Second Hand Mama
baked a home made
chocolate cake,
like Mama -tasted your potato
salad, it was as if
Mama came home - heard
you have one crooked arm,
held my breath when
you extended your arm,
Mama, she use to
show people her arm
proud she
broke it playing touch
football with
her ten brothers -
you speak your
mind as Mama did -
always right. . .
I heard you
love to gamble,
playing cards and dice -
traveling to exotic
places - Mama, did too -
Mama, handed me my
first quarter
for a slot machine -
you never did. . .guess
you’re my - second hand Mama.
DID YOU EVER WONDER WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
GOLDEN THREAD OF TIME
GOLDEN THREAD
OF TIME
No other gown
close - with threads
inside – out - as light
catches a flicker
of gold - as a leg
extends, and the
other, a twist, a
turn, and golden
threads sparkle
dark shadows
a crowd of different
shapes with eyes
watching a girl
in pink as golden
threads - catch light
she told her
dressmaker – inside
out
she told herself
it’s hot, this make
up, don’t hurry,
don’t run, don’t
sweat, don’t trip
in high heels while
I walk with smaller
steps, and turn
a bit to let the
light catch golden
threads.
don’t look at any
of the ghosts in
the dark, with eyes
that see –
flash – flash – flash
my eyes see circles
of round brilliant
light – larger than
tiny lights, I must
follow the runway
she twists slightly
a body moves to
music – twists
slightly – like a
Tootsie Roll
then with gusto –
shoulders held back,
head facing ghosts
knowing eyes are
watching every
move – her head
twists a body
follows to a
designated spot –
and, you stand to
stare – too move
ever so slowly –
a bit cock eyed as
a hip pushes out
as a leg kicks
across another as
a body twists and
turns
keep these arms
still – remember to
look from left to
right.
flash – flash – flash
those circles are
back – now I have
to talk – talk – talk
as slow as I walked
“Thank you. Thank
you,” now tell them
your name and what
great state you are
from – clearly, and
turn to face the ghosts
remember the eyes
in the dark
her head is still – as
she hears the audience
cheering – clapping
her shoulders move
and once more those
golden threads
sparkle in the light
and a slight nod
a slight smile
a slight movement
then twist, a body
leads, a head is
last
walk tall, don’t
hunch over, tall and
straight, straight to
the dressing room,
don’t trip, don’t
look down – never
look down
it’s over
ghosts have simply
left the room, and
circles of light are
now fluorescent
bulbs
she recalls the
silence.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
OF TIME
No other gown
close - with threads
inside – out - as light
catches a flicker
of gold - as a leg
extends, and the
other, a twist, a
turn, and golden
threads sparkle
dark shadows
a crowd of different
shapes with eyes
watching a girl
in pink as golden
threads - catch light
she told her
dressmaker – inside
out
she told herself
it’s hot, this make
up, don’t hurry,
don’t run, don’t
sweat, don’t trip
in high heels while
I walk with smaller
steps, and turn
a bit to let the
light catch golden
threads.
don’t look at any
of the ghosts in
the dark, with eyes
that see –
flash – flash – flash
my eyes see circles
of round brilliant
light – larger than
tiny lights, I must
follow the runway
she twists slightly
a body moves to
music – twists
slightly – like a
Tootsie Roll
then with gusto –
shoulders held back,
head facing ghosts
knowing eyes are
watching every
move – her head
twists a body
follows to a
designated spot –
and, you stand to
stare – too move
ever so slowly –
a bit cock eyed as
a hip pushes out
as a leg kicks
across another as
a body twists and
turns
keep these arms
still – remember to
look from left to
right.
flash – flash – flash
those circles are
back – now I have
to talk – talk – talk
as slow as I walked
“Thank you. Thank
you,” now tell them
your name and what
great state you are
from – clearly, and
turn to face the ghosts
remember the eyes
in the dark
her head is still – as
she hears the audience
cheering – clapping
her shoulders move
and once more those
golden threads
sparkle in the light
and a slight nod
a slight smile
a slight movement
then twist, a body
leads, a head is
last
walk tall, don’t
hunch over, tall and
straight, straight to
the dressing room,
don’t trip, don’t
look down – never
look down
it’s over
ghosts have simply
left the room, and
circles of light are
now fluorescent
bulbs
she recalls the
silence.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Friday, June 25, 2010
We Have Returned
We Have Returned
Giant buildings - no bigger
than my finger – at the curve
swimming in the ocean – huts
of blue – empty - last nights
foot prints show at low
tide – nothing has changed
I recall laughing – then a hush
it was last night before
seaweed washed beyond a
tractors tracks disturbing ladies
carrying plastic bags
shells to send home – as if to
prove, “We are here.”
