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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May 30, 2015


Fortune Brought By Rain

May 30, 2015


With every drop of rain that travels from cloud to earth, I try to give recognition and thanksgiving. With each moment that leaves a mark on my life there is less space, less time for uneasiness. Much is good. Much is beautiful. Much is beautiful even in its ugliness. Ugliness does serve a purpose. Ugliness due to human neglect or wrongful choices shows us an opportunity for repair. It is a visual or mental image that sees us take notice. It is a notice for each of us to act not just for ourselves. This is beauty. At this time my dears and I see a health many would like to feel themselves. We feel the wind; we taste the fish. We read the words on the page, and hear the surf. We touch the snow frigid on our fingertips, and smell the grasses cut in spring. We find constellations made from stars millions of miles away and we have the capacity to dream of what exists beyond the stars we do not see. 


To own for a time a mind which is able to feel each drop of water that touches skin is an ownership to be relished. This is a mind that retains a surplus of gratitude and indebtedness. Nevertheless reminders are necessary thoughts, words. We are human and this comes with a full dose of natural survival instincts. We can become overly concerned with ourselves and not others. As such we forget how fortunate we are to be merely present. 


This mind is given life and I can count the petals of a rose and feel the sharpness of its thorns. I see and smell smoke rising from a grill, and hear children’s laughter and their sibling arguments. I can mix paints resulting in, to my eyes, new colors. If I choose to do so I can take the equivalent of mud, create a form which touches minds and hearts. 

This person, this life has the ability to sing a song that is stuck in her head, and she can cry or laugh or argue a point. This person can dance, even as it is for a brief time. This human can stomp and yell when angered. She can open the door for a friend and open her arms to hug him. How fortunate I am to be a creature that can taste such a large part of this world in the space and time allotted by my physical form. How could I possibly ask for more?

~ mary jane goodman-giddens


Different Rain

May 30, 2015


He sees her eyes enticing

He feels a familiarity 

He learns it is not enough 

There is no desire nor is there heat


I feel more 

I learn more 

It is figured out by me

It makes a painful sense 


Where are his thoughts 

The path is not the same as mine

His umbrella protects from different rain

I want to share his umbrella frame


He knows

He pretends ignorance

He calms with his lies

The truth is not an option

Even as he sees my pleading eyes


I want to believe

I want to have not wasted time

I think the story is longer

More words are hidden, words that should be mine

He tried, he loves, though

I was too familiar 

I was more a hand to shake

I was a history, a time, and a place


~ mary jane goodman 


See Cleanly and Without Commotion

May 30, 2015

Photographic composition has honed my life skills. In seeing an object, a scene, a setting, an encounter visually clearly, one must release the peripheral. The subject matter clearly has meaning and depth; there exists a story and many factors go into making said story. I am merely pointing out a way of seeing which became for me a lesson in being. One should focus on what will fill the entirety of the viewfinder. See it unaffected by what is at that moment ancillary to its lines. Lose the visual noise. Notice the shape, color, movement, and the lighting which bring it into view. 


Then take two more steps. 

Disconnect from your knowledge of its function; forget its purpose. Then erase its name. See it. See its existence. A composition fills the frame; the composition reigns as the superfluous departs. 


Your mind’s eye will see with clarity what is actually right in front of you. Your mind will see the simplicity which exists without notice of outside noise and chaos. Within that focal point, there may be chaos, but focus on it solely. Be here, not there. 


In life the focus should be on the now. The specifics of that moment are to be experienced when they occur, and given a full and proper embrace. They can be filed for recall and review at another time, just as can photographic digital files and the pictures in a box. The clean, unfettered by future and past, in your face present moment deserves your attention. The past and future are ancillary. 


The present is just that, a present, a gift. It is a breathing now moment. It is wrapped in time just as is the composed and focused image sealed in a technological time capsule, created within a camera. Clear the clutter, and focus on what is standing at your feet, via a lens and experienced during “on the stage” living. The action is on stage, not even on the front row. In this present moment, feel and see its lines, shape, color, and movement. See its fleeting composition. 

~mary jane goodman 

Another Charlotte

May 30, 2015


She, still, 

perches upon her trap of adhesive.

Crisscrossing wires

sit coated in glue.

She is poised in her bearing.


ever ready to act 

upon the feel of movement 

traveling through,

the warp and the weft,

as electricity from pole to pole. 


Imperceptibly just beneath her calm,

an energy is stored. 

A welcome intruder makes way into her home.

Her calm facade evaporates

as boiling water turns to steam. 

Methodically, energy spun,

she stuns and wraps the stumbling fool

in streamers and in ribbon. 

The immobile wanderer is a package

in white;

one saved for later self giving. 


Innately clever, 

some actions are deemed cruel,

but there is an earthy beauty

in these tedious life rules.  

Precision with her design

painstakingly brought to be,

she weaves warp and weft

with tenacious intensity. 

Alert senses

and swift in her strike,

an efficient laborer is she,

instinctively attentive to the work

of which is continually in need. 


Each movement is measured and exact. 

Charlotte is purpose and symmetry.

She lives in her own silence 

and in the loquat tree. 

MJ Goodman



May 30, 2015


Awareness and Advocacy will bring healing to us as one race, human, and to the earth we borrow. 


February 21, 2015


Mirrored Tear

February 14, 2015

In the hand mirror’s surface,
the eyes she sees keep a teary shine.
Not a reaction to a sad affair,
nor to a lingering cold,
nor to an onion cut
are these the reasons it is so.
It is the weepiness of age,
as tears run through the creases
loss of youth has left.
Eye blinks no longer fulfill their purpose.
No more is it enough to cover.
No more is it enough to expose, the glass,
to rid it discretely of the moisture,
through which the color of her windows still reflect
the fanfare of the past.

Her thoughts are pure,
though possibly irrelevant.
Now it has become
tiresome to convey her point
which she is desperate to clearly vent.
She deeply sighs.
Confused are familiar faces,
blind themselves to know her mind
through her stained glass eyes.

Her logic takes a different path
as her loves believe.
To her she speaks a flawless rumination
of the surrounding room she sees.
Her eyes stare wide,
mountain tunnel sturdy in belief,
attempts to communicate her meaning
to the others fail clearly.
With her spirit,
a collapse of intensity there will never be,
even as her mirrored tears blend with the soothing sea.
Mary Jane Goodman

Double Duty, Triple Jobs

February 10, 2015

His car is in the driveway.
His shoes use room in the basket by the door.
Worn scrubs sit in the closet.
Spots of patients’ blood on scrubs
now do touch the floor.

As a shovel turns dirt,
where what was once in darkness is now in light.
A change ensues and the mindset shifts
as over his shoulders he pulls a shirt,
and puts on many times worn jeans.
Suits change as duties do, seemingly with ease.

He speaks words to a child listening,
languages of physics, reasoning.
I catch his eyes with teaching excited.
Yet with more questions from his spirited sprite,
he takes a detour on frustration’s ride.
His child’s understanding is much more work away.


each works
he writes
son learns
deep breaths
and sighs
number sentences
do make sense with time

double duty
triple jobs
shifting gears
to see childhood questions
for a short time disappear

two alarms ring at the prearranged time
in these winter hours
the sun is just now above the horizon line
clean scrubs are thrown
onto his body known
eyeglasses do frame again his face


Through and out the door
he hurriedly strides one time more,
as the worn and dirty scrubs
still stain the hardwood floor.
Mary Jane Goodman


February 8, 2015

If with the absence of another’s heartbeat, your heart struggles to continue its own, what you now know is love. ~ mj goodman

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