From an Upper Floor

Our Sense Of Time

There is a sense of time
stretching from here
to other worlds whose names
are not in my vocabulary.
I am certain of here
because this is where I am.

I pushed away the snow
no longer pristine as first it came.
I took off my coat;
too heavy now with the approaching spring.
Too bad, I think, that the season of snow
is now so short.
Once it embraced the whole of me
that looked upon its arrival as enticing
as whipped cream on a piece of pie.

Its anticipation included holidays
that swallowed wicked witches,
soon followed by grateful hearts
seated about the table
swollen with the summer’s harvest.

I put away the significant things,
sorting them for another year;
carefully storing memories
to be added to a life
already crowded with them.

I will remember this holy season
because of my fill of joy,
of heart shedding happiness.
In this world are the ways
we measure lives in holidays,
in holy days, in births and deaths,

only because of our sense of time.

March 28, 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.
Four Of Us Less One. . .

In Memory of David . . .

We sit and we break bread,
the four of us less one.
We think of him but do not speak of him
who misses us as we miss him.

Our loss so great, the pain so blue,
we can but weep.
Yet so close we sit,
the thinnest veil between us,
the four of us less one.

We are who we are,
created by slow cooking
of heaven’s desire for perfection,
like garden vegetables simmering.

We’ve come through long years of drought
with parched throats and no cold storage
for the scrubby pickings of the mind’s fruit.

Now it is morning,
fresh and free of pain, newborn.
We’ve slept the night on buckwheat pillows.
Now the promise
that our bowls will be filled
and we will eat.

Communion at the rail on bended knee,
waiting to be lifted up.

March 26, 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.
Kiss The Morning

Until Spring reaches all of all of us, I will be posting a few of my winter scenes still for sale. Those of you who have seen ones I have posted before and wonder if they are still available, contact me . There are some where I have used the verses over but with slightly different colors and fabric. Winter is my favorite season of the year and though I can appreciate all of the others for what they offer, the crispness of the winter air still clears the cobwebs of the sultry days of summer. So when the locusts begin their singing in the July and August nights, I breathe easier. For then my memories of angels in the snow begin and life is good. Contact me if this young woman’s stride into the morning is what will begin your day.

March 23, 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 RUNNER

In memory of Dennis whose laughter I will forever remember

THE RUNNER

Fierce as the fighter
at sword’s end,
he pierces the ethers
with feet pursuing
in active rite
a holy destination.

With easy strides
cutting the air cleanly,
his pursuit begins in quest
of his ecstasy;
bought at the cost
of a body agonizing
through every muscle bleeding
and every bone melting
in final deliberation.

Hot breath searing
past a throat whose tongue
cannot feel teeth
mounted in place for a lifetime,
he swallows the wind in great gulps
and finds he swallows. . . . .

the Amen. . . . .

March 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.
SMALL COMFORT

In the case of young women who have cracked glass ceilings, I wish to remind them that generations of women have prepared partners for them who wish to parent their children. That there were women free of commitments or those who shrugged those commitments to do what they felt was theirs over the years was a miracle of sorts. There were others who had to care for their commitments and could only dance in place. It is a larger picture than one generation and several lifetimes in the making. The lone voice of Betty Friedan started the uproar to the top floors and it was the shoulders of the generations of women our young women today have used as a staircase to the upper floors.

SMALL COMFORT

In waves, the moans
of the conscience stricken reached the heavens.
In waves, across the lands,
reaching tidal proportions,
the laments were cradled in the clouds;
due in time to wash across the hearts of the unborn.

The cries of why? why? and why?
were epidemic as they swept the Great Mind
and lodged in its bosom.
The gods, bewildered, wondered why (themselves)
the questioning continued when in ages past
man learned so well.

But now the ‘why?’ from woman’s lips
demanded an answer
to soothe her breast grown bloody with irritation;
a cancer eating her insides,
moving earth as well as heaven to answer.

‘I said’ no longer was sufficient for the rising tide
of an ego too long suppressed
and not to know its day.
No longer sufficient to walk in shadow,
when knowledge, full blown was hers.

The ‘I said’ no longer held terror
from either God or Man.
‘I said’ no longer could be used
to keep suppressed the horror in the cry
falling on man’s ears.

The children vanished from the hearth
and woman rose, unafraid.
No more the reason of hunger or cold
from winter’s snow to cover the babies’ heads,
as she found her head immune to pain
inflicted by mindless gods, both earth’s and heaven’s.

