Deborah DeNicola Poems
|1.||Van Gogh's Room||7/11/2012|
|2.||I Was Looking Into Your Eye||7/11/2012|
|6.||First Trip To The Infinite||7/11/2012|
|7.||The Gospel Of Mary||7/11/2012|
|8.||Loving Mark Strand||7/9/2014|
|10.||The Tree At Casa Cara||7/9/2014|
|11.||This Morning From The Porch||7/9/2014|
|13.||The Bath Tub Is Optional||7/9/2014|
|16.||The Fallen Angel||7/11/2012|
|19.||Eve, Eons After||8/6/2014|
|21.||Theresa In Ecstasy||7/11/2012|
|22.||John Baptizing Jesus||7/11/2012|
|24.||The Persistance Of Encumbrance||4/3/2014|
|25.||Noli Me Tangere||7/11/2012|
Comments about Deborah DeNicola
Noli Me Tangere
There was a presence before the stone.
A pressure so much larger than human
wounds. My mind let go into the crags
of sorrow and I grew
this cavernous heart. It was a tomb
but also a garden.
One is the other
always. The spirit rises. The body stays
and blooms. I took him
for the gardener as the roses were wilted
on the lattice near where he stood.
He'd been broken and nailed
but nothing showed. Not one thorn,
not one bruise. The light stunned,
magnetized me reaching for his robe.
He threw out his arm, a bolt
of lit wires- shocked-I fell ...
Hardly a thing I can hold in my hand.
But I recall my small hand
on the polished mahogany table
out on the sun porch where I sometimes
napped on the day bed, my hand
like the pokey part of a compass
when I'd circle the table
for a small eternity each day, hand
holding steady, I'd hum to my parents'