From an Upper Floor

Perspectives

There is a need I see and
hurry to respond to before
calamity mounts and doubles the work.

You are driven by forces
different than mine and your gaze
dismisses the need I see.

Your eyes focus instead on another sight
which my eyes fail to see;
completely outside my frame of reference.

How is it our worlds differ so much
and yet are compatible enough
not to collide?

There is much to agree on;
much that has us separated,
yet even knowing this,

doubt makes us suspicious of others.
Worlds are born and remade by those like us.
We blur our edges to mesh smoothly.

We realize too late,
that in each head there is a world afloat
hoping for life everlasting.

Wars rage and people agitate
to fight ancient battles, to quiet ancient maladies,
but we are too old now, so pray,

they do not stir the ashes to bring forth another fire.
And on this we agree;
there are no more sons and daughters to spare.

Mothers and fathers are all cried out.

July, 2013
Veronica

July 29, 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.
Found Courage

I ask,
Where did you find your courage?
On what tree was it hanging
that you could reach up
and pluck it from its hiding place
to wear as epaulettes
on your shoulders?

The children whisper during the night,
saying their Aves to each other,
hoping they will grow into courage
with a red badge to wear.

You say,
They are blinded.
They cannot see their milky courage
like cream rising to the top;
one day to surge
through alerted senses
that call for unthinkable strength.

They have been practicing every day
since they were born.
They will learn that courage
comes with each breath taken
and like the freedom they take for granted
must be won every day.
One day they will find it wears

like a second coat of paint.

July, 2013
Veronica

July 25, 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.
We Can Go Home

When you have swum the rapids
and come to shore, stood on the sand
and found yourself upright . . .
what more can there be?

Perhaps, only to sing an aria
from a heart overwhelmed
by a love researching his own heart. . .

only to find newborns who are
the best of blends of mothers and fathers,
(loved wisely and well), with heads wide open. . . . .

to find a world that was as promised,
with roses blooming in December and
Thanksgiving on the first day of Spring.

It is these and more
and when the cardinal sings
I will acknowledge his song to show
that a life can be lived with a mind open
to hear muses sing their songs of joy and
pray their mourning songs.

To show that a heart can be
stripped of itself like layers of onion skin
and still keep a steady beat.

I’ve taken the long way home and
nearing the gate, please catch me, I say
and pull me on through.
I will answer c’est moi, it is I,

to prove we can go home again and again.

July, 2013
Veronica

July 21, 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.
When Love Was Hatched

If it seems all is lost,
think back,
when love was hatched
and gave birth. . . . .

to dreams of wonder
and of light
to make bright the darkest corner
and gave us
fine sons and daughters
we loved into Being.

We sought for dreams
to outlet talents
hidden between
fields of mind.

We sought to bring
to each other
the reflections of what we held
as our highest and best
in fists tightly clenched.

Now we reach
that time in mind
holding close those dreams
like a magnet and
unable still to separate our lives.
And we will wonder
who works the wonders
as we fly

under the wings of the Great God.

July 15, 2013

July 17, 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.
New Surroundings

To those of you who have been following my blog and wondering when or if I would return,
we are now established in our new surroundings in St. Johns, Florida. Driving into the southern parts of these United States from West Virginia down, I could only find one word to describe my beloved evergreens in profusion. Wow! oh wow! Wow! I did not know that evergreens were indigenous to the area but oh my, the highways are picture perfect in their upkeep with the evergreens marching in line as if in parade. The Skyline Drive was magnificent along with the Blue Ridge drive once fog lifted. We had a long time family friend drive us so we enjoyed the trip as much as two aging passengers could. And also traveling with us was our aging golden retriever. He did better than the three of us.

It has taken a bit of time to set up all electronic equipment but we are good to go. I hope to get on a regular schedule again soon and share with you what it is I have learned on this greatest of all journeys, the one we call our life. Our greatest contribution is what we can bring to every day, and if need be, dipping even deeper into the well of who we are. We know we are better than our oftentimes childish behavior and we only have to prove it. Now I embark on the last quarter mile home and I wish it to be rich in those things of Spirit. I hope I can make your days a reflection of only my best ones. Join me.

July 13, 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 Final Gesture

Tell me what you want to hear
and I will say it.

But do not ask me what I think,
for I will tell you.

The time for play,
for games has passed
and already written legibly,
are the words no eye
intent upon seeing will miss,
or ears intent upon hearing
will fail to hear.

Riddles plague us,
confusing, diluting,
to allow the throat to swallow
what the mind cannot masticate.

Playthings, toys abound
and crowd the issues,
pressing for attention.

At once the lessons
driven home seem hard to bear,
but with the arms up-thrust
in desperation,

the final gesture lifts man up.

June 20, 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.
A Human Drama

People are wonderful but persons are an annoyance.

Our so called ‘love of people’ serves to hide our very limited love of persons.

When we cannot love persons, what good to say we love people?

It costs nothing to love the world.   It cost much to love the ones sharing
your space, your pocketbook and your genetic history.

The aged are all Hera’s clinging to a life slipping.

The camouflage systems we construct are so intricate that an
architect would be proud and no doubt win awards for.

When stress becomes unbearable, we are then pressed to broaden
our understanding and learn.

