BLINDED BY THE SETTING SUN
A collection of four poems
on life, hate, and suffering

between trees
beyond grass
up, on a hill
silent and waiting,
he stalks

at dusk she reaches
the hilltop,
eyes of a stranger
smiles…
no one heard
screams, yells, as he
savagely, grisly beat her…
raped her…

blinded by sunlight,
between trees
knowing, how beautiful
a sunset is…
she, can't recall his face.

Resting on a maple leaf
a robin, sings as it beats
its' breasts…

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Below Zero

Curtains moved by
forced air; she
needed angel wings.
Television blasted
through walls: feet,
cold, skin breaking,
stockings
lost; what belonged
had disappeared.

His fingers long and
slender, his eyes
hurt, he walked and
his body jerked.

Cold feet on a
strangers bed
this angel never learned
to fly, she never
belonged, never
moved, and pretending to
fall off to sleep.

He locked doors
tapped keys
a madman. His angel
lay there lifeless.

No way out - no walking
no screaming -
no strength to toss a
chair to break glass
of to fly out a window.

Polite before drugs - he
must have given to play
games.

While the angel slept
she recalled trust, but
knew not everyone was good.

It was something in the
smile that turned him
into stone - a sick mind,
with no place else to go.

Even if her angel wings
had grown – they had no
way to bring her home.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved



They Say You Have Children

They say you have children
not sighted – but blind –
The say you have children
Protected with walls.

And your children are gifted,
but you haven’t the time.
You won’t take a day to be
sighted, not blind.

They have their senses -
transformed it to love
a touch and a feeling, a
an archive of time.

You know you have children
they have taken your name
they are one in a million –
If you just understand…

Their life will be different,
and, you’re freighted to see
how people observe them,
with eyes that are blind.

You know you have children
they were given your name,
using all of their senses,
they learned to survive.

So we have the knowledge.
and you find the time –
Your children will treasure
with you love at their side.

They say you have children,
and gifted not blind…

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved



THE SICK BOY AT THE TABLE

Who - will do anything
for the sick boy
tied to the dinner table?
Last night - he picked
up the chair - tossed
it at a window, crammed
his head close to glass -
squinted and then, laughed.

Who - will talk to the
sick boy tied to
the breakfast table?
Yesterday, he pulled a
knife from a kitchen
drawer - sliced the
curtains into shreds -
struck a match to light
rags. . .

Who - will untie a sick boy
at the lunch table?
His wrists bleed, his hands
are useless, fingers white,
and his feet - blue.

Who - will cover up the
sick boy in white sheets
When he is let loose
on city streets?

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

STORAGE GARAGE

We still talk about it
vague to some
words etched
scratching red brick -
hearts around names
it was puppy-love
vague - besides. . .
I never loved a
ten year old
those words
all lies

Today -
we could fill
a red brick wall
so many names
so many boys
it would be nice
to. . .
remember when?

(First chapbook- Grandmother's Bleeding Hearts)


NancyDuciDenofio
all rights reserved

Do Anything

They said, "Do anything,"
bad habits
didn't matter -

A cigarette – taking in
deep drags and then
exhaling – followed by
a diet with less fat, as
bones became thin
protruded through skin.

Ice inside a crystal glass,
sings... hands tremor as
one mixes a tonic and gin.

Strip off your wig -
white fuzz sparkles
as it blends in summer
lights.

A minister fighting
on a porch, but he is
among tulips in bloom
as spring sings with
robins beating their
breast.

You bend, pick the
color red, a favorite
rose, and sweat seeps
deeper into lines on
your face as if a thorn
has carved age in place.

You could have been
strong, clicked your
heals, swung your
brief case – or wore
aprons not suits –
aprons crossed
instead of cloth draped
over boney knees –

Do anything, was all
they said...

Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved

Why Haven’t You Grown Wings?

White wings fan
claws grasp a round
piece of wood.
White ropes extend
sixteen floors.
Anyone who passes,
stares.

“My eyes red – wings
wide - I can fly - but
not until my owner let’s
me cling to his finger.

