Many of these poems will be of the city of Schenectady from early 1900 to the present.


Tuesday, September 28, 2010




Look into a stranger’s eyes
what – three dollars for a
bottle of water – fifty dollars
to park the car

a bed with a partial ocean
view – out on the deck -
twist to your left – bend
forward - look

1954 – lucky if you found
a motel for four – two
single beds – no one
searched for bed bugs

no one had wheels on
a suitcase – holding a
brown tweed hard case
popped open all the time

now - even if the cost
continues to rise – most
fly – bags are measured by
the inch

this one slightly slips
through the hole, this one
has too much packed on
its’ side

that one – not a carry on
as you shove your purse
inside – forgetting what
you packed, and where

by mistake the medication
was placed inside a bag
costing fifty dollars more
to ship –

you had to toss containers
into a trash - thought
extra would pass the
guard - complained but

no one cracks a smile,
or cares about the cost -
when all you needed was
a slightly larger zip

lock bag - shoved
one hundred dollar
face cream into a dollar
store container -

men never fill plastic
bags - remember room
numbers - or care if
they see the ocean -

took no time to pack
or cared what they had
to bring - probably
never unpacked 0r fought

over a top drawer in
one of those over priced
hotels -

where we go it doesn’t
matter – it’s when you
leave or come back –

still see a twin engine
as propellers were
gaining speed - flew
close to the ground

too young
to care

now a family spends
hours in front of a
computer screen – to
find a deal so they

all can travel to
some far off
driving first four

hours, paid higher
prices for gasoline -
frantic as they run
into the airport

paid to park a car
for the entire week -
booked an early flight -
bareky make it -

could it be so much
better - flying to a
destination where bed
bugs still congregate

1954 - waving good bye
you were on the tarmac
no guards, no police -
only a free feeling

wind from
propellers –

dreaming of your vacation
where – it never mattered
when, one day it would

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Saturday, September 25, 2010

BIRTH OF A SON from book "What Brought You Here?"

Birth of a Son

It took a little girl
to wipe my forehead
It took a little girl to place
a cold wet cloth
on my face,
a little girl to squeeze my
hand, and reach up, to touch
my face.

It took a little girl to fluff a
tear drenched pillow
beneath my head.
A little girl who sat patiently
at the edge of a feather bed,
before the screams - before
Papa left between contractions.

PaPa peeked through a door-
way – had his child been born?

It took a little girl to heat the towels
and place them beneath by back,
It took a little girl to rub my feet,
and place white porcelain buckets
at the bottom of my bed.

It took a little girl to help me push
and she stared and wrinkled her nose.

A little girl whose eyes were
filled with tears, ran to the window
announcing you were here.

“What Brought You Here?”
page 45 – 46
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Thursday, September 23, 2010


One Capsule in the Forest

a single tree
breathes in the forest

a benign tumor.

bacteria wiped out
the mountain.
a fungus spread from
limb to limb

sparing one single tree

a capsule for a new
the cordial for a forest.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Saturday, September 18, 2010


Nails in Palms

Can you guide only a few?
Some must suffer so –
some - must feel nails once
punctured into your feet -
your palm’s.

Are we really here for
a reason – can we help
a stranger and would
they listen? Can we tell
a friend you were – here
will they walk away –

When sickness comes
they look up – at who
we do not see – but
learning – yes there is
a bright light - you
send others back – to
push them home. . .

Must have felt nails in
their palms – nails hit
so hard – pain . . . will
never leave.

Your home felt nails
but not built with human
hand’s, yet you believed

a reason, learned –

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Friday, September 17, 2010



(Lately a group of us on line at Got Poetry on Facebook have written one minute of less poetry, so here is one to share with you.)

I write it
to you -
genius -
on the inside,
but more like me
on the outside

I tell you,
but you know it -
you are a genius
I'm less than
you are -
on the inside

suddenly it grabs
it feels as if I
don't belong -
will I disappoint
will you hesitate
from the outside?

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Wednesday, September 8, 2010



first a cloud
of light in
your vision - like
smog covering a city
on a humid day. . .
it's disease

eyes closed
at night
pulling shades
of yesterday
a dream revealing
a picture of a
coming storm

words vanish on
paper -
shadows on a
crystal ball. . .

disease - restless
now, as the eye
of a storm
passes in night

thunder -
strikes - wires
snap as wind
rips into darkness
destroying light

someday -
perhaps tomorrow. . .
a desvastating
storm - severe
enough to erase

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

CEMETARY PARKING LOT from book What Brought You Here?

Cemetery Parking Lot

the space near the front
door - near push
carts - near blue
light specials - near a
lady from the salvation
army, ringing a bell -
swinging a red bucket,
half smiling, tilting
her hat - half smiling -
near double doors -
at the front entrance to

I want to wait inside
our car - where a
cemetery surrounds
the hospital on the hill,
behind garbage bins -
near employee parking
where you can smoke.
I want to wait inside
the car while you
purchase paper towels,
toilet paper, garbage
bags, soap, and fabric

I wait in the car play
with the crank out window,
slip my fingers over
the steering wheel -
feel where a horn plays
music, feel a knob
which turns on wind shield
wipers - a knob -
to twist for headlights -

I wait in the car - remove
my shoes, toes touch a
brown - thicker - carpet
you replaced after you
spilled paint from a
hardware store.

I wait inside the car -
blow on windows draw
stick figures on glass -
blow on windows draw
houses, balloons and

I wait inside the car,
cover my legs with your
old navy blanket, rest
my head on a padded
arm rest - close my

And, I wait inside the
car - falling asleep -
listening to a bell held
by a half smiling lady
near double doors -
opposite the cemetery
where you were laid
to rest.

Nancy Duci Denofio
from book "What Brought You Here?"
published by Dystenium 2010