FEW PEOPLE PASS THIS WAY
passed a man who smiled
at me today
and wondered why?
Smiles are so precious
when they arrive
as morning light seeps
into my room -
not long before I am
here alone -
and as daylight swarms
above my head -
I wonder what I did
and wonder what the
night shall bring?
passed a woman laughing
today
and wondered why?
I too - wanted to laugh -
laughter is so precious
when laughter is heard
as night comes through
my window of my life
I think of what I did -
here all alone?
and so the night brings
but the end of another
day
as I close my eyes and
still see nothing -
change
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
MUSIC is POETRY are words we hear day and night, words which flow together and become a part of our day.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
SEEDS OF LIFE
SEEDS OF LIFE
I have planted for you -
my love of words
but you ignore me
with a focus far
away - you kiss a
stone as if you
never knew me
I have tried to plant seeds
to grow - in your direction
so you too would see how
pleasant - life could be
I have fallen - on you when
you have fallen first –
but if I fell - you too
would only plant a curse
I have grown like rings
of a tree – reaching for
a height where I can see
but I still know –
seedlings grow
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
I have planted for you -
my love of words
but you ignore me
with a focus far
away - you kiss a
stone as if you
never knew me
I have tried to plant seeds
to grow - in your direction
so you too would see how
pleasant - life could be
I have fallen - on you when
you have fallen first –
but if I fell - you too
would only plant a curse
I have grown like rings
of a tree – reaching for
a height where I can see
but I still know –
seedlings grow
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
THE NIGHT BEFORE published in What Brought You Here
THE NIGHT BEFORE
A glorious red balloon
it's how he told me
my mouth felt.
The night before he left
he stared at flesh -
no words exchanged
he wanted me to think
kissing was good, and
took his fingers, closed
my eyelids, told me
"It was alright to breathe."
Wondered if men gave
out candy here?
The wrong he did was so . . .
casual for him -
as if he took apart another
puzzle - so singular
People say birds are exotic -
he compared me to a bird.
Wondered if I could have flown?
A bird twists silently out from
its' nest of twigs.
My body settled into summer.
Birds gathered at a feeder -
I feel stillness all so ordinary,
suddenly you are naked -
thinking, the entire
world sees you pass
It is morning and I am again,
alone.
I think of how birds
flew - out there, in the open.
Nancy Duci Denofio
published - What Brought You Here
June 2010 page 17
A glorious red balloon
it's how he told me
my mouth felt.
The night before he left
he stared at flesh -
no words exchanged
he wanted me to think
kissing was good, and
took his fingers, closed
my eyelids, told me
"It was alright to breathe."
Wondered if men gave
out candy here?
The wrong he did was so . . .
casual for him -
as if he took apart another
puzzle - so singular
People say birds are exotic -
he compared me to a bird.
Wondered if I could have flown?
A bird twists silently out from
its' nest of twigs.
My body settled into summer.
Birds gathered at a feeder -
I feel stillness all so ordinary,
suddenly you are naked -
thinking, the entire
world sees you pass
It is morning and I am again,
alone.
I think of how birds
flew - out there, in the open.
Nancy Duci Denofio
published - What Brought You Here
June 2010 page 17
Friday, August 13, 2010
Mineral Baths
Mineral Bath
She covered her private
parts at the bath house.
Mineral water filled a tub,
centuries old.
She felt cold until
an old women handed
her heated sheets -
covering skin.
The woman brought her clips to
lift her auburn hair.
The sheets cooled as the
tub filled.
A stray cat
peered into the window -
purred, kissing glass.
The old women
removes the sheets, grabs the
arm of a young lady - she carefully
steps into aged porcelain.
Tiny bubbles
surround her skin.
A soft pillow for her head;
now, relaxed.
Dreaming she said, “Of a
cat kissing glass,
alone, at last."
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
She covered her private
parts at the bath house.
Mineral water filled a tub,
centuries old.
She felt cold until
an old women handed
her heated sheets -
covering skin.
The woman brought her clips to
lift her auburn hair.
The sheets cooled as the
tub filled.
A stray cat
peered into the window -
purred, kissing glass.
The old women
removes the sheets, grabs the
arm of a young lady - she carefully
steps into aged porcelain.
Tiny bubbles
surround her skin.
A soft pillow for her head;
now, relaxed.
Dreaming she said, “Of a
cat kissing glass,
alone, at last."
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Monday, August 2, 2010
THE MONSTER DIED
The Monster Died is based on Industrial Cities in America, and this is specific to Schenectady NY when the General Electric Company moved much of its operation to other parts of the country, although they have shifted gears with the times, industry moving from large cities is still a cause for change because it was the butter and bread. I congratulate General Electric Company for all the work they have done for others and health care in our Country, and for their contribution to arts and entertainment. I hope you enjoy the relation between a (then) middle class American Family - and the Monster.
