On our way through winding roads of trees
We have been driving for hours
On our way to sequoia
But we are used to this now
On this trip along the west coast
Driving hours in a day to stop and camp
We see a little sign for Hume lake off to the right
It is an area of big buildings
Adorned with crosses and Jesus’ name
A Christian church camp
We park and step out
Walking across the way
To a small little food shack
Waiting in line among a dozen construction workers
Grateful for their presence
We order two burgers
The only thing on the menu
I take the tray making my way through the maze of workers to step out the doors
We sit at a table with a view of the lake
His brother is a new father
To a baby girl
We sit
Talking about children
What we would name our kids
Or unique
Or none
And At what level
We agree the name has to work in both languages
Both of us talking between bites
I tell him I liked having a unique name
Reflecting on how I got to be the only Isabella in a sea of Mollys in grade school
He tells me he liked having a common name
He tells me how his family celebrated the simple names for the three sons
We ponder these two view points
Wrinkled foreheads
As I reach to grab a drink
And a few fries
It seems overwhelming
All of the possibilities
We let names roll off our tongues
Letting them sit in the air
Imagining calling Elena or Juliana in for dinner
Does it feel right?
I close my eyes in the sun and picture a little girl
Bright eyed
With his hair
my lips
Is she a Camila?
What will she be like?
How will her laugh sound?
Will she inherit my jokes?
The sun feels warmer than usual.
Here sitting in front of a deep blue lake
Pine tree reflections
Thinking about names for our children


Reticent mountain; slumbering veins,
  awaits a morning to shatter his pain!
  They're buckled lips now waste away
      as monuments fall in careless displays!


Admonished mountain; flailing words,
  are vast in numbers with voices unheard!
  The babblers dream now fades away
      as history mourns the children's day!


Forgotten mountain; skyward bound;
  what beauty could free a monstrous sound?
  The records beseech the fluttering hearts
      the heed its words now eons apart...

We are all children
Playing a game
Taught to us by parents
Who play the same
Rarely do we remember
The meaning of our name
To remember who we truly are
With love, to keep sane

Two hearts may differ
From similar worlds
But our passions define us
As our hearts unfurl
Cast to the wind;
Your souls I touch
In the past, present, and future,
I must, I trust

Long is the life
That wanders her heart
Wishing to have a constant home
to recharge
Though if my heart rest with you
As my home
I shall never truly be alone

Touch many with your love
And never limit your adventures
Be honest with yourself
and keep paying attention

Jobira 5d

My sons wanted to touch
The nebula in the galaxy.
So I bought them a telescope.

After they soaked up the stardust,
I witnessed how much their imaginations
Lit up like the sun rays, and by then
Only five minutes were gone by.

On the next ticking minutes,
They broke the telescope into pieces
And frowned in disappointment
For they couldn't find
The treasures hidden in the far planet.

They asked me, “Can we get another telescope?”

I asked them why they broke this one?
They laughed so innocently, together and said,
“We were trying to take Pluto out and hold it.”

I laughed with these clowns. But
Traveled deep into space and saw
What their beautiful imaginations
Saw and painted vividly!

I told them that the next telescope is
In its way for delivery with
“Prime Time.”

Their darkened face shined
like Christmas light
And their imagination began
to run wild again.

Kids break many things in life, until they grow and understand life.

No matter what they break in the process or how long it takes for them to reach that stage, our job is to never break their imaginations.
Jobira Jul 14

They come out crying out loud
When they leave the warm womb
And land on this cold world,
With their innocences intact.

Then, a beautiful life and a
brand new world is
created by and for them.

It's painful to have and raise children
For all the hard work and worries
You have to go through
To protect them by any cost.

Children turn your life upside down
For they come in many forms,
Good, bad, ugly apples.

Whichever you're holding on your arms
Or lost in the process, give them tender hugs and kisses
In your imaginations or with your lips,
Wrapping your arms around them and
Holding them tightly closer to your hearts
As our lives were/are better
When our children were/are in it
For they just make us dance in the winds.

My son was crying on his bed last night. He said he couldn't sleep, so I had to put him to bed singing him a lullaby.

Honestly, I was sleepwalking myself, tired.

But when duty calls, you answer it.

So, I woke up with this poem this morning.

...could never get,
he ran, -ran...

Ran away to
his Mother who,
dead, -did nothing.

Constricted, smothered
I killed her.
Killed her YES

Come back son?
I may not...
may-be, hurt you?

I squeeze upon
the world and
this earth and...

My role is,
Dionysios, -come home.

To your awful
Father, terror...
death, darkness, peace?


I hate you sun


People have no idea what they are dealing with,
People don't know and don't want to know
What truly surrounds them,
                                If they did
                                They'd wish they wouldn't know.
                                They want a quiet life
                                A bread on the table
                                And cable TV.

Thing is, people are not themselves.
People were taught to be people by people who were manipulated and made people
                                                                            by people who didn't know what they were,
People look at a baby
And worry more of making him a 'people' of their own
Than to ask:
'Who are you?'

july 12, 2017
1:57 a.m.
Alex Fontaine Jul 12

Sandals slapping hard on glued stone,
Sun hitting hard soaking my clothes,
I like to pretend Im alone,
Empty houses vacant windows.
Dog shit smell wafts from my plastic bag
Scraped from a  carefully manicured lawn

Dog pants pull me from bush to bush,
Past awkward neighbors with no eyes,
Cant talk now, always in a rush
Another encounter to despise.
The trees could take the houses back over
Birds bees and deer make for good company.

My boy is four and loves the dirt,
He loves to smell the sunflowers,
Pulls them from heaven down to earth,
To softly imbibe their powers.
I stop for a minute and bow to them
And breathe their delicate blessing as long as I can.

Star BG Jul 11

When will children's voices be heard?
The ones who cry out in need of a hand
The ones trapped in rubble
who are dying from no fault of their own.

When will the un-natural state of war be silenced
and mankind awaken for peace on earth?
The time is no to reconnect inside love.
The time is now to treat every child as one's own.

When will the controlling forces
that perpetuate violence
against humanity open their hearts for peace?

My prayers go out to the little souls
who can’t fend for themselves.

My prayers go out as I take breath
to hold onto trust and faith.

Faith that God will hold the children
in loving embrace until help comes.

inspired by MU
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