Mary Jane's Shoes

Mary Jane's Shoes

Musings of one person among many. Not exceptional in any way, as with all, I have exceptional experiences and varied reactions to those events. Mine is one of many life stories and how I manage and cope with the events which make my life my own, I attempt to put forth by way of my writings.

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Love Is As

April 17, 2014

Love from one for another is as torn kelp to sea current. The water winds draw the kelp which is helpless to its pull. The enamored heart is pulled to deeper waters and dares not cast off love’s net. Wanted is this, love’s trap.

Evening’s Final Stop ~ A Love Letter for New Orleans

April 11, 2014

~

Headphones cup my ears.
A ballad’s bridge crescendos
as a voice sings of moments
which have gone sometime ago,
and tears fall today more than usually they might.
30,000 feet above the curved line where earth and sky do meet,
amidst the clouds I leave a city.
This City has brought me to full emotions, varied.
So much depth within each to me was carried.

~

Consuming the City is,
as a potent perfume,
one that reaches beyond scent
to affect all senses.
Life breathes from her iron, brick and wood.
Palpable are the heartbeats through song and word.
I do not close
any window

~

as I fear missing the intricacies of herself she gifts.

~

Senses live with intensity.
Each sound and sight invades my space.
Each builds to a level that seems of dreams
and vivid nightmares.
The ill-fated of dreams,
though they are somewhat rare
expose an earthy character,
expose just enough of self
to keep
in this humid air,
to keep my living fair,
to strip me down to truth,
to see me living bare.

~

She is beauteous in her wear, sumptuous in her offerings. She is a life of immense flair, decadent, delicious. She is true.

~

As landing gear is released from the belly of this high flyer,
it is abruptly felt though not heard this last flight home.
This bird, she touches tarmac
and rolls to her cage, her final evening stop.
My City trip, in the same moment, rolls to its end, regrettably so.
Though I am full with memory,
a tear does dampen my cheek.
As strangers stir with a hurriedness
the noise is not heard by me,
as headphones cup my ears.

~

~

 

To Duplicate

March 31, 2014

 

~

She had bloomed.

Her presence startled me.

The first camellia of early spring,

through the day storm

it was there

deep with color saturated.

Petals rain drenched,

blue above was gray

with clouds heavy full with water

again to fall.

Wind blew vibrant fuchsia petals,

and the fresh green around her.

In the stress, she showed a delicate strength,

a sturdy intent to hold fast unveiled.

I will myself to duplicate.

 

~

 

The hill I did climb,

rounding my heavily ivied home.

The blossom gave ample surprise and quick pause.

It graced my eyes,

stared back at me assuring light

and heat in coming days.

A visual delicacy she is for all,

for those that view only a glimpse

as wind hides her once again

amongst leaves.

She conveys relief as she stirs the heart with promise.

Her painted color imparts warm hope

as she holds fast, patient in her wait

for dry sunlit mornings.

I will myself to duplicate.

~

The Moon through Water

February 24, 2014

~

When it rains, 

when it rains

my mind drowns

as I have fallen from the ship.

Though I am floating,

into you I sink.

~

I do not want to be saved.

Do not pull me from the waves.

Lungs filling with you

is a promise that to me I gave.

~

Let me breathe you into me.

Let me feel whole.

Let me see the moon through water.

Let me touch your soul.

~

~

When it rains,

when it rains

water runs on and through me.

Though weightless still I fall,

I never tire of its call.

~

There is no sea floor.

Endless ocean as is space above,

in each I need no air.

I only need this love.

~

Let me breathe you into me.

Let me feel whole.

Let me see the moon through water.

Let me touch your soul.

~

~

 

Creativity and Chaos

February 18, 2014

~

Chaos is perfect in and of itself. This is a new thought to embrace. When living is exciting, not always smooth, when I take hold of a concept which is new and difficult for me personally to accept, such as the one written in my first sentence here, I need to remind myself I am living a special life, one in which to savor all. ‘Perfect’ chaos, though an oxymoron when first read, can be seen from a different perspective. As I have come to loathe the word perfect specifically, chaos is a necessary entity. Chaos can allow creative freedom to take over, if one accepts it and does not try to override its presence with a traditional view of what one believes perfect to be. A chaotic life, day, moment can be accepted for what it is. All does not need to be in good form; all does not need to be handled to create art. It can give way to a flow of creative thought, of emotions and imagination. Perhaps this is the birthplace of art more often then not.

