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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October 16, 2015




I fell to the bottom of the sea.

Where on sand, 


extraordinary creatures swam 

and each whispered me to leave the cloaking darkness.

Surrender, I had, to the drop with only vague vision. 

It was a pull they whispered, taken I had been by my heart strings full with blood. 


My body floated on the surface,

my mind filled with pictures of unseen creatures,

 which might be found below. 

I was ready for the promise, a gift, 

the surrender. 

Salted water weighed heavy on my ankles, 

a peaceful drag took me. 

Skin wrinkled.

Breath taken.

Hair tangled in itself,

my body found the floor.


Surrounded by rawness,
the whispers began. 

I was not meant for this world beneath air,

in the darkness, 

without what I knew as light. 

I should climb to the sea surface 

as a sherpa to a mountain summit, they said. 

I am to live as others the same do, they said. 


My heart did not want to venture back
to stillness nor to sameness. 

I tethered my heart strings to ancient rocks resting, 

so as to plant my stance. 

I bathed in different waters. 

Deep sea cold on skin only warmed. 

I surrendered to the novel. 

The hidden no longer hid. 

I surrendered to this gift. 

I surrendered to my gospel. 



Yellow Giants

September 2, 2015

~ ~

Yellow Giants

Saffron Dinosaurs with Rusted Edges

Cumbersome Robots with Human Brains

These, they 





Replace and


– what skin draped beings see fit to confuse, see fit to change. 

A path made to Mother’s design

is interrupted. 

Each year she is made to try again,

forced again to pursue her dedicated path; 

giving in is not an option

for a power above our flesh she does own. 

Mustard Colored Moving Steel

crows as it travels in reverse

to retrieve its mouth full of history. 

Crushed earth, 

crustacean remains, 

sea creature bones

reduced to minute pieces,

nearly equal in smallness to salt grains 

decorating the sea bass on your plate,

the yellow dinosaur hoists into its gaping mouth. 


Hard sand is drawn into the sea. 

Turning water erodes shore,

as is the art of nature.


the coast is swallowed at a higher speed. 

Land overtaken,

by an overheated Mother Earth with changing temperament. 

Melting glaciers raise her seas of tears

as replenishment by yellow giants

serves as a temporary fix. 

Still skin draped beings,

refuse to let the water move in natural flow.

With the employ of saffron dinosaurs,

the disconnected brains insist upon the shore,

the carry

the deposit

the push

the replace

the fill ~ 

We see fit to confuse, to change, the force on earth created by its dance with the silent moon. 



Peanut Butter

July 29, 2015 3 Comments


Spreading peanut butter on the toast, 

I am a painter 

using a palette knife

to build a thick layer of color on canvas

to evoke emotion. 

I turn the tip of my knife to leave a swirl

of protein packed paint on my whole wheat canvas. 


The drawing I left was a heart. My heart, 
it drawn in peanut butter. 

I gave it to my daughter, early morning. 

She grinned; she held it high,

as if Nana would see the decorated breakfast as she left for work. 

She watched proudly through the grand window,

hair in a messy braid slept on through her little girl dreams. 


mj goodman

Summer Union

July 6, 2015


Dragonflies in palm trees,

hot sand wills her to run 

as only one can in heated and heavily crushed shells,

on the balls of her feet, toes flexed to the sky. 

A hat of straw with white ribbon,

sunglasses hide under eye sweat

and beads run down her back.

Shade by lava rock, by shoreline flora

blocks late afternoon early evening sun,

here she comes to stop. 

With slow breeze, a sitting spot, here is the found break from searing sun. 

Lying down,

cooler sand coats 

her greased and sweat soaked skin

as if she were skinned fowl coated in breadcrumbs for pan frying. 


With shade in time she cools, somewhat. 

Breezes bring more relief, 

perhaps periodic momentary heat chills

as the sun lowers and shadows bloom to cover more sand, more lava around her. 

Lulled to near sleep her leg twitches,

breeze blown hair her cheek it brushes. 

These movements and doves’ calls keep her a still aware. 

She finds sand no longer a nuisance to be brushed aside. 

It is a real and virtuous bed, one that conforms to muscle,


Wind her blanket, sea waves breaking are her lullaby. 


Her skin disappears with more sand, 

enveloping her size with each breeze. 

Earthly comfort and connection, 

grains move into the bend of arms and shoulders,

the curves created by bent legs.

She no longer smells the sea 

as blessed she is to become entwined with its presence,

as a cook needs another to check the aroma of his dish. 

Rhythmic natural sound exists, that of water moving by action of waves.

The spin of her world, as she breathes now with the rhythm of the tide, sees the moon rising and setting, drawing and releasing oceans. 


She is but one extension of this world,  

as is a fish, as is a horse, as is a palm tree

lanky and curvilinear.

As she drifts to sleep she is noticeably such, an extension, if any are to see. 

With time, more enmeshed her form becomes

as skin melds into sand. 

The doves’ soothing intrusion refuses her complete immersion within the spot she lies. 


Though with his musical call

the shore is her bassinet. 

It is her carriage.

It is her bed of ancient lava and shell. 

It is safety,

is built from the same as she. 

The shore is home. 

Senses, hers, blend with that which earth emits. 

She is the shore. ~ mj goodman 

The Same

July 6, 2015


We are the same, human. The differences that do exist; how do these differences affect the lives of others in a negative way? Any differences are minuscule, and they bring vibrance and bring beauty.

If all traits are to be considered, we each are very much alone in our being. Ridiculous and petty are any notions that difference is proof of a fault, or that it requires separation, or difference in treatment. With this view, each of us is an outsider. This belief is my truth.


There is no sameness. We are a race which encompasses immeasurable differences. There exist no two humans alike. What to do?Stand alone in the world? This is an ugly, nonsensical decision.


To look at this from another perspective, what is believed to be a difference may in fact not be one for if difference is ever present, is this not sameness?  ~  mj goodman 


Ashes to Seed

July 6, 2015

As it flows around you, see in a gentle, healthy wind, leaves filter away the dust of worry, the moments of doubt. These fall to the ground as ashes and soot, as if the forest underbrush has burnt. 


The returning air is clean and soon seedlings of hope and goodness will sprout through the ash and flourish around your feet. 

~ mj goodman

May 30, 2015 1 Comment


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 

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