Food, a nice place to live in a city that I love, a wonderful girl and loads of good friends. A good portion of the world is not so lucky.
Perspective is a good thing.
Eschewing the Oxford comma — that’s something else I’m thankful for.
Poster for “Clear and Present Danger” (1994)
Paramount Pictures.
“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.” — Plato
“An Ode to Daylight Savings”
Your absence ever leaves me sour,
annual absconded hour —
that vexing day when March exhibits
sixty fewer sleeping minutes.
Subtract an hour of labor, please!
But leave to me my precious Z’s!
— Eric Robert Nolan
“L’Aurore,” William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1881
“Dawn.” Oil.
“I will not stand to live in a world where love invisible.”
“Phrosine and Mélidore,” Édouard Joseph Dantan, 1878
Oil on canvas.
Throwback Thursday: Nabisco Chocolate Snaps!
I remember — fondly, if a bit vaguely. I seem to recall getting these as a treat from my grandparents when I was just a tot in the 1970’s. They were pretty tasty.
Hot off the press from Ireland — The Galway Review 12.
I am currently enjoying The Galway Review’s annual anthology, The Galway Review 12 — which includes my poem, “The Beach House, Early Spring.” (The piece was published online by the magazine in October 2023.)
This really is one of the nicest honors I’ve received as a poet. The Galway Review is the city’s leading literary magazine, with more than a half a million readers worldwide, and I was included along with just seven other poets to see my work appear in this annual publication. I remain quite grateful to the magazine’s editors for selecting my poem.
If you’d like to peruse the anthology, you can read it online for free right here.
“Why is it that, once fallen, we do not try to rise?”
“Why are we worn out? Why do we, who start out so passionate, brave, noble, believing, become totally bankrupt by the age of thirty or thirty-five? Why is it that one is extinguished by consumption, another puts a bullet in his head, a third seeks oblivion in vodka, cards, a fourth, in order to stifle fear and anguish, cynically tramples underfoot the portrait of his pure, beautiful youth? Why is it that, once fallen, we do not try to rise, and, having lost one thing, we do not seek another? Why?”
― Anton Chekhov, The Complete Short Novels
Source: Philo Thoughts on Facebook
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 