Author: Veronica Hallissey

  • Fine Wine

                Fine Wine              We have bound and gagged the bird              who would carry the olive branch              to the heads of state              guarding vehemently their fragile egos.              Guarding so that the…

  • Even If

                  Even If . . . . .               If you sing this song with me,               then follow the words               for they are gentle               and full of meaning.             …

  • Our Sacred Source

    I heard a grandchild say at a very young age, ‘when mama is happy the whole family is happy.’  I have seen when a family is in turmoil, in sickness, in argument, that nothing goes well.   It is then that the hot water tank springs a leak, the washing machine no longer washes and we…

  • Because It Is

                                         Because It Is                                      You cannot dream things that never were                                      for in a sometime and a somewhere                                      they've taken place and left their indelible memory                                      on your mind.                                      Only to be remembered when a slim shadow                                      casts its spell across your life                                      and causes you to bring…

  • Forever Is A Long Time

    Premises are the foundation upon which we construct our systems of belief.  There are those of us who come replete with boundaries signifying right and wrong and what is kosher and what is not.   Then there are those who come in with wings attached it seems.   And then there are the ones who have nothing…

  • A Trying Thing

      It is a trying thing we do.  We want to understand what we remember of a specific time when all we have are bits of memories and what historians say went on at the time.   But we cannot take as fact all that we read or hear.  Everything written cannot be taken as gospel.  …

  • Meditation

    Come with me to this place I visit often, hidden behind an eyelash; where it is Easter all the time and rebirth is not a sometime thing; where gods cavort in joyous abandon.         Come, we dance. . . .                        Today the world stood still. In the bright afternoon sun I saw a butterfly dart…