--------------------------------------
The Monster Died
she was a big girl, so – you
wouldn’t take another look,
back then, when guys
were always ready -
right on that corner, she’d
stand, her fat bust’ in
out of her top, think’ in she’s
sexy, not knowing
boys put her name on a list –
one of the homely ones to
pray over -
when she stood at the
corner, boys said it never
needed a stop sign - everyone
stared at the fat girl -
she’d give the finger -
Now she's skin and
bones - lives far from
the city - became some kind
of health care aide, but bet
cha she steals pills -
kind like when she stuffed
girdles and bras into a bag -
I was left holding; after she
fed me a Hot Fudge Sundae.
That, was the last time
I went shopping with a fat
girl - Mama told me she
was too big for me -
knowing Mama, she was talking
about her age.
It isn’t the same, the
neighborhood,
and the monster stopped
growing - Papa said,
“The city will die…”
One after another – car after
car - cars with crank out
windows, running boards,
white walls, all stalling out
in one long line - waiting
for the whistle from the
monster - signaling another
work day.
The whistle feeds all the
mouths, helps plant gardens
and educate children -
pay the mortgage.
The monster owns people,
where I were was born the
Monster paid for the holster
and Dale Evans pistol for my
brother… filled the cookie jar,
and gave us enough money
for a parakeet.
The men whom sat in the
board room on the second
floor - just past the ladies room
and under the chandelier,
in front of a wood burning
fireplace, near the maple coat
tree - ran the monster –
or, the monster ruled them.
When the whistle sounded
the city became as weird
as computerization – it moved
together – stop lights longer,
cross walks crowded and
people marching down the
boulevard as ants in perfect
lines -
no one in the city worried,
it was built - cared for by
giants - and the giant ran
the world – built home town
monsters.
Papa and all the Papas in the
city practically dipped
themselves into chemical
baths - now buried nuclear
waste - empty corn fields
never really empty - never
just grass, or tumble weeds
nestled adjacent to the railroad,
and across from another giant
on the other side of town.
No one thought about disease
or the environment - all they
cared about was if the monster
survived, so would they.
So growing up the boys all
thought the fat girl was the
monster - they found out
differently, when
the real monster died.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
--------------------------------------
The Monster Died
she was a big girl, so – you
wouldn’t take another look,
back then, when guys
were always ready -
right on that corner, she’d
stand, her fat bust’ in
out of her top, think’ in she’s
sexy, not knowing
boys put her name on a list –
one of the homely ones to
pray over -
when she stood at the
corner, boys said it never
needed a stop sign - everyone
stared at the fat girl -
she’d give the finger -
Now she's skin and
bones - lives far from
the city - became some kind
of health care aide, but bet
cha she steals pills -
kind like when she stuffed
girdles and bras into a bag -
I was left holding; after she
fed me a Hot Fudge Sundae.
That, was the last time
I went shopping with a fat
girl - Mama told me she
was too big for me -
knowing Mama, she was talking
about her age.
It isn’t the same, the
neighborhood,
and the monster stopped
growing - Papa said,
“The city will die…”
One after another – car after
car - cars with crank out
windows, running boards,
white walls, all stalling out
in one long line - waiting
for the whistle from the
monster - signaling another
work day.
The whistle feeds all the
mouths, helps plant gardens
and educate children -
pay the mortgage.
The monster owns people,
where I were was born the
Monster paid for the holster
and Dale Evans pistol for my
brother… filled the cookie jar,
and gave us enough money
for a parakeet.
The men whom sat in the
board room on the second
floor - just past the ladies room
and under the chandelier,
in front of a wood burning
fireplace, near the maple coat
tree - ran the monster –
or, the monster ruled them.
When the whistle sounded
the city became as weird
as computerization – it moved
together – stop lights longer,
cross walks crowded and
people marching down the
boulevard as ants in perfect
lines -
no one in the city worried,
it was built - cared for by
giants - and the giant ran
the world – built home town
monsters.
Papa and all the Papas in the
city practically dipped
themselves into chemical
baths - now buried nuclear
waste - empty corn fields
never really empty - never
just grass, or tumble weeds
nestled adjacent to the railroad,
and across from another giant
on the other side of town.
No one thought about disease
or the environment - all they
cared about was if the monster
survived, so would they.
So growing up the boys all
thought the fat girl was the
monster - they found out
differently, when
the real monster died.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
MOTEL EIGHT
MOTEL EIGHT
Sunlight, dark inside
a wall of light -
sun sleeps at the horizon
Motel Eight – an asphalt
roof begins to shine -
empty chairs of winter
awkward angles -
rippling of water,
Santa Ana winds. . .
a vacuum,
a cleaning woman
a TV on but
never knew about a plane
circling above…
ethnic tongue
shoulders shrug
parking lots lined
with white trucks
morning breakfast
a quarter to eight
a thinning crowd of
women in capris –
sleeveless -
capturing a January sun
a naked pool -
maintenance,
a rap at the door -
bedding held above
her head she
squeezes past a
potted plant –
pot smokers near
a door - past a woman,
seven decades older
with yellow bleached
blond hair…
smoked finger
nails, and toes in need
of clipping.
Wears thick spectacles
of white, and gives
directions.