Why haven’t you wings?
Why aren’t your eyes red?
Why do you stand still?
I won’t hurt you.
I can talk – only if I see
a face like mine.”

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Locked Inside the Bathroom

She locked the bathroom door
and I hear her crying.
She never cries, or locks the
bathroom door.

I’ll wait right here outside the
door, lean my head against the
wall, and have to listen to her
cry.

At least when she cries
I know she is still alive.

My legs hurt – I keep moving
them because they get these
funny tingles and feel funny. . .

Really, I don’t want to hear
her cry or sit here on the floor.
I don’t like it when she locks
the bathroom door!

If I knock, she’ll get mad
and probably cry louder. . .

So I wait, no one else is
home. No one else hears
her cry.

I’m tired, and so I’ll knock
just a little. My voice,
louder, “I’m here waiting
for you. Can you hear me?”

She continued to cry and
I continued to wait, on the
floor – legs crossed.

I want someone to come
home, anyone – if I leave
the floor near the door she
may never come out.

The only thing I heard
above her cry was our bird
tweetie.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Loves Ashes

Marble cold, exact
rushing water - kissing
nakedness, of time lost

Hear rushing water
skipping stones, hands
touch, harmony exchanged

a distant star, a glimpse
of fate as two birds spring
free, we all must leave...

Electrify night
long since our meeting in
secret caves, and streaks

of rain coat your face with
loves ashes, earths explosion
long ago.

Marble dries in sunlight, color
fades at sunset, time shall not
replace you kissing stone

tucked from light of day
a lighted path, love arrives -
echoes in autumn, your

voice. One year has
depleted streams …
love to rock is marble still

I shall want you until moonlight
disappears, a world beyond
to fold in flesh, not stone...

I see you - still - as air is changing
color - as light flickers through
trees, losing life.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Black Clouds

Told the wind outside. . .
"Protect me from this storm."
I asked,
"Blow away these black clouds."
for I am afraid of thunder.

At night as I drift to sleep
lightening flashes in my dreams -
Memories of fright filled days
when violent storms
always stayed.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Below Zero

Curtains moved by
forced air; she
needed angel wings.
Television blasted
through walls: feet,
cold, skin breaking,
stockings
lost; what belonged
had disappeared.

His fingers long and
slender, his eyes
hurt, he walked and
his body jerked.

Cold feet on a
strangers bed
this angel never learned
to fly, she never
belonged, never
moved, and pretending to
fall off to sleep.

He locked doors
tapped keys
a madman. His angel
lay there lifeless.

No way out - no walking
no screaming -
no strength to toss a
chair to break glass
of to fly out a window.

Polite before drugs - he
must have given to play
games.

While the angel slept
she recalled trust, but
knew not everyone was good.

It was something in the
smile that turned him
into stone - a sick mind,
with no place else to go.

Even if her angel wings
had grown – they had no
way to bring her home.

Nancy Duci Denofio
copyrighted
all rights reserved

I Never Knew
I Knew You


I never knew I
knew you, so
many years ago,
I loved you -
never - knew why?

We met inside a
sky of marble –
I pretended to be
reading while I
sipped coffee;
you glanced
my way.

The second day,
I glanced up as if
I didn’t know
you were there;
our eyes met,
and you stayed.
I always wondered
why?

A sweet smell
of summer, a
morning - in July.
A certain kindness
in your face,
a gentleness,
as you grinned -
A safe place to
begin.

I never knew
I knew you,
so many years ago
I loved you -
yet I said good bye.

Downtown - 1850


Hitching posts on
cobblestone streets
awnings, black
iron touches red brick
proprietors lean,
arms folded,
hands -
twist and turn
inside pockets
of a white apron,
bare arms scratched
rubbing against uneven
brick: stare down
State Street as it
twists and turns
between blooms on
dogwood trees,
near wooden boxes
that read,
“Deposit Trash.”

A horse heaves
into the air
swings the peddler’s
wooden wagon,
boys in clean white
knickers,
dash to fetch
fresh fruit, bruised
on cobblestone

A distant stare from
the keeper of the
store, watches a horse
defecate on his
property.

