This new mountain night
drains the waning day in violets.
Light declines to lilac, wine, pomegranate, black —
another plum-colored
sunset over Roanoke.
(c) 2019 Eric Robert Nolan
Tag Archives: poetry
“The Writer” appears at Every Writer!
I am grateful tonight to Editor Richard Edwards for publishing “The Writer” at Every Writer!
I’m quite happy that Mr. Edwards felt my poem might appeal to the readers of Every Writer — especially considering what an important resource Every Writer has been to the independent literature community since 1999.
You can find the poem right here:
“The Writer,” by Eric Robert Nolan
The Piker Press features “Smiling Among Inert Shipwrecks”
I’m honored tonight to share here that The Piker Press has graciously published my poem, “Smiling Among Inert Shipwrecks.”
Once again, I’m indebted to Editor Sand Pilarski for allowing me to join the creative community of this wonderful weekly journal of arts and sciences.
You can find the poem at the link below:
“Smiling Among Inert Shipwrecks,” by Eric Robert Nolan
“The Writer” will appear at Every Writer!
I’m honored to share here that Every Writer has selected one of my poems, “The Writer,” for publication. Editor Richard Edwards passed the news along to me this morning. Every Writer is one of the oldest comprehensive resources for writers on the net, and I’m grateful to Mr. Edwards for allowing me to join the creative community there.
I’ll post a link here when the poem appears.
“An Ode for Fellow Replicants,” by Eric Robert Nolan
(Dedicated to Philip K. Dick)
What if the Internet is an android’s dream,
And we are the electric sheep?
Dick would know at once
our artificial people:
every boy a Roy,
every girl a pleasure model,
trying to pass as real,
inwardly concerned with their design:
“Morphology. Longevity. Incept dates.”
On Facebook,
“More Nolan than Nolan”
is my motto.
If I, in my genuine moments,
could greet my jpeg face
hiding in his electronic words,
he’d go offworld or die.
After all,
“It’s not an easy thing to meet your maker.”
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2016
Photo credit: By olga.palma – facebook enganchaUploaded by JohnnyMrNinja, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16525385
“Redbud Leaves,” by Eric Robert Nolan
Falling early, in July,
are perforated tapered spades,
or the honeycombed arrows of hearts —
beetle-bitten redbud leaves.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2017
“Lie To Me, But Brightly,” by Eric Robert Nolan
The moon ignites her eyes
into glittering locks:
heavy, hard and bright.
In this early winter air,
Her whispers are verdicts. Starshine
falls across us like judgement.
We are fastened down
with new wool blankets, with sheets,
with one another.
The looming headboard, her mother’s gift,
is firm in its oak location, yet yawns —
the padlock’s empty eye.
Reclining, her white stomach is
a burning opal, and, under my palm,
a fluttering altar.
Her winding legs
are the snowy tails of comets —
our bedsheets’ burning stars.
She draws up against me.
She draws against my heart
like an unwanted memory.
Lie to me, she says. Lie to me, but softly.
I want to see your lips move
as slowly as the moon will cross the sky.
Lie to me, she says. Lie to me, but brightly.
Your words are as formless as starshine,
as insubstantial as light.
Lie to me, she says. Lie to me, nightly,
when your eyes are as dark in your forgeries
as midnight’s measureless heavens.
Lie to me, she says. Lie to me in lilting verse.
Paint for me the universe,
and I will forget you are here.
Then she crosses her wrists
in pearling benediction, under her glowing shoulders,
softly, silvering in shadow there,
in intersecting, sloping ivory,
the smooth and luminous, leaning crucifix
of consequence, of her trembling arms.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2019
Photo credit: By Lawrie Cate – Moon, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3684899