A ball of heat is rising
touching a red tiled roof
flashing specs of white
on top of asphalt
no vacancy
flashes into
the eastern sky
a plane circles
a TV tells about a
missing child
but no one seems
to care.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Sunlight, dark inside
a wall of light -
sun sleeps at the horizon
Motel Eight – an asphalt
roof begins to shine -
empty chairs of winter
awkward angles -
rippling of water,
Santa Ana winds. . .
a vacuum,
a cleaning woman
a TV on but
never knew about a plane
circling above…
ethnic tongue
shoulders shrug
parking lots lined
with white trucks
morning breakfast
a quarter to eight
a thinning crowd of
women in capris –
sleeveless -
capturing a January sun
a naked pool -
maintenance,
a rap at the door -
bedding held above
her head she
squeezes past a
potted plant –
pot smokers near
a door - past a woman,
seven decades older
with yellow bleached
blond hair…
smoked finger
nails, and toes in need
of clipping.
Wears thick spectacles
of white, and gives
directions.
A ball of heat is rising
touching a red tiled roof
flashing specs of white
on top of asphalt
no vacancy
flashes into
the eastern sky
a plane circles
a TV tells about a
missing child
but no one seems
to care.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Saturday, July 17, 2010
NO ONE CAME TO VISIT
NO ONE CAME TO VISIT
no one came with flowers
no one came with pink
balloons or candy
no one brought pink dresses
to fit a new born –
mother, she knew
no one believed
or wanted to see a child
who entered this world
a little over a pound. . .
medical men told her,
“She won’t survive the
night.”
mother, she knew
she knew when two men
visited
she knew only one – but
knew of the other
one man sat to her right
one man to her left.
those visitors did not
bring balloons or candy
or a pink dress for their
new grand daughter –
a baby who would fit into
their palm
a baby with tubes in
temples –
a body to small and
needles too large
both men died before
the birth of her child
her father spoke to her,
her father in law
listened. . .
“Don’t worry she will
survive and make you
proud.”
medical men entered
her room and mother
smiled.
medical men warned
her babies this small
do not survive –
mother, she knew –
daddy entered, she smiled.
told him their little girl
would survive
he pulled a chair up to her
bed, held her hand, and
listened
he probably smiled back
he must have warned her
to face the truth
mother, stubborn,
she believed
a few days passed, and
the medical men told her
again –
a week went by, and she
smiled
two weeks, and the medical
men stopped talking of
death –
mother peered through
glass at her baby –
lying inside a metal box –
inside with tubes and monitors
with no one to touch a child’s
grey skin.
She watched as a chest
was forced to expand
she prayed to herself –
she waved good bye -
thanking the medical men –
telling them she would be back
every day – to watch a child
who barely opened her eyes
there was no touching,
or cuddles, no wrapping
of tiny fingers around a her own,
no legs kicking, or laughing
when a child yawned, thinking
it was a smile
no one talked about their
little girl –
no one asked about the color
or her hair – her eyes or her
personality
no one asked if she looked
like mother or father . . .
no one talked.
mother, she believed
every day – from summers
end into dead leaves of fall
and onto ice on city walks,
she too walked up a hill
to the hospital to stare
through glass –
her walk home, eyes filled
with tears, she recited an
Irish prayer
every day after work
father walked up the hill
to stare at his child he
could not hold –
laying naked inside a metal
bed with tubes still
attached to her forehead.
he watched as nurses
tapped the soles of her
feet – to keep her awake
to suck on a miniature
bottle – she began to eat
It was the day before
Christmas - a snow
filled sky – when news
arrived – she could come
home.
three months and ten
days after her birth
she weighed five pounds
nurses wrapped her
in tiny booties
a white undershirt
a small pink dress
snuggled up inside pink
blankets
with open arms mother
held her little girl
peered into her open eyes
pinched her little hands
and feet
mother, she knew
on Christmas day inside a
neighbor’s car they brought
their little girl home
she looked at my father
and said, “I told you so,
she would survive.”
and, there beneath a
Christmas tree – I laid
inside a red wagon –
my older brother next to me
a red bow tied around my
forehead
Christmas and I finally
made it home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Posted by Nancy Denofio at 5:30 PM 4 comments
no one came with flowers
no one came with pink
balloons or candy
no one brought pink dresses
to fit a new born –
mother, she knew
no one believed
or wanted to see a child
who entered this world
a little over a pound. . .
medical men told her,
“She won’t survive the
night.”
mother, she knew
she knew when two men
visited
she knew only one – but
knew of the other
one man sat to her right
one man to her left.
those visitors did not
bring balloons or candy
or a pink dress for their
new grand daughter –
a baby who would fit into
their palm
a baby with tubes in
temples –
a body to small and
needles too large
both men died before
the birth of her child
her father spoke to her,
her father in law
listened. . .
“Don’t worry she will
survive and make you
proud.”
medical men entered
her room and mother
smiled.
medical men warned
her babies this small
do not survive –
mother, she knew –
daddy entered, she smiled.
told him their little girl
would survive
he pulled a chair up to her
bed, held her hand, and
listened
he probably smiled back
he must have warned her
to face the truth
mother, stubborn,
she believed
a few days passed, and
the medical men told her
again –
a week went by, and she
smiled
two weeks, and the medical
men stopped talking of
death –
mother peered through
glass at her baby –
lying inside a metal box –
inside with tubes and monitors
with no one to touch a child’s
grey skin.
