shall never know Me …”
“Your all is partial, Prospero.
“My will is all my own.
“Your need to love shall never know
“Me: I am I, Antonio
“By choice myself alone.”
— Antonio, refrain from W. H. Auden’s “The Sea and the Mirror”
Photo credit: “Azerbajiani landscape – Another version” by Original: Matthew Hadley (nickname diff_sky)derivative work: Ximonic (talk), Simo Räsänen – Azerbajiani_landscape.jpg. Licensed under CC BY 1.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
Snow on Second Street, Park Slope, Brooklyn
Photo credit: By User AnnaKucsma (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons.
I am trying to watch the Perseid meteor shower right now …
… and I am not seeing a DAMN thing.
The same thing happened during the last big sky event … that Blue Moon/Blood Moon/Sailor Moon/Neptune/whatever.
Why do I always suck at these things?
There’s always a silver lining. If I can’t see the meteors, then I can’t be reduced to ash or zombified as per a crappy, overrated 1980’s horror movie, right?
I enjoyed a 7-11 “Simply Tuna Salad Sandwich” for lunch today.
Auguste Rodin’s “Eternal Spring”
Publication Notice: Dead Snakes features “March Midnight Window”
The good folks over at Dead Snakes were kind enough today to publish my poem, “March Midnight Window.”
Thanks, Dead Snakes!
Photo credit: “Night-time snow scene in Roman Road,” February 2009, Zorb the Geek, via Wikimedia Commons.
Separated at birth?
West 24th Street, Chelsea, Manhattan
“The Unknown,” from Edgar Lee Masters’ “Spoon River Anthology”
“The Unknown”
— from Edgar Lee Masters’ “Spoon River Anthology”
YE aspiring ones, listen to the story of the unknown Who lies here with no stone to mark the place. As a boy reckless and wanton, Wandering with gun in hand through the forest Near the mansion of Aaron Hatfield, I shot a hawk perched on the top Of a dead tree. He fell with guttural cry At my feet, his wing broken. Then I put him in a cage Where he lived many days cawing angrily at me When I offered him food. Daily I search the realms of Hades For the soul of the hawk, That I may offer him the friendship Of one whom life wounded and caged.