~

Inherently Part

February 17, 2014

~

If not for music, if not for the lyrical words of poetry in which to hold a moment, daily living would be more existence, less grace, less dance. Fluid words and coupled sounds are implicitly part of feeling life, of living.

 

~

Snow First Touched

February 6, 2014

~

Longing has ended.

He places my hand in his hand.

Natural it feels to have his skin touch my skin

like placing a fork on a napkin on the left side of the plate out of habit,

like the movement of my wrist when turning a key to unlock a door,

as when kissing a child’s forehead,

as when drawn to sing a favorite song playing on my car’s radio.

~

This touch too, brings a wakefulness

as when snow first touched my face

when I was small

and the yard that bore the weight of my young feet and witnessed my play seemed the universe.

~

I Saw Your Blanket

January 23, 2014 2 Comments

~

I saw your babyhood blanket,
folded in the drawer
in the green and yellow room
where bright green and yellow circles
inked on the walls
danced like suns
and tree tops swaying with the weight of canopy dwellers.
~
Wood toys,
an abundance of these
smooth and simple,
each missed young fingers
silly and dramatic voices
to see them move to life.
~
The only rule imagination
used fully.
Trucks flew in your world of no boundary.
Bees helped save tiny persons
fly from a burning skyscraper
made from 2x3x1 inch blocks,
while giant stuffed animals served as come to life fire trucks
and baby brothers became monsters destroying the scene.
~
There stood a grand teepee
consuming more than only a corner of this room,
the room in which you dreamt.
I felt the cotton.
I heard the past.
Not just a few dramatic voices introduced me
to your friends and wooly creatures
by way of varied scenes breathing.
Whimsical actors with costumes displayed
fully in your mind,
played and fought, triumphed and plotted, created and drew, sang and danced
with my magic child.
 ~
Castles, doll houses each of wood, paint,
capes of cut blue pillowcases draped around shoulders,
flags of torn cloth on ships with secret pockets,
       secret storied histories are guarded
in these toys,
and my mind.
 ~
Shelved books
basketed cymbals, silver triangles
and recorders,
a set of drums
the basket of crayons,
in each I can see its history
with a growing child.
Holding onto each page,
I am missing the innocence
the time
the spirit of a young one,
the play which teaches
only the finer traits.
~
I am missing you
clutching your babyhood blanket
which I saw folded in the drawer
in the green and yellow room
with green and yellow circles
inked upon the walls.
~

When You Are Frightened

January 10, 2014

~

 

When you are frightened,

you feel the heat inside your chest.

Sparks burn all nerve endings there

like the quick touch of the back of your hand

on the top of the oven

when you reach in to baste the roasting hen.

~

Quick fire

~

When you are scared,

your heart quickens its beat.

It has moved closer to the skin

and declared its presence.

You feel its pulsing in living worn fingertips.

Short throbbing beats in each

like drum rhythms of marching soldiers

waiting for the signal to fight

~

or flee

~

When you are fearful,

your eyes grow round.

You without thought trade a smaller for a larger lens

to bring in more detail.

You open wide its aperture

so as to let in more light,

to know more of that which scares

~

to know more of what you are up against

~

When you are frightened,

all sound is clear, sharp.

Now.

In your face.

Glass pieces crack,

as bike tires do not bypass

broken bottles carelessly strewn along the street.

You hear each snap.

Each sounds as a lit firecracker on the New Year.

~

Dissonant noises escort fear.

Your ears hear sound within no sound.

~

By presence or letter

I will try to bring only a soothing voice.

I will try to melt the glass.

I will open the shutters to see more light.

I will try to calm the heart

and cool the touch.

~

 

 

Gratitude

November 25, 2013

Open Your Eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Truly open eyes see the wonder within each person and each entity. Closed, and the wonder passes beyond your reach. Use this gift of sight to see all through fresh eyes, viewing as if you are a child. Be grateful for this ability and for all that can be embraced once you do.

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