Tag Archives: Eric Robert Nolan

I’ve been nominated for June 2024 Author of the Month at Spillwords Press.

Hey, gang.  I’ve been nominated by the community over at Spillwords Press for June 2024 Author of the Month.  🙂  This follows their publication of my poem “The Writer” on June 15.

If you would care to vote for me, it’s easy to do so — you can vote right here from today through Saturday.

Please note that you would have to be a member of the Spillwords Press community.  But registration is quick and easy at this link.

Thanks so much to anyone who had a hand in nominating me; I really am grateful to be recognized this way.



Poetry Hall translates two of my poems into Chinese for its worldwide readership.

I’ve been extended a really nice and unusual honor — Poetry Hall translated two of my poems into Chinese for its worldwide population of readers.

The two poems are “Quiet White Dog Short Poem” and “March Midnight Window;” they appeared in Issue 24 of Poetry Hall, released today.  The bilingual journal has a truly interesting format — it prints each poem in both English and Chinese, side by side.  You can purchase Issue 24 right here on Amazon.

Poetry Hall is a Chicago-based publisher and is a project of the Chinese Poetry Association.  I’m grateful to Managing Editor Kai Mills for allowing me to see my work appear in such a distinguished global publication.


The Hancock Building on 1st Street in Roanoke has what looks like an art deco facade.

I guess I never noticed how cool it looked until I stopped and really looked at it.



It was hot as hell at Tanglewood Mall today.

You can actually SEE it in this photo.  Cave Spring, Virginia.

The Piker Press publishes “Like White Plumeria Petal”

I’m honored today to see The Piker Press publish my poem, “Like White Plumeria Petal.”  You can find it right here.

Thanks, as always, to Managing Editor Sand Pilarski for allowing me to be a part of this wonderful creative community!



Throwback Thursday: World’s Finest Chocolate!

I haven’t thought about these candy bars in over 40 years.  Then my friend (and famed journalist) Jason Brooks shared this meme on Facebook.

These were sooooo good.  And they were such a pain in the ass when you were asked by your school to sell them.  (I was assigned the task along with all my classmates in Catholic grade school in … 1981? 1982?)  As an adult today (arguably), it strikes me as a little odd, because my parents were paying tuition for me to go there.  I also question the prudence of sending a young child to sell candy door-to-door.

I even remember that weird white box that they came in.  I also seem to remember there being a contest or something if you sold a high number of these.   And there were a couple of kids who sold like a dozen boxes or so.  The scuttlebutt around school was that their parents worked in large offices and sold them on their kids’ behalf.

Anyway, World’s Finest Chocolate is still around.  (And my astute fellow comic book fans will know that they should not be confused with {World’s Finest Comics. )



Happy Father’s Day, Dad; Happy Birthday, Mom.

They were both lovers of stories and poems too.

No, I am not the baby pictured — that was my cousin Kevin.



The scent of these alone evokes memories.

When I was a kid, strawberries used to grow wild in the fields outside my neighborhood.  They were always really small, but still tasty.



HERO POET SAVES CITY.

A truly bizarre thing happened to me this afternoon. I was walking through a parking lot and smelled smoke — then discovered it emanating up from the the dried mulch in one of those divider islands that separate the sections of the parking lot.

I promptly stomped on it — but it wasn’t enough. The first tiny triangle of flame flickered into life at my feet.

I nearly panicked, then successfully stomped out the nascent fire — and then I tore into the mulch bed looking for any more signs of it. Then I just hovered and stomped for a while just to make sure. I must have looked like a madman to other people in the parking lot. (And there were several.) Or maybe like someone playacting Godzilla.

Life is weird. The fire’s genesis is a mystery. (I was expecting to find a cigarette butt, but there were none to be found.) Maybe it was ashes from a cigarette smoked by someone who’d already departed the lot?



“I cry your pardon, Gunslinger.”

Source: “Sarcasm and Humor” on Facebook