Worrying is an advanced form of thinking.   Worrying is work.

It is a wonder how we as humans can endure the anguish of loss
when we hold no knowledge of other worlds.

When man truly wants to learn, he will.   Spirit discerns the
well intentioned and the readiness of the student.

When an ideal is realized, it becomes tiresome and tiring to keep
moving the carrot on the stick.

Man at some point realizes that the hunger within requires more
and more and less and less of what is on Earth’s table.

June 17, 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.
Beggar’s Prayer

I come with the Grace
of all those I beseech, quietly.
In all names holy.

My work, done with love,
in prayerful attendance to life,
to acknowledge the birdsong
extolling the morning and
awakening the sun
in triumph over night.

Sending the mist
to dissipate over the Mount,
to nudge the sleeping sages
into activity,
to secure the earth’s roving
in this sea of tranquility.

I acknowledge my blessings
where I am, but I beg . . . . . . .

Extinguish the desires of old men
who miss their spoils of war,
and if allowed would set fire
to the hearts of the young
to do their bidding;
negating the work of mothers
who taught their children to love one another
from the first time a sibling
invaded their space.

I beg for lives to be spared
so families can sup together,
that children will again
have parents on the premises.
Begging you also
to hone the values
that would have us carrying one another.

I beg this beggar’s prayer
so that man who denies
his own godliness will one day see

the common ground of his divinity.

June 12, 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.
Wrongful Death

We have put so much faith in the medical profession but they ultimately cannot deliver us
from death. Oftentimes in our western culture, agonies are prolonged as surrounding
relatives make their peace with what a very wise teacher once said to a student, the only
thing you have to do is die.   The homework is up to you.   And often the departure is fraught with negatives.   The biggest being our inability to leave with dignity.   For then we are stripped of our freedoms; the freedom to leave with a mind intact.   Is this the purpose of a life? Is death so ominous that a breathing body vacant of spirit is preferable?

Preparation should have allowed for the personality to keep as much of its functioning self
as possible. Medical science can make it easier for leave taking on both sides when what we leave is a body still recognizable with a spirit of the beloved we know.   It does not help when our memories are fraught with last months and years of pain that distort the image of the one held dear. Medicine often negates all we tried to do in life.   When the body is programmed for long life it would be best if we also programmed the mind.

With so much emphasis on the body, we have left no time to fill the mind with nourishment befitting a body determined for immortality.   The spirit makes the break. Little by little , the time spent away from the body is longer.   The tenuous thread, the linkage to the heart in desperation breaks.   And by that time, who we were can no longer be recognized. The civilities, the niceties that we encouraged through the many years have departed with the spirit intact.   These are what makes a civilization humane, civilized and what is left is Cro-Magnon.

The mind that has been fed, that has been nourished, has the right to what medical science offers. But this mind will also call a halt to procedures that no longer give sustenance but instead steals from it its dignity.   The population at large has not availed itself to the study of man’s place in the universe   Has not availed itself to what has been offered as guidelines, as nourishment for the spirit.   It has not taken as gospel what we all should know from the time of birth. . . . that death too is part of the living process, the earth process.   And if we have accorded dignity to life itself, then death must be included.

To program a body for long life but starve a mind is criminal.   We are deluged with information as to what to do to keep the body active, to keep it healthy.   We are a world of proof that a healthy body, one told to eat whatever is newsworthy at the moment will result in a body that fights diseases, that will be able to withstand everything.   And yet we will meet death, if not in our youth by misfortune, then in our dotage with a body so well taught that it will continue to do what it is we taught it from day one. Yet the mind, the spirit has subsisted on kindergarten fare. On porridge.   And we are left to wonder why mother or papa are not the persons we knew and if we loved them so much yesterday how could they change so fast to being mean and ugly today?

And where the peace and resolve of the unresolved that are suppose to occur at the bedside? Where the reconciliations when the unable in body are also unable and absent in mind? And where the spirit of the beloved who has nurtured us in ages past, the linkage to what was, as our children will be the link in the future to what we were? The emotional tie will be non existent for the grandchildren.   The last memories will be the only memories for some and for the others, the last memories will be wiped out as not being part of life.   And both are damaged, for unless we rearrange our priorities, reprogram ourselves, rewrite the lesson plans, the last memories will continue to be part and parcel of life in this 21st century.

What to do?   Feed the mind as well as the body.   As we stretch the body, we must also stretch the mind.   New concepts, old ideas made relevant, religions made vital, philosophers resurrected and visionary poetry made mandatory. Literature to be taught and understood with today’s technology, in today’s high tech world has application in the dailyness of each of us.   Along with the ability to compute anything and everything, should be stretched the mind’s ability to grasp spiritual concepts to enrich the person.   It will prove to be practical in the long run.   And the result will be characters of substance befitting the body programmed for life everlasting.

June 10, 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.
Loved Into Being

I said,

‘You have to take it
personally,
or you cannot play
the game at all.

The lessons, like plants,
cannot be absorbed by osmosis,
if they are
to reach the head
and heart.

What would be
the purpose of the lesson
if it could not
be applied
where you are?

Love is played for real
and we may be the idea
loved into being;
carried like a brother
on your back.

It will again be the stuffs
other dreams are dreamed of.’

June 7, 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.