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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Another Charlotte (He was bitten by her kind one day, in early ’07.)

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

Only Happy

January 30, 2015


Never Lose the Desire

January 30, 2015


The Contrast

January 15, 2015

If one is doing her best, living honestly and following her unique path, there is no need nor should there be an inclination to compare. When relative evaluation does take a breath, it is preferable to see and revel in the contrast, the extraordinary. ~ mary jane goodman

A Clean Dress

January 15, 2015

She abandoned her fear as if it were a soiled and damaged garment no longer of good use. A fixed and focused gaze replaced her clouded vision and in her new skin she recognized herself. No longer donning a facade to convince others of notions she did not hold, she fearlessly perused the dreams that through the years had been tucked into the filthy pockets of her marred dress. Hidden they were, and now exposed her dress was clean.

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