Some jog – some linger in
a morning fog – some alone –
others walk hand in hand
to view another sunrise – to
snap another photo – even as
a tide rolls in and out –
our sun brings silence as it
reaches up and out of the
sea.
At high noon when heat
burnt tender flesh, blisters –
mothers plaster lotion
onto bare skin – believing in
protection.
At high noon children stir
sand into castles – a dream
destroyed when day is night
Men cover up their nose with
Noxema – strut up and down
the shore still staring at a girl
in a bikini – forgetting what
it is – but knowing when
their children played in sand
and slept in blue huts along
an ocean, slept in simple
rooms – heard the rush of
a high tide slapping wooden
steps…
laughing never ceased, as
children - free to walk
along a shore –
tossing bread to sea gulls
laughing – knowing tomorrow
would be like today – no one
thought time would pass so
quickly as a tide greeted a
moon in a night sky.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Giant buildings - no bigger
than my finger – at the curve
swimming in the ocean – huts
of blue – empty - last nights
foot prints show at low
tide – nothing has changed
I recall laughing – then a hush
it was last night before
seaweed washed beyond a
tractors tracks disturbing ladies
carrying plastic bags
shells to send home – as if to
prove, “We are here.”
Some jog – some linger in
a morning fog – some alone –
others walk hand in hand
to view another sunrise – to
snap another photo – even as
a tide rolls in and out –
our sun brings silence as it
reaches up and out of the
sea.
At high noon when heat
burnt tender flesh, blisters –
mothers plaster lotion
onto bare skin – believing in
protection.
At high noon children stir
sand into castles – a dream
destroyed when day is night
Men cover up their nose with
Noxema – strut up and down
the shore still staring at a girl
in a bikini – forgetting what
it is – but knowing when
their children played in sand
and slept in blue huts along
an ocean, slept in simple
rooms – heard the rush of
a high tide slapping wooden
steps…
laughing never ceased, as
children - free to walk
along a shore –
tossing bread to sea gulls
laughing – knowing tomorrow
would be like today – no one
thought time would pass so
quickly as a tide greeted a
moon in a night sky.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Where Is Love?
Where is Love?
If I had my way I would keep
you tucked away
where only I could
be your lover
where only I
could be
your friend
I'd keep
you happy
building
private dreams,
inside our
private world.
Stillness in the dark
drops into a room
where I am alone
to picture, your face,
taste life
You can remove
dampness from morning,
loneliness from day –
everything you give me,
I need
everything I need,
I need with you
all we share - dreams,
laughter – we have
cried tears of joy, and
sadness –
celebrate love
as one
without you what is life?
and when did it begin?
and why must it end -
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
If I had my way I would keep
you tucked away
where only I could
be your lover
where only I
could be
your friend
I'd keep
you happy
building
private dreams,
inside our
private world.
Stillness in the dark
drops into a room
where I am alone
to picture, your face,
taste life
You can remove
dampness from morning,
loneliness from day –
everything you give me,
I need
everything I need,
I need with you
all we share - dreams,
laughter – we have
cried tears of joy, and
sadness –
celebrate love
as one
without you what is life?
and when did it begin?
and why must it end -
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Saturday, June 19, 2010
INDIAN STYLE
the porch, in the front
the porch near roses,
near metal milk crates
and above colored slate
from Vermont – is where
she sits – Indian Style,
on top of pieces of
wood, warped, and
gray paint peeling
the porch near two
doors leading too
two families in the
city, on a corner lot
in a city filled with
children who played,
played – as she watched.
the porch where she
smiled when a friend
walked by, a friend one
day –
sitting Indian Style
she smiled once more
another friend walked
by – near the hedges
lining the property,
she saw her feet
touch cement, her head
looked straight ahead –
legs crossed Indian
style on the porch
where fingers picked
at pieces of wood
covered in gray paint,
a smile on her face
a stray tear rolled
down her face,
caught the edges of
her lips, where a
smile – remained
scooting over to the
right, toward the
metal milk box,
she opened the lid
and there – inside
where paper dolls
were stored - inside,
she saw her friends
smile back.
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
the porch, in the front
the porch near roses,
near metal milk crates
and above colored slate
from Vermont – is where
she sits – Indian Style,
on top of pieces of
wood, warped, and
gray paint peeling
the porch near two
doors leading too
two families in the
city, on a corner lot
in a city filled with
children who played,
played – as she watched.
the porch where she
smiled when a friend
walked by, a friend one
day –
sitting Indian Style
she smiled once more
another friend walked
by – near the hedges
lining the property,
she saw her feet
touch cement, her head
looked straight ahead –
legs crossed Indian
style on the porch
where fingers picked
at pieces of wood
covered in gray paint,
a smile on her face
a stray tear rolled
down her face,
caught the edges of
her lips, where a
smile – remained
scooting over to the
right, toward the
metal milk box,
she opened the lid
and there – inside
where paper dolls
were stored - inside,
she saw her friends
smile back.