She watched as a chest
was forced to expand
she prayed to herself –
she waved good bye -
thanking the medical men –
telling them she would be back
every day – to watch a child
who barely opened her eyes
there was no touching,
or cuddles, no wrapping
of tiny fingers around a her own,
no legs kicking, or laughing
when a child yawned, thinking
it was a smile
no one talked about their
little girl –
no one asked about the color
or her hair – her eyes or her
personality
no one asked if she looked
like mother or father . . .
no one talked.
mother, she believed
every day – from summers
end into dead leaves of fall
and onto ice on city walks,
she too walked up a hill
to the hospital to stare
through glass –
her walk home, eyes filled
with tears, she recited an
Irish prayer
every day after work
father walked up the hill
to stare at his child he
could not hold –
laying naked inside a metal
bed with tubes still
attached to her forehead.
he watched as nurses
tapped the soles of her
feet – to keep her awake
to suck on a miniature
bottle – she began to eat
It was the day before
Christmas - a snow
filled sky – when news
arrived – she could come
home.
three months and ten
days after her birth
she weighed five pounds
nurses wrapped her
in tiny booties
a white undershirt
a small pink dress
snuggled up inside pink
blankets
with open arms mother
held her little girl
peered into her open eyes
pinched her little hands
and feet
mother, she knew
on Christmas day inside a
neighbor’s car they brought
their little girl home
she looked at my father
and said, “I told you so,
she would survive.”
and, there beneath a
Christmas tree – I laid
inside a red wagon –
my older brother next to me
a red bow tied around my
forehead
Christmas and I finally
made it home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Posted by Nancy Denofio at 5:30 PM 4 comments
Monday, July 12, 2010
INDIVIDUAL PATCHES OF EARTH
Individual Patches of Earth
A lip of warm water
crawling up a stomach
one late afternoon
delight, a moment past
earth rejoices in
sprays of light
color blends
perfect, and revolting
paint chipped
on a broken face
forgotten statue
beneath a tree in winter
ripple of water
near, a stench
far away a clearing
in the distance…
heed the humming
of a plane - a bird, as clear
on hills beyond
a vision of vapor
lay tears of time
past, hastily
our evening solitude
our Ancestors dream
familiar spiral spin,
a course of roots
severe cuts splitting
earth is dug
we pass on different
minds, shrewd
dreamers of another
life worth living
A sealed book,
unread, unlearned,
unlike individual patches
of earth.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
A lip of warm water
crawling up a stomach
one late afternoon
delight, a moment past
earth rejoices in
sprays of light
color blends
perfect, and revolting
paint chipped
on a broken face
forgotten statue
beneath a tree in winter
ripple of water
near, a stench
far away a clearing
in the distance…
heed the humming
of a plane - a bird, as clear
on hills beyond
a vision of vapor
lay tears of time
past, hastily
our evening solitude
our Ancestors dream
familiar spiral spin,
a course of roots
severe cuts splitting
earth is dug
we pass on different
minds, shrewd
dreamers of another
life worth living
A sealed book,
unread, unlearned,
unlike individual patches
of earth.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Thursday, July 8, 2010
DREAMING OF A CLOWN
Dreaming of a Clown
small hands rest on a
window ledge
little legs kneel
on a braided rug
dreaming of the
carnival,
cotton candy,
roasted nuts,
a smell of popcorn
filling
midnight air
music playing on and on,
magic lights flash
a merry-go-round.
Sounds of laughter
in a street -
a little girl –
crosses her feet
she breathes on a
pane of glass –
tiny fingers draw
a picture of a clown -
his eyes,
nose and mouth,
she - always makes
him frown
Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved
small hands rest on a
window ledge
little legs kneel
on a braided rug
dreaming of the
carnival,
cotton candy,
roasted nuts,
a smell of popcorn
filling
midnight air
music playing on and on,
magic lights flash
a merry-go-round.
Sounds of laughter
in a street -
a little girl –
crosses her feet
she breathes on a
pane of glass –
tiny fingers draw
a picture of a clown -
his eyes,
nose and mouth,
she - always makes
him frown
Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Waves Disappeared
Waves Disappeared
I recall when people
dumped hypodermic
needles off the shore
of the Atlantic Ocean
I recall the children
at the beach – punctured
skin as needles
scattered along a sandy
beach. . .
no one cared
I recall the trash littered
in the sand - moss green
growing out of the form
no one cared
I heard about the men
who gathered at the shore
for rest and relaxation
from the time of Lincoln
they cared
before needles floated
on a wave –
but the Navy had Wave’s
and they floated –
rested at the shore. . .
