Sometimes the only thing we need do to see the beauty beyond is to intensify our focus.
Luke Nephew – of – Peace Poets
tributes moms everywhere during
this mothers’ month of May.
Peace & Blessings
Small, winding streets in Arezzo share history and the secret of where Roberto Benigni’s Academy Award-winning comedic drama was filmed.
I had the pleasure of meeting Director Paolo Bianchini and Producer Paola Rota in Rome, who have made an Italian film of substance – Il Sole Dentro. The film recounts the story of Yaguine Koïta (born September 25, 1984) and Fodé Tounkara (born April 6, 1985) stowaways who froze to death on a Sabena Airlines Airbus A330 (Flight 520) flying from Conakry, Guinea, to Brussels, Belgium, on July 28, 1999. Their bodies were discovered on August 2 in the airplane’s rear right-hand wheel bay at Brussels International Airport, after having made at least three return trips between Conakry and Brussels. The boys were carrying plastic bags with birth certificates, school report cards, family photographs and a letter. A letter, written in imperfect French, was widely published in the world media. “After several days,” recalled Paolo, “the media no longer told the story.” Their deaths and hopes to make a better world had become old news. Paolo decided that their sacrifice should not be forgotten and not be in vain. He and his team therefore set out to make an adaptation of the story and bring the plight of today’s youth to light once again. But this time, coupled with a movement to spur youth to action. “FATTI SENTIRE” (in Italian) means, “Make Yourself Heard,” and it is here where Mr. Bianchini and Ms. Rota plan to encourage youth to become more aware, become more involved and to make concrete efforts to effect change. Find them on Facebook. Understand the depth of their thoughts and concrete actions that can take place when people of like mind and heart work together for a common good, a common cause. And possibly let’s hold hands …across cultures, across languages and across countries…hold on to dreams, actions, hopes..our world awaits us.
I’m not a huge fan of rock music, but when I meet a young person who has incredible talent and a huge heart, I become an instant promoter! Jesse Kinch will once again grace our youth talent show tomorrow evening … Continue reading
I am but a child of the New England woods, harpooned by right and etiquette, yet gentle, trusting in that same existence destined to extinction.
Flutes, mandolin and pipes sift on a dancing wind of brown autumn leaves swirling against double-paned doors of crystal glass lining the streets of Manhattan.
They slide in unison to reveal a cold, frosty night. Dogs, abandoned and wanton for a caress, their heads dragging low, roam the streets Uptown finding only a remnants of stale bread, left for the pigeons.
And in the deception of my tearoom surroundings and its searching conviction for normalcy, I yield to a room of dark emerald and bright red overtones.
Faces flushed with useless words and hands hung with lit cigarettes dapple the rich tapestry of colors. Tearoom reality betrays its own mystique. Lies are played across each table, each checkmate to gain one more move to power.
Philosophies and intellectualoids succumb to a flash or two from the other side. Edges of this illusion smolder ever more deeply with each fraudulent moment passing between couples. Hidden pains bleed more real.
Embroidered white linen tablecloths recall soft, casket lining – only a matter of time.
Outside the revolving doors, out of the tapestried cage full of artists, musicians and theatre-goers, the illusion becomes an element in its own powerplay; its philosophers abandoned, as dogs in the art.
It is the C note, struck high, as night closes its grasp, that guarantees entrance, not the colors, not the direction nor the man.
Words are never enough of a substitute for actions. This reminds me of an old Italian saying, “Fra il dire e il fare, c’e’ nel mezzo il mare.” There is, for many, an abyss between what is said and … Continue reading