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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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.

it is summer

June 6, 2014 1 Comment


a candle flame
wax melting I smell
a car is heard driving from my left ear passing to my right on the boulevard,
just prior and soon after, a wave turns onto shore
currents of wind brush wind chimes, crafted of spoons and a central bent fork
the 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,
a dying palm frond breaks, falls to sea oats and sand.
heat to escape and desire,
heat envelopes,
sand cleanses,
and ice cools
it lifted from boxes filled with taste
bugs bite, sting, enjoy skin
skin breaks
sun block bullies baby oil
bicycle tires turn in hard moist sand
hats bring shade, less wrinkles, and less spots that worry
life jackets make safe the 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.

Happy Place

May 27, 2014 1 Comment


I miss so many. Why can’t all the people I love, for whom I care, and want to keep near actually be in close proximity to me? This wish is selfish and not practical I am aware; I still wish it to be true.

My mind vacations in an exceptional place, one where all I love are together. It might be we are on a beach, in an art museum, or in a worn, well loved home with wild English garden vines and flowers covering much of its stone. Music and laughter are continuous and omnipresent. Not one person thinks of a time for the gathering to end. There is no thought of goodbyes.

I wish goodbyes to be none existent. I wish laughing to be a language in and if itself.

When I close my eyes for the last time, I wish to be mid-laugh.

Until that day, some time will be spent in my mind’s vacation place, visiting the language of laughter.


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No Need For Air

May 22, 2014


You are gravity to me
so strong the stars I do not see.
Spinning ’round and ’round you,
There is no release
for me.

Like a planet to the sun
as a river I do run.
No escaping. No complaining.
There is no release
for me.

With the thread of my heart drawn,
freedom exists when I succumb.
Released is any stillness
which keeps me static, numb.

Muscle relaxes and loses tone
as my heart it builds in strength.
With your attention more love and fluid movement known.


I spin
and invisibly connect.


No longer am I aimlessly moving through the skies.

There exists a point

where we fill the voids with our eyes.

We rotate in this gravity.

Open, true, with no disguise.


No need for air have we.


To Renew

May 8, 2014

Black-Eyed Susan Daisy on Grandfather Mountain~

“If you seek renewal, if you desire to feel more gratitude, then nurture a new or another’s life and see through that life’s eyes.”


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.
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.




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