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
Thursday, June 17, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
A Shadow Lost on Friday
bored with him, his
bearded face - curious
curling of smoke
twisting to meet her eyes,
her shoulders droop
still -
a drink warms
ice melts,
as wrists curl -
two shadows on a wall
as he puffs a
pipe, a ring of smoke
near gentle features,
seeps into pores -
he doesn’t talk
a shadow - still
he knows she detests
him, his grubby looks,
fruitless charm –
a shadow lost
she thought,
perhaps? Pouts -
crosses her legs - her feet
beneath a marble table,
dreaming of next
Friday -
shadows on a wall,
wrists bent to hold her
head - sips beer
from a crystal glass -
lights her only cigarette,
men stare at her, a flickering
of golden light – still
a shadow cold – a marble top,
smell the aroma
from a bean of vanilla,
a bearded mans pipe -
until Saturday.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
bored with him, his
bearded face - curious
curling of smoke
twisting to meet her eyes,
her shoulders droop
still -
a drink warms
ice melts,
as wrists curl -
two shadows on a wall
as he puffs a
pipe, a ring of smoke
near gentle features,
seeps into pores -
he doesn’t talk
a shadow - still
he knows she detests
him, his grubby looks,
fruitless charm –
a shadow lost
she thought,
perhaps? Pouts -
crosses her legs - her feet
beneath a marble table,
dreaming of next
Friday -
shadows on a wall,
wrists bent to hold her
head - sips beer
from a crystal glass -
lights her only cigarette,
men stare at her, a flickering
of golden light – still
a shadow cold – a marble top,
smell the aroma
from a bean of vanilla,
a bearded mans pipe -
until Saturday.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Congress Park
1800’s
come, smile
look at me
you, with a parasol
held high above
your head -
such - white skin…
get closer,
no curves in
your spine, or
elsewhere on
your - person…
you,
sitting so straight
occupying wooden
chairs - scattered
along a path,
chairs of spindle…
match your back.
cross over,
I’m relaxing,
with my legs
crossed, back –
straight…
staring at you
while I suck my
pipe.
women…
all of you, carry
parasols – sexy
beautiful, but alone
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
1800’s
come, smile
look at me
you, with a parasol
held high above
your head -
such - white skin…
get closer,
no curves in
your spine, or
elsewhere on
your - person…
you,
sitting so straight
occupying wooden
chairs - scattered
along a path,
chairs of spindle…
match your back.
cross over,
I’m relaxing,
with my legs
crossed, back –
straight…
staring at you
while I suck my
pipe.
women…
all of you, carry
parasols – sexy
beautiful, but alone
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Fifth Avenue
“Remember me -
on Fifth Avenue,
I wore that
red and white
scarf?
Remember, the
day you lost it
in the wind -
It kept me warm.
I left a package
I carried from the
grocery store, not,
your worn out shoes -
Italian bread,
baked ham
a bottle of seltzer -
I remember.
The door man
should have noticed…
Why did you move?
I’ve walked Fifth Avenue
for weeks
to track you down…
Did you had to leave
your card board box?"
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
“Remember me -
on Fifth Avenue,
I wore that
red and white
scarf?
Remember, the
day you lost it
in the wind -
It kept me warm.
I left a package
I carried from the
grocery store, not,
your worn out shoes -
Italian bread,
baked ham
a bottle of seltzer -
I remember.
The door man
should have noticed…
Why did you move?
I’ve walked Fifth Avenue
for weeks
to track you down…
Did you had to leave
your card board box?"
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Friday, May 28, 2010
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
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
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
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
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
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
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
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
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
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
Monday, May 24, 2010
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
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
Sunday, May 23, 2010
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
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
Thursday, May 13, 2010
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
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
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
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
Monday, May 10, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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
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
Monday, May 3, 2010
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…
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
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
Saturday, May 1, 2010
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
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
Friday, April 30, 2010
HER WASHING MACHINE
Her washing machine
hooked to her sink in
her kitchen, with a long
hose hanging from a
faucet –
Water filled the basket
connected to the side of
her machine, and a second
hose emptied dirty water
into a porcelain tub.
A wringer higher, and
cream colored like a
wafer cookie, and the
shape of a rolling pin
stood waiting to be hand
cranked.
She stands and twists
dirty laundry over and over
again, before she rolls
the clothes like preparing
for a home made pie.
