POETRY READING AUG 11, 2017 FLORIDA ATLANTIC UNIVERSITY

  Deborah will be reading with David Colodney and Geoffrey Philip Friday August 11th, 2017  5PM

at FAU, Boca Raton Campus. Directions below. She will be reading from her new manuscript

What Falls Away is Elsewhere.  Title Poem first published in Prairie Schooner

South Florida Poetry Journal

And FAU Painters Forum Present

A Poetry Reading at F.A.U.

Boca Raton Campus

Friday August 11^th 5pm

David Colodney, Deborah DeNicola &

Geoffrey Philip

Room VA 105 Gallery/Workspace

Reading followed by a Discussion

with FAU artists

 Directions:

The entrance to FAU is on Glades Road in Boca Raton, across the street from Whole Foods- just at I-95 and Glades. (on the North side of Glades). Once you enter, make the first right turn onto Indian River St., go to Saint Lucie St. and make a left.

Take Saint Lucie to Arts Ave- make a left (west) go to parking garage on left side and park. Walk out of garage and go west (left) to end of the street, at make a left, go to second bldg. on left side- see VA 105 on door.

LISTEN to “Rewind” Deborah’s 911 Poem

Listen to Deborah’s poem “Rewind” on Words To Go, (23 minutes, 19 seconds into the Podcast. “Rewind” was first published in Solstice Magazine online, then in New Millennium Review where it was a contest finalist.

DEBORAH’S NEW POETRY BK is HERE!

Take a peek at the Publisher’s link: Word Press: Fine Literary Publishing or Purchase at Amazon.com: Original Human DeNicola: Books

This is lush and generous book, a stirring of myth and childhood always coming home to the flesh.  A Gnostic Mary and a young girl on a swing are at home in the same dream space.  Deborah DeNicola has written her richest book, and one to get delightfully lost in.   —Doug Anderson

If Love Suffers Gladly

My left eye on the bougainvillea stinging with tanning lotion. The wind stolen like a kiss. And as birds entrain overhead only my solitude increases. I felt you through closed eyes, rubbing where sun block dripped, a searing pain like a blender blade whirring fish into soup. Tropical colors like week-old bruises. If love suffers gladly, I am happy to know even here, teetering over the other hemisphere, you are with me, airbound as spirit—And my own sighs are oceans with rip tides and the lapping of weeping. It is always such with women in mid-life. And most of the men—eons married—are so much more dear now, all of us weathered but wiser. Although I am almost exclusive, what’s left of this life includes you.

Santa Barbara Poetry Contest Winner

Deborah DeNicola’s poem “I Am, I Will” was the winner of the contest

and Deborah will be attending the Santa Barbara Poetry Conference  Aug 1-3rd.

I AM,  I WILL    

No pastries for breakfast, just a pear in my pocket and a long walk

on the beach at 6 a.m., wearing my bullet-proof bra and grey

duster as in an old film noir.  Now the sun

lifts quickly from its bed of waves, like the pink

rubber handball from junior high school, compact

disc ejected from the horizon. The sea is muted,

understated in steady breakers.  I Am, I Will,

says the sun and Let it be. And I do

not think of you as I watch gulls cross the sun

in formation like planes at the air show. And I think of how it took guts

to play handball with the guys when I was twelve.  I think Top Gun—

and how these birds are perfectly aligned. Then when the lead

flaps his wings, his side-kick pulses till they’re all in synch

and cease their flutter at the same time to dive

through the reddened edges of sun which begin to yellow

as if another sun lay behind them.  The few clouds are doused

in raiment.  And the disc burns, unconsumed, like Moses’ bush

while some god turns and awakens from sleep,

so the light deepens.  I stare, then stare at after-images

everywhere, the unconscious issue of  the sun assualting

both sand and sky, how it abides as whole civilizations are lost

and gone.  I think of Shelley’s Ozymandias,

how even things meant for endurance

crumble and die.  And I think of the Buddha

and his one revelation, everything changes.

I do not think of us as a lone surfer jogs by, his board

so much lighter than a cross beneath his buffed arm,

his wetsuit zipped up snug

so within his rubber skin, the bone-chilling water

will warm and will keep him

warm.

Read and Hear “Dusk”

See and hear Deborah’s poem “Dusk” in the February, 2009 issue of The Cortland Review.