And those men in uniforms
were handsome –
women gawked at men
while wearing tight dresses
high heels, a tight bodice
to emphasize the shape of
a nature bosom
they cared
today, everything you see
perfect, is fake –
everything you read about
is a disaster –
the press thrives
talking heads smile
when it should be concern,
don’t they have families!
families who walk on sandy
shores. . .
but the waves and Navy
disappeared.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
I recall when people
dumped hypodermic
needles off the shore
of the Atlantic Ocean
I recall the children
at the beach – punctured
skin as needles
scattered along a sandy
beach. . .
no one cared
I recall the trash littered
in the sand - moss green
growing out of the form
no one cared
I heard about the men
who gathered at the shore
for rest and relaxation
from the time of Lincoln
they cared
before needles floated
on a wave –
but the Navy had Wave’s
and they floated –
rested at the shore. . .
And those men in uniforms
were handsome –
women gawked at men
while wearing tight dresses
high heels, a tight bodice
to emphasize the shape of
a nature bosom
they cared
today, everything you see
perfect, is fake –
everything you read about
is a disaster –
the press thrives
talking heads smile
when it should be concern,
don’t they have families!
families who walk on sandy
shores. . .
but the waves and Navy
disappeared.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Monday, June 21, 2010
NO ONE CAME TO VISIT
no one came with flowers
no one came with pink
balloons or candy
no one brought pink dresses
to fit a new born –
mother, she knew
no one believed
or wanted to see a child
who entered this world
a little over a pound. . .
medical men told her,
“She won’t survive the
night.”
mother, she knew
she knew when two men
visited
she knew only one – but
knew of the other
one man sat to her right
one man to her left.
those visitors did not
bring balloons or candy
or a pink dress for their
new grand daughter –
a baby who would fit into
their palm
a baby with tubes in
temples –
a body to small and
needles too large
both men died before
the birth of her child
her father spoke to her,
her father in law
listened. . .
“Don’t worry she will
survive and make you
proud.”
medical men entered
her room and mother
smiled.
medical men warned
her babies this small
do not survive –
mother, she knew –
daddy entered, she smiled.
told him their little girl
would survive
he pulled a chair up to her
bed, held her hand, and
listened
he probably smiled back
he must have warned her
to face the truth
mother, stubborn,
she believed
a few days passed, and
the medical men told her
again –
a week went by, and she
smiled
two weeks, and the medical
men stopped talking of
death –
mother peered through
glass at her baby –
lying inside a metal box –
inside with tubes and monitors
with no one to touch a child’s
grey skin.
She watched as a chest
was forced to expand
she prayed to herself –
she waved good bye -
thanking the medical men –
telling them she would be back
every day – to watch a child
who barely opened her eyes
there was no touching,
or cuddles, no wrapping
of tiny fingers around a her own,
no legs kicking, or laughing
when a child yawned, thinking
it was a smile
no one talked about their
little girl –
no one asked about the color
or her hair – her eyes or her
personality
no one asked if she looked
like mother or father . . .
no one talked.
mother, she believed
every day – from summers
end into dead leaves of fall
and onto ice on city walks,
she too walked up a hill
to the hospital to stare
through glass –
her walk home, eyes filled
with tears, she recited an
Irish prayer
every day after work
father walked up the hill
to stare at his child he
could not hold –
laying naked inside a metal
bed with tubes still
attached to her forehead.
he watched as nurses
tapped the soles of her
feet – to keep her awake
to suck on a miniature
bottle – she began to eat
It was the day before
Christmas - a snow
filled sky – when news
arrived – she could come
home.
three months and ten
days after her birth
she weighed five pounds
nurses wrapped her
in tiny booties
a white undershirt
a small pink dress
snuggled up inside pink
blankets
with open arms mother
held her little girl
peered into her open eyes
pinched her little hands
and feet
mother, she knew
on Christmas day inside a
neighbor’s car they brought
their little girl home
she looked at my father
and said, “I told you so,
she would survive.”
and, there beneath a
Christmas tree – I laid
inside a red wagon –
my older brother next to me
a red bow tied around my
forehead
Christmas and I finally
made it home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
no one came with flowers
no one came with pink
balloons or candy
no one brought pink dresses
to fit a new born –
mother, she knew
no one believed
or wanted to see a child
who entered this world
a little over a pound. . .
medical men told her,
“She won’t survive the
night.”
mother, she knew
she knew when two men
visited
she knew only one – but
knew of the other
one man sat to her right
one man to her left.
those visitors did not
bring balloons or candy
or a pink dress for their
new grand daughter –
a baby who would fit into
their palm
a baby with tubes in
temples –
a body to small and
needles too large
both men died before
the birth of her child
her father spoke to her,
her father in law
listened. . .
“Don’t worry she will
survive and make you
proud.”
medical men entered
her room and mother
smiled.
medical men warned
her babies this small
do not survive –
mother, she knew –
daddy entered, she smiled.
told him their little girl
would survive
he pulled a chair up to her
bed, held her hand, and
listened
he probably smiled back
he must have warned her
to face the truth
mother, stubborn,
she believed
a few days passed, and
the medical men told her
again –
a week went by, and she
smiled
two weeks, and the medical
men stopped talking of
death –
mother peered through
glass at her baby –
lying inside a metal box –
inside with tubes and monitors
with no one to touch a child’s
grey skin.