She twists and holds them
up - inspects for stains.
Clean clothes receive a
gentle swing.
On her stove in her kitchen
a copper kettle filled with
water, boiling; as she
glances inside copper where
her bad clothes release dirt.
Her youngest son walks by
and her elbow hits the copper
kettle: a three year old
screams.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Her washing machine
hooked to her sink in
her kitchen, with a long
hose hanging from a
faucet –
Water filled the basket
connected to the side of
her machine, and a second
hose emptied dirty water
into a porcelain tub.
A wringer higher, and
cream colored like a
wafer cookie, and the
shape of a rolling pin
stood waiting to be hand
cranked.
She stands and twists
dirty laundry over and over
again, before she rolls
the clothes like preparing
for a home made pie.
She twists and holds them
up - inspects for stains.
Clean clothes receive a
gentle swing.
On her stove in her kitchen
a copper kettle filled with
water, boiling; as she
glances inside copper where
her bad clothes release dirt.
Her youngest son walks by
and her elbow hits the copper
kettle: a three year old
screams.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
PURPLE WATERS
We fell into purple
water never to be found.
I swam beside mermaids,
whales, and landed
on Rock Island Sound.
No one found you -
or our boat.
No one found my clothes,
rings, or wasted dreams.
Left for dead - but
I have won - as a puff
of wind - a burial
simmering with a
scorching sun.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
We fell into purple
water never to be found.
I swam beside mermaids,
whales, and landed
on Rock Island Sound.
No one found you -
or our boat.
No one found my clothes,
rings, or wasted dreams.
Left for dead - but
I have won - as a puff
of wind - a burial
simmering with a
scorching sun.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
A City Street 1875
Hitching posts line
cobblestone streets,
awnings open to shade
a window of glass; in
rain, iron floats in air.
At the entrance a
proprietor leans against
a wall of brick; he stares
at a city street twisting
turning between blooms
on a dogwood tree..
At Center Street a
wooden box reads
deposit trash.
A horse, upset, swings
a wooden wagon; youths
in knickers run to fetch
fruit bouncing on
cobblestone.
A proprietor stares
as a horse defecates
in front of his property;
knowing summer heat
will keep his front door
closed until men who
carry shovels clear
the air – till then, it’s
a quiet day.
Nancy Duci Denofio
copyright
Hitching posts line
cobblestone streets,
awnings open to shade
a window of glass; in
rain, iron floats in air.
At the entrance a
proprietor leans against
a wall of brick; he stares
at a city street twisting
turning between blooms
on a dogwood tree..
At Center Street a
wooden box reads
deposit trash.
A horse, upset, swings
a wooden wagon; youths
in knickers run to fetch
fruit bouncing on
cobblestone.
A proprietor stares
as a horse defecates
in front of his property;
knowing summer heat
will keep his front door
closed until men who
carry shovels clear
the air – till then, it’s
a quiet day.
Nancy Duci Denofio
copyright
Have You Seen Blind?
blind like a sea roaring off shore
or a tree waving from the top of
a mountain – no one has climbed -
blind like ants in the shadow
of a step, or a temple - a day after war -
blind like a crosswalk or a keyhole
in the night...
blind as a bird in a storm.
blind as a winner - losing again...
blind as sunshine - a screen to a
widow’s web.
blind like worn shoes of a dancer,
or a statue directing our way -
blind as a lamppost in daylight -
blind as a window draped in cloth -
blind like darkness you have brought.
Nancy Duci Denofio
blind like a sea roaring off shore
or a tree waving from the top of
a mountain – no one has climbed -
blind like ants in the shadow
of a step, or a temple - a day after war -
blind like a crosswalk or a keyhole
in the night...
blind as a bird in a storm.
blind as a winner - losing again...
blind as sunshine - a screen to a
widow’s web.
blind like worn shoes of a dancer,
or a statue directing our way -
blind as a lamppost in daylight -
blind as a window draped in cloth -
blind like darkness you have brought.
Nancy Duci Denofio
Friday, April 23, 2010
PROUD
Proud - holding
her child's hand.
Proud - when
wealthy women
turned away...
Proud - of who
she is and where
shes been -
Clinging to her
child - her
dead son -
she would not
let him go -
her feet kept
beating back
and forth, as
the rocker moved.
Lowers her eye
lids - tears
pour down her face...
still proud - of
her child...
she holds.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Proud - holding
her child's hand.
Proud - when
wealthy women
turned away...
Proud - of who
she is and where
shes been -
Clinging to her
child - her
dead son -
she would not
let him go -
her feet kept
beating back
and forth, as
the rocker moved.
Lowers her eye
lids - tears
pour down her face...
still proud - of
her child...
she holds.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
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