Too late she knew, but all in due time.
For progress, such as it was, had reason to bed.
The heel must first strike the ground
before the foot implants.

She did not know the muscle she had
to carry life’s burdens,
nor the control it required to balance it all.
Unknowingly, the ballet performance

was exquisite.

Sept. 1987

March 15, 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 Need For Connections

It is a fact of life that when things are offered and we do not accept them, then when we want them, we find they are withdrawn.   It is a matter of inner vision, not having to do with sight.   We cannot see our need at the time.   But upon thinking and when we see their value, we find it is too late.

We then of course are sorry.   Whether the thing is offered by a person or because we are in a fortunate situation at the time, we do not

Nature’s Wonder

accept because we have no need.   But to check one’s vision, to see a need before it arises means that one makes connections.   Timing is of the essence.   One must see how the connections between past occurrences and present happenings are related. The moment becomes all to most people because to live in the moment is the current thought. But without the substance of the past, the present has no meaning. It is of itself, sterile. To bring this home to us, we must think of who we have been to bring us to who we are in this moment.

And if we do not instill meaning in the present today, tomorrow will be bereft.   it will have no meaning and of itself, sterile.   We must avail ourselves when opportunities for change are given. Too many think that today is born immaculate without the impact of yesterday.   If we do not see how our yesterdays have laid their mark on us, then we will not see how our actions today will affect our tomorrows and those of our commitment.

And we will not see how our harsh winter will yield to a benevolent spring.

March 11, 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.
Kiss The Moon Winner

I am pleased to announce that the winner of the drawing of Kiss The Moon is Luanne Thulstrup who is from the Northwest. I wish to thank all those who entered and viewed my work. And I wish to thank Maria Wulf for her generous offer to speak of the drawing on Full Moon Fiber Art.com. She touches many people in ways we can only scarcely see.

And to all of you who found my work to be interesting and with a bit of surprise I do hope that you will continue to be visitors and to bookmark me. I will be running drawings now and again for my books and a possible wall quilt at times. Comments I especially look for because it is a way for me to judge what group responds to what I have written.

I especially want to encourage the broadening of our premises. In a world with so many challenges, we need broader foundations upon which to build our spiritual need of brotherhood. It may be on our shoulders that this responsibility falls. There is no doubt that we are equal to it. Again, I thank all of you, and special thanks to Maria.

March 8, 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.
Poetry Book Drawing

Cover

This week there will be a drawing for the book of poetry called Kiss The Moon.   The number picked will be at random and I will announce the winner on Friday.   So when you comment on whatever post you like or have thoughts about,   I will be notified and I will put names in a container and the name will be drawn.

This is the first time I have done this and Maria at fullmoonfiberarts.com has been my encouragement. I know there are many of you who like my poetry and perhaps you will be the one to be drawn this week.   The names through Thursday night will be eligible.

I am looking forward to the response from my readers.   I have enjoyed your e mails but you must go to https://fromanupperfloor.com to register your name and comments.   You will have four (4) days to do this.   The second printing cover of my book has slightly different printing, otherwise the art work is the same.   And most of the poetry on my blog is in the book. Good luck to you.

March 4, 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.
My Cosmic Valentine

Every year I wait for my Cosmic Valentine. It comes after a summer of getting the harvest ready for another year until spring planting. The summers for me were too long and the winters too short. When winter came it gave the necessary time for me to feed my need for knowledge. It was a time when all things came to a halt that were necessary to survive. It was a time when my Spirit could be fed with days that were long and evenings even longer. It was a time when snow came and covered all the infirmities of the Spirit with a damask linen of white on white. It was then that the world smelled clean and crisp was the air as it slid down dry throats and rusty pipes. This year of all years my Valentine was the most beautiful. Heaven bent down and laid a kiss on my forehead and said, for you I did this. For you. I wish the world would know this magnificent salve for the open wound we know as Mankind.

March 1, 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 Good Friend (from Kiss The Moon)

Cover

You stayed the night
while I lumbered my body
through a partition
closing me from life.

While I fought
through a sea of memories
holding me hostage
to long and lonely years.

You saw me
through eyes of tears
reflecting the hardness
mine needed to smelt

with coals being fired
in a heart of no use.

But you stayed, close to my skin
and had you pulled away
I would have understood.
You stalk me yet and I stand.

My eyes have shed their steel casings,
now ground as dust beneath my heel.
I look inward to softer places
and find the world not so hard.

You tell me you need to stay close
because you wish to claim
my strength if only by association.
but I ask,

of what heavenly use is a soft shell crab?

February 26, 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.