She watched as a chest
was forced to expand
she prayed to herself –
she waved good bye -
thanking the medical men –
telling them she would be back
every day – to watch a child
who barely opened her eyes
there was no touching,
or cuddles, no wrapping
of tiny fingers around a her own,
no legs kicking, or laughing
when a child yawned, thinking
it was a smile
no one talked about their
little girl –
no one asked about the color
or her hair – her eyes or her
personality
no one asked if she looked
like mother or father . . .
no one talked.
mother, she believed
every day – from summers
end into dead leaves of fall
and onto ice on city walks,
she too walked up a hill
to the hospital to stare
through glass –
her walk home, eyes filled
with tears, she recited an
Irish prayer
every day after work
father walked up the hill
to stare at his child he
could not hold –
laying naked inside a metal
bed with tubes still
attached to her forehead.
he watched as nurses
tapped the soles of her
feet – to keep her awake
to suck on a miniature
bottle – she began to eat
It was the day before
Christmas - a snow
filled sky – when news
arrived – she could come
home.
three months and ten
days after her birth
she weighed five pounds
nurses wrapped her
in tiny booties
a white undershirt
a small pink dress
snuggled up inside pink
blankets
with open arms mother
held her little girl
peered into her open eyes
pinched her little hands
and feet
mother, she knew
on Christmas day inside a
neighbor’s car they brought
their little girl home
she looked at my father
and said, “I told you so,
she would survive.”
and, there beneath a
Christmas tree – I laid
inside a red wagon –
my older brother next to me
a red bow tied around my
forehead
Christmas and I finally
made it home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Thursday, June 17, 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.
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.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A Wave of Peacefulness
I want the moon to coat
a natural skin onto the earth -
saturate the ground with peace.
I want the moon to cast
peacefulness . . .
covering the world -
covering you, and
covering me with clear
shadows of ourselves.
Moonlight covered by smoke -
Volcanoes’, storms at sea,
ash - lumber burns to
remove nature.
A cast of peacefulness over
your home, into your heart -
deep inside each breath
you take. . .
A cast of moonlight
should curl like a lily over fresh
waters and friendly shores,
a cast - endless - a
wave of peacefulness.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
I want the moon to coat
a natural skin onto the earth -
saturate the ground with peace.
I want the moon to cast
peacefulness . . .
covering the world -
covering you, and
covering me with clear
shadows of ourselves.
Moonlight covered by smoke -
Volcanoes’, storms at sea,
ash - lumber burns to
remove nature.
A cast of peacefulness over
your home, into your heart -
deep inside each breath
you take. . .
A cast of moonlight
should curl like a lily over fresh
waters and friendly shores,
a cast - endless - a
wave of peacefulness.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Aging Bundles of Debris
Seven... locked inside a storm cellar
where bulbs hang to dry in damp
darkness of night. Where,
sleds are posed for winter play - long
piles of wood where Mama said,
“Mice live.”
I reach to find a glove grandmother
used in her garden, stiff from yellow
paint.
Light enters near an oval window
covered in last years paper and then,
saran wrap taped to studded walls.
It’s beyond the door where steps
of cement lead up to reach outside.
Tiny pieces of cement catch between
my toes, tickle bare feet. Spider webs
hang near the light switch, so I don’t
touch… silver strands of silk - still -
until the bulb heats and moves the web…
I am stranded here with aging bundles
of debris -
I see it now! Feel it now. . .
Locked down in a storm cellar -
a play spot… a hide out,
a storage room for grandmother’s vegetables…
a shed for tools, a place where
mama kept cardboard boxes filled
with dolls, tricycles, hanging by a
rope, above my head…
I remember the cold, and shiver run
up and down my arms – even in summer.
I remember fear, when someone caught
me alone in the storm cellar -
where children never played.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Seven... locked inside a storm cellar
where bulbs hang to dry in damp
darkness of night. Where,
sleds are posed for winter play - long
piles of wood where Mama said,
“Mice live.”
I reach to find a glove grandmother
used in her garden, stiff from yellow
paint.
Light enters near an oval window
covered in last years paper and then,
saran wrap taped to studded walls.
It’s beyond the door where steps
of cement lead up to reach outside.
Tiny pieces of cement catch between
my toes, tickle bare feet. Spider webs
hang near the light switch, so I don’t
touch… silver strands of silk - still -
until the bulb heats and moves the web…
I am stranded here with aging bundles
of debris -
I see it now! Feel it now. . .
Locked down in a storm cellar -
a play spot… a hide out,
a storage room for grandmother’s vegetables…
a shed for tools, a place where
mama kept cardboard boxes filled
with dolls, tricycles, hanging by a
rope, above my head…
I remember the cold, and shiver run
up and down my arms – even in summer.
I remember fear, when someone caught
me alone in the storm cellar -
where children never played.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tears of Dirt
A field of vision
a stone fits into a
fist of a child.
Close to ground
a stone is rubbed
against a child’s
lips, near a tongue
as she creeps near
bushes with thorns.
