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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in the house broken

October 22, 2014

when he was two and she was eight
when he down the street did skate
and she an elephant did create

scattered and strewn
are faces.
coated paper,
glossed and colored,
the faces, the children’s eyes look up from hardwood worn and stained.
much disarray
as ages overlap.
albums rifled through
and left are empty spaces.

when he was two and she was eight
when he down the street did skate
and she an elephant did create

as these fixed expressions
hold the past,
under childhood treasure tossed,
wood blocks and open drawers
they still laugh,
the faces on the floor.

would seem I could learn their tricks.
would seem I could read their minds,
return to that time
to shoot the portraits once again,
this time promptly placing each inside an ordered book or drawer.
Not without lock and key,
not one other would see.

when he was two and she was eight
when he down the street did skate
and she an elephant did create

~ mary jane goodman

A Moment’s Peace

October 20, 2014

eyes close.
air warm of sunlight, it soothes.
cool wind, it brings truth
removing hitchhikers of dirt from the coat.
cleansing, moving air imparts peace.

peace is the moment
existing only at present.
feel now,
with the freshness of the cool,
the heat of yellow stretching to the skin.
this moment is alone.
it owns great worth,
this moment alone.

Passing Words

September 18, 2014

I just spoke to my sons Elliot and Ben, respectively two and three hours away. I am excited for their futures, but part of my heart is missing. The pieces gone are with them and my daughters out of this home. Time passing is a difficult page to see turn, though it turns with a simple breeze, without my effort. If a page is splattered with spilled milk, the spill of mistakes I have made, I still do not want to see the words disappear as the page corner is lifted and pulled to the left revealing new words. The new may read of great happiness, but my desire disobeys all laws of physics. I wish to see all the words from prior chapters live together on the same page with the new.


July 23, 2014

Always maintain your perspective. Be sure that your perspective is aware and encompassing of others’, as it can be, and often is, skewed, even as one believes they are thinking without bias. A pure worldly view, that equalizes all, will see us survive.

I Shouldn’t

July 23, 2014 2 Comments


I shouldn’t be here,
listening to you breathe,
feeling you shift in bed,
dreaming of a never time,
speaking words best left unsaid.
I shouldn’t be here,
sipping your strong coffee,
sharing your buttered toast,
talking of the news,
and laughing at your jokes.
I shouldn’t be here,
smelling your earthy scent,
touching the back of your neck in the morning light,
nor kissing you in the dimming incandescent night.
I shouldn’t be here,
sitting on your front porch,
tending to your sun baked ferns,
reading your sincerely written words,
nor thinking of touch, for which I yearn.
I should leave.
Sharing time is weaving
more weft through steady warp.
To loosen make believe
and slow connecting skin,
this binding we need thwart.
If I leave
will you remember me?
Will you see my face in a crowd,
only to see it disappear?
Will you see my head thrown back with eyes
only to remember my tears?
If I leave,
will you remember my finger tips
touching the crook of your arm?
Will you miss them dear?
Will you long for tousled hair?
Will thoughts of a life without me
bring you any fear?
Tell me please
before I leave
that you will miss me so.
Tell me please
before I leave
that you don’t want me to go.


July 22, 2014


Feel your heart. Live your heart. Be your heart, and enthusiastically expose the full and true nature of your heart.


B & W Baths

July 4, 2014

a hand touches
cools and heats
skin, both
in one moment
and warm water runs
over feet
through skin
soaking heel cracks
healing sores
bandages fall
leaving glue patches
believe it is truth
as true as the b & w photo
hanging from the darkroom line
the one shot
remaining from that night
of the double edged touch
three baths to see the image real
make permanent
pacific seas
where calming water
mends hearts
and torn skin
it exists
the night in the b & w
he requested then


June 25, 2014


Even the roadway signs point towards the way from which I came,

and with windows open, the winds blow hard against my face.

Withered, static branches look to bend to the desperate world behind me.

Only fresh green grasses point away from the debris.


Taking their lead,

I begin to release, only the pain, that did precede.

Pushing pedals, I move closer toward the sound,

black rivers, marshes, to where wide stretches of sand surround.


Humble grains of what were prior shells are as vivid thoughts,

particular moments of love and hurt.

As I move to deeper water, their size increases, takes a turn.

Tiny shards are no longer as overt.


Curved lines, soft colors, angles intricate and deep,

a full shell, perfect in all detail,

once a home for one unseen

is now a gift of my life drifting, handed back to me.



Laughter and Lace

June 23, 2014


How do you move when your heart is close to still?
How do you bring back the effervescent thrill?
How, when the hurt nearly stops flowing blood?
How can you end the tearful growing flood?


In the window’s reflection, I caught a smile upon my face.
Not only lips turned up, I did catch a view of lace.
Delicate and white, it graced my shoulder’s form.
Laughing eyes and lace exposed as lightning struck in storm.


Laughter and lace, along with the tears,
built a lovely strength not felt for years.
Hold grins, visions and bits of lace,
~ the beauty of each will replace the tearful flood.
~ the nature of each will return the flow of blood.

This Son

June 9, 2014


He is middle aged, middle teenaged.
Determined he is with the task at hand.
Studiously his eyes stare down to the page and absorb the math formula in front of him.
Hands in his hair, hard at work and diligent,
serious is this blond haired, fair skinned man child.

Intense again he is in play.
The racket swings hard
at the yellow ball hurdling in his direction from across the net.
Passionate about each stroke, he does not react with subtlety if mistakes are made.
He lives each point with vigor, not unlike a father fiercely protecting his family.

Still, through his intensity,
he holds a humorous, quick with wit
Boisterous, mischievous laughs
accompany and level the resolute
assuredness of his person.

Many sides does this aging child
yet these two are the most exposed.
To see it through a successful conclusion he views his play and work,
with laughing eyes and
witty barbs relaxing his more purposeful bearing.

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