Softball Poems For Moms

Never say channel 5 on Sunday morning

Alessia Marcuzzi: "We hope that Gomorra to win the Oscar."
Alfonso Signorini, "The risk, however, that the image of Italy is just that, stereotypes."

No, Miss, thinks the dwarf to brighten up and to turn back and all. Especially Americans.

Wedding Reception Welcome

02novembre2008

I do not know what it is, but I know that back. Cyclic and not without significance. Back when I least expected, when most have forgotten myself, there is a thread, thin and fragile visible only to me, who returns to take me home. In the house of my soul. It is a string of coincidences, pitted in a sequence that only produces harmony in my ears. Yet it is so visible, so real that your hands tend to show it looking in your eyes, you all my world around me, then go back to look down on my hands that are simply and hopelessly bare. How to tell time? What about the movement of the intestines, stomach and eyes that set me writhing with emotion when he arrives and I am feel small and great, and partly covered with a bigger picture? How to tell what is unspeakable without debasing the magic as inevitably happens when you stretch out my empty palms?
How do we want to call it? Chance, fate, destiny, providence? Coincidence? Yes, coincidence, coincidence of an agnostic mind that while it refuses to accept a reality that is not tangible yet there is bent, tired, and you leave the crying prostrate. My life, my whole life is full of these events, small bright dots that light up when I am mistaken to believe to have lost my way. Right then and never at other times, never when they are sure of myself and my direction, come on, along a track even if I do not know where to take place, however, suddenly became safe.
page of the trip to Bosnia was certainly one of the most important of my life. Beyond that I have physically done and the journey itself, I heard them to participate fully in life, overcoming the hesitations and fears. I was there were. Prolonged contact with what he called Ozpetek Sacred Heart and it is true that part of himself that does beat walking endless, open your arms and breathe gort looking at the sky and the street. Since that summer, a series of coincidences began without closing and then, at times when the mechanized routine actions, returns to limelight once again to shake and make them aware of the sacredness and magic of life. And it's a painful memory and moving, because nell'accendersi, those little lights, signal a timeout for a reply that I gave him a hug and all invisible to me that way and reach.
Perhaps indeed the case is only a foreign alphabet that we do not know or want to read.