A child knows not
about a thorn, a
spider in its’ web
of sharp sticks
in green grass –
a shadow - made
a child cry when
lost - inside a garden
no way out.
a body rocks back
and forth on knees
to reach a place to
sit –
nothing in a garden
made a child smile,
no one to feed her,
hand a bottle.
falling onto
knees - rocking
back and forth
until asleep.
On top of
prickly pines
sleeping while
a world disappears
Three years old
at a crossroad
she chooses to sleep
in the center of nothing
on dirt - pebbles
caught between naked
toes - dirt lines
tiny finger nails
Awake, she rubs her
face - streaks of dirt
now dirt of tears...
She rocks back and forth
her head falls forward
her body limp -
falls a few feet from
stone -
never found her way
home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
A field of vision
a stone fits into a
fist of a child.
Close to ground
a stone is rubbed
against a child’s
lips, near a tongue
as she creeps near
bushes with thorns.
A child knows not
about a thorn, a
spider in its’ web
of sharp sticks
in green grass –
a shadow - made
a child cry when
lost - inside a garden
no way out.
a body rocks back
and forth on knees
to reach a place to
sit –
nothing in a garden
made a child smile,
no one to feed her,
hand a bottle.
falling onto
knees - rocking
back and forth
until asleep.
On top of
prickly pines
sleeping while
a world disappears
Three years old
at a crossroad
she chooses to sleep
in the center of nothing
on dirt - pebbles
caught between naked
toes - dirt lines
tiny finger nails
Awake, she rubs her
face - streaks of dirt
now dirt of tears...
She rocks back and forth
her head falls forward
her body limp -
falls a few feet from
stone -
never found her way
home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
GRAVEYARD
Life comes to a close
at night as a shovel digs
deep into the earth –
lifting dirt to make a
place for you to live.
At night - I hear a
shovel as sound surrounds
me – my body shivers,
and sweat pours from skin –
moistens a night gown. . .
It is clear now – as if night
were day – a hole deep
a man jumps into its’ emptiness
another man tosses a different
shovel which levels the earth.
The land, flat – sides high.
Bats fly from tree to tree -
ghosts surround men
digging a space for another
friend.
I glance toward the bench
near the oldest part of the
graveyard. And you sit with
your legs crossed, and boots
up to your knees – your hair
has grown - your nails
painted perfectly.
Are you wondering who is
next - or did you know first?
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Life comes to a close
at night as a shovel digs
deep into the earth –
lifting dirt to make a
place for you to live.
At night - I hear a
shovel as sound surrounds
me – my body shivers,
and sweat pours from skin –
moistens a night gown. . .
It is clear now – as if night
were day – a hole deep
a man jumps into its’ emptiness
another man tosses a different
shovel which levels the earth.
The land, flat – sides high.
Bats fly from tree to tree -
ghosts surround men
digging a space for another
friend.
I glance toward the bench
near the oldest part of the
graveyard. And you sit with
your legs crossed, and boots
up to your knees – your hair
has grown - your nails
painted perfectly.
Are you wondering who is
next - or did you know first?
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
City Street
Hitching posts line
cobblestone streets.
Awnings open to shade
a plate glass window,
close to brick.
Iron seems to float
in air, near entrances -
proprietors lean
against brick facades.
City roads twist, and turn
between blooms on
a dogwood tree.
At Center Street a
wooden box, reads
deposit trash.
A horse, upset -
swings a wooden wagon
upside down.
Youths in knickers,
run to fetch
fruit, bouncing on
uneven ground...
A proprietor stares
as the horse defecates
in front of his property –
he knows the summer
heat will keep his store
closed until men who
carry iron shovels, and
a pail, clear the air:
it’s a quiet day.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Hitching posts line
cobblestone streets.
Awnings open to shade
a plate glass window,
close to brick.
Iron seems to float
in air, near entrances -
proprietors lean
against brick facades.
City roads twist, and turn
between blooms on
a dogwood tree.
At Center Street a
wooden box, reads
deposit trash.
A horse, upset -
swings a wooden wagon
upside down.
Youths in knickers,
run to fetch
fruit, bouncing on
uneven ground...
A proprietor stares
as the horse defecates
in front of his property –
he knows the summer
heat will keep his store
closed until men who
carry iron shovels, and
a pail, clear the air:
it’s a quiet day.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Touch the Sunlight
thirteen…
she followed him
to the shade…
they embrace
laying in
overgrown weeds
he teaches her
to French kiss
by touching
tongues…
rubbing them
together
she feels cold
lonely
within the darkness
of a shadow
feels her heartbeat
strong quivering
inside her belly
thirteen…
heard about boys
in the ninth
grade
heard about
parties,
sex.
now
she wanted to run. . .
run, be twelve again
slipping her
tender flesh
across damp
green grass
to touch the sunlight.
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
thirteen…
she followed him
to the shade…
they embrace
laying in
overgrown weeds
he teaches her
to French kiss
by touching
tongues…
rubbing them
together
she feels cold
lonely
within the darkness
of a shadow
feels her heartbeat
strong quivering
inside her belly
thirteen…
heard about boys
in the ninth
grade
heard about
parties,
sex.
now
she wanted to run. . .
run, be twelve again
slipping her
tender flesh
across damp
green grass
to touch the sunlight.