Soon the heat of
summer keeps
his awning drawn - -
his door closed, and
he watches through
a pane of glass while
men with iron shovels
clear cobblestone
in the heat of day
patrons have left
for another day.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved

Dandelions Overgrown

Not far from the city
nestled in tall grass
dandelions overgrown:

a red brick farmhouse
wants to speak,

"Here I stand,
no one knows
that I exist.”

Pictures hang on
walls - buried with
a silent web of
weeds.

A mask of mystery
until one spring
my Master left
an open
door.

No one claimed
my gifts.
Nor have I given
them the
right.

I'm broken down,
but, I'm alive,

drinking tea - on
cold, winter nights.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Blinded By the Setting Sun

between trees
beyond grass
up, on a hill
silent and waiting,
he stalks

at dusk she reaches
the hilltop,
eyes of a stranger
smiles…
no one heard
screams, yells, as he
savagely, grisly beat her…
raped her…

blinded by sunlight,
between trees
knowing, how beautiful
a sunset is…
she, can't recall his face.

Resting on a maple leaf
a robin, sings as it beats
its' breasts…

Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved

The Sick Room

A cable line runs beneath
radiators generating heat;
you are in bed, one ear smothered
by a feather pillow, the other listening.

"Good Morning America."

A thumb, pushes a button,
every station is talking about
a man who killed his family
in a fit of rage.

Good Morning America, repeats,
“He was known as a man
who cared about his family.”

Blinds cover cheap
windows while cool air
seeps between a frame.

A thumb, pushes a button
changing the channel.

The room begins to blur,
eyes foggy; where is Discovery?
Speech slurred, some man is
talking about dinosaurs, and
creatures that roamed earth.

Push. Push.

A man touched some rock,
played games with monkeys,
made friends with a bear...

Swallowed pills in the sick room.

Discovery Channel" still on
showing the remains; a skeleton.
Water came first, before
the mountains.
The screen projects a
four legged creature, a monster.

The room is foggy; a head
rests on a stack of pillows and
a needle is inserted into a vein.
A clear liquid drips slowly. . .

A sweater is hanging from
a bedpost.

The control for the television
is floating, and you can’t catch
it. You reach, the needle
is gone.

A picture on a night stand,
the eyes grow larger, come
closer, then back away –
people separate into pieces.

“Discovery,” is gone.

Who placed a quilt on the
bed?

Push. Push. A man is on
praising a man who killed
his family.

Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved

They Say You Have Children

They say you have children
not sighted – but blind –
The say you have children
Protected by walls

And your children are gifted,
but you haven’t the time.
You won’t take a day to be
sighted, not blind.

They have their senses -
transformed it to love
a touch and a feeling, a
an archive of time.

You know you have children
they have taken your name
they are one in a million –
If you just understand…

Their life will be different,
and, you’re freighted to see
how people observe them,
with eyes that are blind.

You know you have children
they were given your name,
using all of their senses,
they learned to survive.

So we have the knowledge.
and you find the time –
Your children will treasure
with you love at their side.

They say you have children,
and gifted not blind…

The Purpose of a Fence

Stuck here in this dirt to
protect some precious life –

First, hit hard on every
side then plastered with some
paint.

Then – here in a line I live
beyond those who placed me,
dividing property from left,
and right of center, then
pounded, secured with nails –

In years to come I might
be replace – new fangled
ways to protect these fields
I have learned to love –

Fields I see each breaking
day, then, I could be his
golden gate.

So slap the paint on my
side, coat my nails with
rust, pound my head into
the ground –

It’s life which I protect.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

THE SICK BOY AT THE TABLE

Who - will do anything
for the sick boy
tied to the dinner table?
Last night - he picked
up the chair - tossed
it at a window, crammed
his head close to glass -
squinted and then, laughed.

Who - will talk to the
sick boy tied to
the breakfast table?
Yesterday, he pulled a
knife from a kitchen
drawer - sliced the
curtains into shreds -
struck a match to light
rags. . .

Who - will untie a sick boy
at the lunch table?
His wrists bleed, his hands
are useless, fingers white,
and his feet - blue.

Who - will cover up the
sick boy in white sheets
When he is let loose
on city streets?

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved