From an Upper Floor

The Whole World Is Looking For A Mother

In the `90’s, when my world was struggling to find its place after the death of our middle son a few years earlier, the bigger world outside of me seemed only to reflect what I was working on. And in the midst of my struggles, I wrote The Whole World Is Looking For A Mother. I am certain there are others who feel like I did that day when I wrote this poem. Tell me what you think.

Pray to me, Almighty God,
and send a mother to mother
this barren earth,
these orphaned children striving to stand
with no one to lean on.
Pray to me.

For I tire. I tire.
Senseless equations keep pestering me,
seeking sums I cannot decipher,
for too many zeroes I neither
can articulate nor posture.
Debits and assets, we have the former
in trillions but the assets hide
from Thee and Me. I do not see them.
Do Ye?

Except hidden in the child’s eyes,
in the smile, in the groping of hands,
trying to find each other.
Except in the autumn I now sit in,
rain saturated, leaves clinging to roads
and sidewalks as slippery as comfrey.
Except in the foaming earth
giving off an elixir to intoxicate me
into still thinking I can make a difference.

Pray to me, Great God
that I may be ignited
with a fire yet to burn brightly,
that I may see my commitments
straight through to their resurrection
and mine.
That I may yet see a glorious dawning
of a day where the acts of my days
will prove again the reflected glory
of God in Earth.
I pray, still, send a mother,
fresh from the Cosmic Bosom to lean on,

not tired.

February 16, 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.
Eyes That See

I see a difference in the eyes of people whose vision is long and far away. These are people whose eyes do not stop at the curb but travel distances to a horizon higher than buildings and junks of every order and even lifting beyond the trees and the mountains.

The difference in these eyes is that they do not stop seeing where I begin. They see beyond my body house and deep into my heart.   I find these souls now and again, but not often.   They do not linger about.   They are not in the malls nor connected to computers all day, nor are they working fingers on text gadgets.   They mostly are found in open fields, or working and communicating with animals or plaguing peoples with questions and puzzles to keep people’s minds from atrophying.   They are the pied pipers of children who follow them about like puppies.

Children often are the first to find these souls.   We must watch our children and to whom they gravitate upon entering a room.   We should follow them.   Others might consider these souls simple because obviously they are neither fashionable nor particularly charismatic.   To engage them in conversation opens worlds alien to us in daylight but familiar in the dark night. But children know them instantly and quickly recognize them from a place they both come from.   They know and recognize each other.

I am partial to these souls whose sight . . . inner sight. . . takes them beyond what most consider the here and now, the present.   In a heartbeat I would have their thought and company when I walk my fields.

What do they see? Perhaps the ability to step behind our eyes to view the world from our perspective is what separates them from us.   Have you not wondered how these souls are able to pick up our thoughts or conversations coming into a room with no introduction? And their ability to sort out our feelings without prior knowledge of our concerns?   These are special persons.   Special souls who wander among us.

We should grab them by the collar and say with force, halt! I need you here. Right now and right here.   They, with innate knowledge would be of immense value because by remembering from where they come and by lifting their eyes to the heavens

they tell us they come with memory.

February 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.
A Wonderful Experience

Yesterday, the day of the opening exhibit and reception was fun and enlightening. Fun because meeting people is just that but enlightening because of the questions asked of me. Comments such as ‘there are no two alike’ and also ‘how do you do it?’ and then ‘where did you train?’ And for me, given to being long winded, (as I am told) means that when I have a captive audience, I love to introduce people to methods of doing. And I told them what I have written in my blog many times. Do and you will be shown how. Depending on your desire and your perseverance, and your abilities to search out, your thoughts will be honed to your project. You will one day find that through these actions, you will do what it is you have wanted to do. And with practice, your work will show your diligence. Do and you will be shown how. Good advice always.

I want to thank all those at Oak Park Arms for hosting my work and me and to let everyone know how professional they are. Do stop by this month for my wall quilts will be there the rest of the month. It is a welcoming place and you will be glad you stopped by. I thank everyone again, the guests as well as the staff. It was a wonderful afternoon.

