2020 might have been a bad year, but it was the best year yet for my poetry: My Poetry and Satire, 2020. (Maybe my muse is societal nigh collapse.)
Anyway, thanks for coming along for the ride. 🙂
Friends, Americans, countrymen — lend me your fears.
I come to divide the nation, not lead it.
The evil that I tweet will live after me;
the truth will be twisted by nationalist drones.
So let it be with America.
My critics say I am dangerous
— is that so grievous a fault?
America, you have enabled me.
Obama; Bush; Bush, Sr.;
and Clinton were honorable men,
Despite their various differences,
all honorable men.
But I’ll make America chaos,
subservient only to me.
My critics say I am dangerous,
and my critics are honorable men.
But did they entertain at great rallies,
where hatred made your heart full?
Is it this that seems dangerous?
When all are are divided, no Union is left;
Nations should be made of sterner stuff.
Oh America, thou art ruled by brutish beasts!
For you have lost your reason!—Bear with me;
My prescription bottle is in my pocket,
And I must pause to tweak.
~ Trumpus Antonius
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2020
Photo credit: By Gage Skidmore from Peoria, AZ, United States of America – Donald Trump, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=49611649
She’s a painter in oils in the land of the blind —
and a sculptor over the dead.
The deaf will demur to her poetry
while epics roar in her head.
Like Cassandra, who spun futures
so dolefully from frenzied lips,
Her words are as mad to insensate hearts
as sea-sunk towers, desert ships.
Would that I could assuage that hearth
where her discernment smolders —
my hands around the hard and the white
limestone of her shoulders.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2020
“Evening Mood,” William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1882
Contagion is a despot poet. It
releases fatal verses from its throne.
Its alabaster palm will lean to sow
what words will wind within their binding strictures
each arriving low, in permanent cursive,
at the many nadirs of pages — each
to immutable conclusion,
to shared, indelible metaphor:
dirges upon April mornings
eulogies at afternoon
rimes to loss at rayless night, as stars,
so slowly overflying a singing, dim landscape of endowed poetry,
are indistinct, indifferent.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2020
Photo credit: By Helgi Halldórsson from Reykjavík, Iceland – darkness, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=33782100
Hey, guys — if you happen to be amused by any of these poemy-type things that I repeatedly fumble at, you can find all of my 2019 publications right here:
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
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
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
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.
