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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Perspective

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 1 Comment

~

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 for what 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,
walking,
only to see it disappear?
Will you see my head thrown back with eyes
laughing,
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.
~
~

Heart

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
filling
drenching
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
develop
stop
fix
three baths to see the image real
make permanent
pacific seas
where calming water
rolls
crests
mends hearts
and torn skin
it exists
the night in the b & w
he requested then
~

Shell

June 25, 2014

~

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

and the winds blow hard against my face.

Withered 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, and where sand surrounds.

~

Humble grains 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 and absorb the work 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.

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

Many sides does this aging child
hold;
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.

it is summer

June 6, 2014 1 Comment

~

candle flame
wax melting I smell
car heard driving from my left ear passing to my right on the boulevard,
just prior and soon after, the wave turns onto shore
currents of air brush wind chimes crafted of spoons and a central bent fork
scent of jasmine punches my nose
the flutter of a gnat does not leave my ear
wind brushes hair not restricted by a tie
frogs speak
cricket jumps across the welcome mat,
dying palm frond breaks, falls to sea oats and sand.
summer
summer
heat to escape and desire,
heat envelopes,
sand cleanses,
and ice cools
it lifted from boxes filled with taste
bugs bite, sting, enjoy skin
scratch
skin breaks
sun block bullies baby oil
bicycle tracks live in hard moist sand
hats bring shade, less wrinkles, and less spots that worry
life jackets with ocean kayaks
paddles brush the jellyfish
mom and dad worry,
keep little bits on the smallest end of surf
crave the sea, its warmth
Its sound
Its rhythm
Its pulse
let the gnats bite
let the fish sting
breath in salt water
it is summer

 

 

 

They Know They Are Missing

May 30, 2014

~

It rides low in my chest,
my heart which dreams
of bonding and does not feel the bird lifted above grasses.

It burns
my hands, which sting
with no sensation of skin on skin; they are not yet held.

It runs, my mind;
my mind in loops
replays scenes
of moments not yet lived.

In the room in which I sit
with cold
riding through my skin
heat does not pass through dust covered vents to hold me with comfort.

It whispers in my ears
words, breath
teasing, brushing beyond,
heard but not yet recognized.

One room down the green floral papered hall she too knows the vacancy.
He sleeps on ripped bed sheets in a room too small in which to breathe; he knows the missing space.
He traveling by rail, reads the news on glass and metal reflections as lights flash by at dance club speed; he senses what builds the blurred view.
The boy, feet bare, with calloused soles selling painted plates to any taker, does not feel the roadway crack yet knows of the heat.
She who tends to fig and ficus, tulip and thyme, she cannot breathe the fragrance. She continues.

Lift the window’s glass, inhale,
soften roughness with shoes which protect.
Slow the train and see soft stillness of anxious travelers’ worn overcoats as they wait to board.

Unlatch the window and expand your space beyond four walls.

Feel the warmth as you touch the hand that lay next to yours.

beside you
next to me

As It Should Be

May 29, 2014

~

I saw the fear
in the mirror eyes
reflecting back to me.
Just move,
do not think.
Release thoughts that bind
and freeze your arms and legs
curled on soft pillows
but oh so hard.
In an icy prison
repetition keeps you,
just move.
A thaw will ensue
loosening the sinews,
freeing the synapses.
Warm gauze will cover wounded feet,
will slow the freeze
of mind cells.
Cyclical warmth
builds on each move
correcting caustic mind patterns.
Feet travel fresh.
Tar’s heat is as the bite of a bitter apple.
Splintered wood annoys the skin.
The cool of tile awakens sleep feet
and tendons no longer stiff with cold now enjoy the softness of once hard pillows.
Just move.
Do not think.

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