Tag Archives: Eric Robert Nolan

Oh, well. Circle of life and all that.

I’m not sure who our mystery predator is here.  As I’ve noted before, there is a notable dearth of stray cats in Roanoke.  I occasionally see one — but it’s nothing like my native New York, where stray cats outnumber people with a clean driving record.

Maybe the pupper next door did it.  I dunno.  He seems to be one of those gruff dogs who’s nevertheless timid (and adorable).  He sort of grumble-barks tentatively and then goes instantly quiet when you make eye contact with him.  He wandered into my backyard last summer and spent at least five minutes literally trembling in front of an empty tent, before he got up enough courage to bark at it.  Eventually he even ran away from that.

Whatever the case, I hope that the little patch of ground below doesn’t lie along a suburban game trail.  The is a place where bunny buds are known to roam.  And the last one I startled there just ran in a confused figure eight — and then mistakenly ran at me for a moment instead of away.  (Little brown fella had some kind of spatial relations problem.  Or maybe he was channeling General Woundwort.)

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Re: “WandaVision.”

I think we finally figured out who Agnes was as a little girl …

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WHAT IS “DEPECHE MODE?”

I’ll take college nostalgia for $500, Alex.

(I’m told that this was from tonight’s episode.)

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“I LOVE LAMP.”

Are these the coolest Valentines goodies ever?!?!  That is a Himalayan Salt Lamp up top and that’s a big shiny lapel pin on the bottom.  I think the lamp looks like one of the Sankara Stones from “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom” (1984).

And I think the anatomically accurate heart looks like one of the metal hearts created by Dr. Jacob Farmer in my horror tale, “At the End of the World, My Daughter Wept Metal.”  My Valentine didn’t even mean it that way — she just thought the pin was funny … which just kinda makes it awesomely, ominously meta.

Now whoever sees me in my overcoat is forewarned that my hubris will destroy the world.  (Clock’s ticking, people.)



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(STAY FROSTY, PEOPLE!)

Today’s agenda:

1) Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening.

2) Figure out whose woods these are. (I think I know — his house is in the village, though.)

3) Reassure my horse if he gives his harness bells a shake to ask if there is some mistake.

4) Keep my promises.

5) Go for miles.

6) Sleep.



(Your guess is as good as mine.)

Does this cozy Southern house

harbor an audacious mouse?

Because heaven only knows

what just ran across my toes.





(What would the costume even look like?)

There is a mourning dove on the telephone wire out front just staring through my window at me.

This might mean I need to become a mourning dove-themed superhero a la Frank Miller’s “Batman: Year One.”

Figures I’d get the depressing #@&* instead of a falcon or an owl something.



2021-02-08B

Dead Letter Radio Features “March Midnight Window”

I’m honored to share here that several of my poems have been selected by the Dead Letter Radio podcast!  “March Midnight Window” was the first last night to be read and interpreted by host Taize Jones, who brings a relatable and sublimely empathetic voice to his program.  My poem is the sixth and last piece to be read on Episode 10, “Eisegesis” (at about the 18:02 mark).

You can listen to the entire episode right here.  Dead Letter Radio is also available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts and over at Listen Notes.

I really recommend that you check out Taize’s show.  It’s a truly unique online venue — giving listeners the feel that they are reacting to poems with a trusted friend.  (I’ll bet that its style of presentation successfully engages many new readers of poetry.)

Thanks again, Taize!



Check out “Everlasting Pieces,” by Dennis Villelmi

There’s a damn terrific poem over at Anti-Heroin Chic by my friend and colleague Dennis Villelmi — take a look at “Everlasting Pieces.”

One of the things that consistently appeals to me about Dennis’ work is his frequent use of dark road-trip-through-America settings — like Jack Kerouac crossed with a troubled, looking-glass Norman Rockwell.  When I finally get a chance someday to drive my own cross-country odyssey, I am going to bring his poems along with me.




Guys, Covid is real.

I know at least four people who’ve contracted it, one of whom died.  The remaining three got very, verrrry sick.  Trust me, the disease is often no picnic for those who survive it.

Please be careful.