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Drinking Beer On The Sofa Bed
Stretched out
drinking beer
on a sofa bed -
one after one
until the world
divides.
Who are you
changing
in front of my eyes?
A ordinary man -
now evil
lurks
within his eyes.
Sharing a beer
I never knew
this man robbed
youth . . .
Who are you
stretched out
in front of me;
blue eyes
stained red -
empty bottles
around a sofa bed.
Nancy Duci Denofio
Stretched out
drinking beer
on a sofa bed -
one after one
until the world
divides.
Who are you
changing
in front of my eyes?
A ordinary man -
now evil
lurks
within his eyes.
Sharing a beer
I never knew
this man robbed
youth . . .
Who are you
stretched out
in front of me;
blue eyes
stained red -
empty bottles
around a sofa bed.
Nancy Duci Denofio
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Her Footprints
Fresh snow on steps
reveal her footprints -
evening has painted
the garage, yellow
squirrels leap over
steep banks of snow
a black crow circles
dried toast, she tossed
from the second floor…
small red beans attached
to thorns coated in ice
break as the sun
disappears dripping in
twilight.
Her round pedestal table
is cold, naked without
her cloth and dried
flowers, cluttered with
sympathy notes –
the wind picks up
and the notes scatter.
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
Fresh snow on steps
reveal her footprints -
evening has painted
the garage, yellow
squirrels leap over
steep banks of snow
a black crow circles
dried toast, she tossed
from the second floor…
small red beans attached
to thorns coated in ice
break as the sun
disappears dripping in
twilight.
Her round pedestal table
is cold, naked without
her cloth and dried
flowers, cluttered with
sympathy notes –
the wind picks up
and the notes scatter.
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
A Smile Lines Your Face
At night - trapped
space - I lay beside
you, and turn to
lift my head
to watch you as you
sleep.
Black hair - thinner now,
your beard rough, and
your eyes closed.
Peacefulness surrounds
me as your eyes flutter;
probably dreaming.
A smile lines your face.
My eyes close -
I know I am safe.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
At night - trapped
space - I lay beside
you, and turn to
lift my head
to watch you as you
sleep.
Black hair - thinner now,
your beard rough, and
your eyes closed.
Peacefulness surrounds
me as your eyes flutter;
probably dreaming.
A smile lines your face.
My eyes close -
I know I am safe.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Candle Light
rain,
cry on my window pane
lonely eyes search past a moon
dreaming of you -
waiting for your return.
strangers walk by in black rain coats
no one glances toward my window - pane
no one searches for my face - leaning
on a pane - of glass
I light a candle, place it in the window
it shall burn all through the night
a sign
a welcome home -
perhaps tonight?
If not -
I have other candles which to light
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
rain,
cry on my window pane
lonely eyes search past a moon
dreaming of you -
waiting for your return.
strangers walk by in black rain coats
no one glances toward my window - pane
no one searches for my face - leaning
on a pane - of glass
I light a candle, place it in the window
it shall burn all through the night
a sign
a welcome home -
perhaps tonight?
If not -
I have other candles which to light
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Plate of Bone China
The plate resting near
our kitchen sink became
her missile, as her hand
gripped bone china –
bone china from her
mother’s china closet;
what power – behind her
left hand with a twist
in her wrist she made
bone china fly – red roses
with delicate leaves flew
into thin air.
Bone china barely missed
his head and slams into
a wall covered in wanes
coating, above our radiator
near a box of Kleenex, and
a large magnifying glass: you
see, she hardly saw what she
was aiming at and if she
missed. . . it was a glass
framed clock, and her
favorite plant; a hanging
spider. Above the radiator,
bone china split into
smithereens – a few feet
from our green parakeet
hanging upside down,
clinging to a wire cage.
Our birds head bobbing
upside down. She never
tweeted on those days,
when mother did – but all
in all we knew, five mintues
would pass and mother
would be singing a Frank
Sinatra tune: Tweety now
on her swing, and I come
from behind my bedroom
door. In the fifties, it was
a mood swing..
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
The plate resting near
our kitchen sink became
her missile, as her hand
gripped bone china –
bone china from her
mother’s china closet;
what power – behind her
left hand with a twist
in her wrist she made
bone china fly – red roses
with delicate leaves flew
into thin air.
Bone china barely missed
his head and slams into
a wall covered in wanes
coating, above our radiator
near a box of Kleenex, and
a large magnifying glass: you
see, she hardly saw what she
was aiming at and if she
missed. . . it was a glass
framed clock, and her
favorite plant; a hanging
spider. Above the radiator,
bone china split into
smithereens – a few feet
from our green parakeet
hanging upside down,
clinging to a wire cage.
Our birds head bobbing
upside down. She never
tweeted on those days,
when mother did – but all
in all we knew, five mintues
would pass and mother
would be singing a Frank
Sinatra tune: Tweety now
on her swing, and I come
from behind my bedroom
door. In the fifties, it was
a mood swing..
Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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