Tim Nolan is author of several collections of poetry. His work is celebrated by many for his openness to experience and feeling. Learn more about Tim here.
Stray Words................................................3 I Have Only A Little.....................................5 Wind in Spring...........................................7 12 Years Old...............................................9 Our Midwestern Sky................................11 Treasure...................................................13 Happiness................................................15
I HAVE ONLY A LITTLE Piece of paper to write upon— I want more paper I want a sheet of vellum or a stone to etch upon But I only have this slip— this nothing—this small space In which to say—I have
nothing—I have everything— A few words, a heart, a pen, this slip of nothing—
WIND IN SPRING Blowing me around blowing my papers and my eyelashes blowing the ash off my cigarette onto my brown sweater blowing the fresh topsoil against the house blowing the box kite with its delicate tissue panels and balsa frame blowing and tugging the kite string
I’ve held myself against all winds the sharp winter wind from Winnipeg the small breeze in the corner of my brain the rain and wind and hail bouncing off the roof of the orange car in the South Dakota storm Now I realize the wind has always loved me
12 YEARS OLD If I had five bucks in my pocket I would go downtown for lunch. Still doing it. Many lunches. Reading a book. Or this scribbling.
I'm so happy— to be the same one.
STRAY WORDS All the words are strays all of them are mutts From any number of them I chose these So they belong to me like my old dogs Picked for their sweet eyes from the pound
They’ve been all around the city—smelling garbage And urine—they have a map of the city in their noses Yet they always come back to me scruffled—still loving me
OUR MIDWESTERN SKY We know we are nowhere but because we are here we look up All the clouds go east except tonight the clouds float west in a strange current Like ships that should head toward home but instead float out in a low wind
Toward the far reaches we are the far reaches we’ve always known this
TREASURE I’ve always thought there was an island where in the sand forty paces here fifty paces toward the tallest palm tree there would be the chest and the treasure. Now I think if you climb up to the top of the tree I sit under and look down there will be a chest within which there’s a heart
still beating regularly still unclogged within which there is a mirror or the blue sky reflective. And X will mark the spot.
HAPPINESS The coincidence of a clear deep breath a few words a friend who has known me through everything