I have broken bread
with old friends
for what seems to be
many centuries.
We continue
our conversations
begun when yet
we were in other times
and were other people.
But it has been, you see,
only a minute.
We bring to mind
all things old and
some things new.
‘Twas but a quirk of Nature
so that our hearts would grow
and become one heart.
It all has a familiar fit.
Don’t you think?
All things will
be new again
when we break bread
in the next of times.
But you knew that, didn’t you?
All things new are really all things old.
Even some of us.
December, 2013
Photo by John Hallissey (click on photo to come front and center)
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
I lay the swords
beneath the evergreens,
but you knew that.
I also lay old grievances
upon the swords,
for we have outgrown them.
They will be buried
low beneath the branches
so there will be no weapons to carry.
I will not burden my own
with my dreams,
for in another world
they have taken root.
The pattern of my days
with intensity and purpose,
shaped them.
There will be new dreams
for the young to fulfill.
No reason anymore
for the old to lay upon
the freshly crafted heart
the chafings of their envious spirit.
Life is weighted gold,
so sacredly guard it.
I wish to lay to rest
the long held grief
that each new generation
must assume the ancients’ maladies.
If anguish resides,
let us undo what we have done.
We give birth to those we hope
to be the best of who we are.
Children are no one’s property.
Their gift is to find and renew
their own sense of self.
To be given life in any dimension,
is to be hugely gifted.
Come, lay your swords beneath the evergreens.
photo by John Holmes
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
In the dim light
of the silent candle,
while seated at the kitchen table,
I heard laughter.
It rose from the belly of one
seated at another table
and hit the ceiling with a loud guffaw.
The ceiling fan threw the laughter
out the windows to the winds
carrying it afar.
My heart welcomed the sounds
for safekeeping.
The girlish giggles in answer
roamed the table
and shushed the corners
of the room
and I wondered;
the girls, where did they go?
Now I sit and pound my keys
to a fine fettle
and ponder the turn of wheels
that held the world
at its pivot.
And wondering what happened
to the laughter
and why did it die
when we were so hungry for it to last?
12/13
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
One would think that for human progress to have been more rapid, a sledge hammer rather than a quill would have been used.
Unless emotional garbage is released, it will continue to be contagious.
The mind set to turn a particular way is already bent.
The split in man is so dichotomous that his life is one mass of contradictions.
When advancing age stiffens the limbs and makes the mind less elastic, we will find the inner ear listening to what the heart stirs about.
To say it is mine to do and do it is to take the bull by the horns. And to say I will take responsibility for it is to tame the bull.
Where will the young generation turn if not to those who pride themselves that their advancing years have brought a degree of wisdom?
Who is going to teach when all about are denying that they are getting older, never mind wiser?
When one’s strength is honed and sharpened, it becomes a dependable strength.
The persuasive voice is well trained to manipulate. Today we call it selling.
One should not find his bed so comfortable that it is an effort to get out.
We are given license to steal from ourselves the only thing we have. Time.
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
I walk now
toward arms wide open
to embrace the fabric
of who I am.
Centuries
have gone into
the craven pot,
stirring to form
a compatible formula.
Looking always
toward humanity’s good,
I become with hope,
a welcome addition
to my Earth’s classroom.
November, 2013
photo by John Hallissey
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
Sometimes our actions seem out of context. It is as if we are dancing to a song not in the musical library. It is not heard by anyone else, just us. It is not foreign to us, but seems puzzling to everyone watching. We know that it is still us, just not the us that people know.
All of life and human life especially, is likened by me to a mosaic. Bits and pieces here and there of importance but I wonder where some of the pieces come from when they are not of this lifetime. They have a fit though in the larger picture. Not that it need flash before my eyes, but more of a feeling as being part of the whole. This Veronica has a Veronica who has a Veronica. Ad infinitum. My boundaries are no more since my inside has no outside. What I try to describe is that we are more than we appear to be. How there is a depth to us always eluding, never definite, never static. That if we had the ability to focus differently and some do, we would see ourselves as a substance far greater than three dimensional. When we put our arms around beloveds, we are embracing the human family from which we all rise.
When I heard the term ‘sense of snow’ being described as a one who looks at a footprint in the snow and tells what animal walked, how large, what way the wind was blowing, how far the animal traveled, where he had come from and many other things, I understood it. I immediately thought there are those also with a sense of time and a sense of destiny and those things driving one to learn sometimes by osmosis but definitely by study with a keen interest in a subject. They make connections. Given a word, they take it and whip it into the present and use the premise to show how we connect. This is an area that adds to depth.
Those who can, read the handwriting on the wall and know who wrote it because they understand the language. They have a ‘sense of’ we say because everything they see connects with the subject. A sense of snow. It is a wonderful term. It describes fully those with the ability to hear the cries in crisis and those who see themselves as part of a mosaic, not even consciously realizing where all the pieces come from but knowing it all is part of the greater picture. We are a mosaic, within a mosaic, within a mosaic, ad infinitum. The sense of it all is vast.
The nonsense question is who am I. The real question is who am I not?
photo by John Holmes
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
The silences reveal
provocative answers
to questions only
my heart dares ask.
In these silences,
in the pauses between spaces,
answers bloom like petals
waiting to be picked.
I don’t know how many lifetimes
are required to come to this moment
where the silences
resound boisterously.
What is more clearly so
is that my heart has aged mightily
and now finds
this body too old
to handle its questions.
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
The mind travels
the distances inclined
toward new worlds.
Here infants are
preparing for what will be
their new home.
For now, difficult it is
to chisel new worlds;
the breaking of rock,
the scraping of stone
of encrusted thinking.
Not here, but elsewhere
the new beginnings will foster
new dreams.
No longer to be
manifest in this world’s
propensity for toys,
in this world’s yen
for fashionable attire.
What is dealt
on a scale unfathomable
are heart’s yearning
toward new understanding.
Of a universe or many
equipped to handle a multifaceted life
of undreamed answers,
to questions giving life to new dreams,
giving breath to new forms,
giving heart to life everlasting.
November, 2013
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
The heart will determine what the head sees. And put into the eyes the meaning of it all.
Times are now the adults need more rearing than the children require.
It appears Heaven is an earned order and until one approaches the place where admission is qualified, one cannot enter.
To gain understanding a lot of footwork seems to be required.
A creative spirit is fun to watch. It is one on whom the Heavens bank their monies.
It would be to everyone’s advantage to know that when thoughts are worthwhile they are matched and answered.
It seems we want our Gods only on Saturday or Sunday mornings when we invite Him/Her in.
We take our pet prejudices and wave them about as justifications for what we do not do and never realize at the same time we reveal what it is we are doing.
What has been the tower of strength often becomes later the leaning tower.
The racing around is tantamount to outrunning death. The happy harvester will harvest no matter how fast the run.
Wisdom is not tied up in the curved body with tight skin. Narcissism is.
Oftentimes appearances are the table at which we eat.
Appearances are as far down as some people are able to go.
Photo by Josh Hallissey (click on the photo for an awesome view)
Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