February 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.
The Gallery. . larger view

The Gallery

This is a larger view of The Gallery at Oak Park Arms in Oak Park, IL. There are 22 wall quilts on view and for purchase. Don’t forget my books, Kiss The Moon, The Woman Speaks and Gives Grace, and also The Last Bird Sings will also be for purchase. I am looking forward to meeting all of you who follow fromanupperfloor.com and those who have written and said you love my quilts. The joy will be mine in meeting you.

February 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.
Upcoming Exhibit

Wall Quilt Gallery (partial)

This is a partial glimpse of the gallery at the Oak Park Arms in Oak Park, IL. The reception will be held on Sunday the 10th of February from 2-5 p.m. We look forward to seeing the followers of fromanupperfloor.com. The quilts and books, Kiss The Moon and The Last Bird Sings can be purchased. Do come. Meeting you will be our pleasure.

February 5, 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.
Midnight Blue

My version of a card in fabric.

When we first received this card I knew I wanted to do my fabric version of it. At the moment it is my favorite. It will be on display for the February 10th exhibit at the Oak Park Arms. There will also be a reception. I hope those in the area will allow time on Sunday to join us. I look forward to meeting you. The quote on the quilt is mine. ‘My heart races to the brink now; to the edge of the winter snows. ‘ Do come. You are cordially invited.

February 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.
Conundrums

A miserable constitution should send one to class rather than to the doctor.

The true child of the universe walks in confidence. It is the child held captive in the adult body who flounders helplessly.

There is no profit in knowing anything if it is not also a given.

Urchin is the adult in process.

If man does not do it right, how many more times will the earth be hospitable?

Any violation of a personal right, even the right to be unhappy or ill, carries a great penalty.

Relationships become more honed toward that which is left behind.

Pity has no place in a life so rich.

Pity is no friend. He is the enemy who takes life.

It is quite a horrendous matter when we confront our own inadequacies and see our children have outscoped us in growth and awareness.

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

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

January 30, 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.
Refuge In Dreams

In the beginning
when I was young
and when I was very cold,
I took my mammoth skin
and drew it closer about me
and found refuge in dreams.

Like a tourniquet
it stopped the flow of life
out of me.

Now I am old
and I huddle
still deeper in my woolen wrap.
Closing my eyes,
I discover refuge again in my dreams.
And find it stops

the flow of life out of me. Again.

January 24, 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 God Work

When we write our own personal ambitions out of the picture, we kill
all illusions.   I feel kindly toward illusions and see them for what they
are.   They are the finery with which we dress all the dailyness, all the
scullery to make it not only bearable but to elevate it also. That is a
noble endeavor.   It is a god work.

There is much work for both men and women that I call scullery. It
is the scut work that keeps civilizations from crawling on their
bellies.   I often thought that heaven was on the side of public utilities
for just that reason.   It was the only way to contain the diseases from
killing off humankind.

A lifetime of working with illusion can produce great results.   They
can add impressively to the record of man.   What we do is think a
problem through many times to come to some conclusions, strictly
by effort.   When that effort is noticeable, other elements contribute
and can be either visible or invisible.   When we think we can make a
difference and see positive results, it can be and often is illusion that
drives us.   When we see the results in the here and now it is a
reinforcing factor.   We must take into consideration that even when
our efforts are not visible, we cannot discount them.   What are not
visible of course are the parallel worlds that the physicists as well as
mystics speak of.   When we think of thoughts as things, as having a
weight and a substance to them, they can be of use in many worlds.
It is not a far stretch from ‘my father’s house has many rooms.’   In
the Dead Sea Scrolls it was found in the gospel of Thomas where the
disciples questioned Jesus as to where they would go when they died,
convinced there was a place.   And he replied that they never
questioned where they had come from so why worry where they will
be going.   Since this has been an independent study for many years
with me, I find the knowledge of many worlds comfortable.   It makes one clean up one’s thoughts a bit and maybe some might think it adds to my illusions.   But when we give weight to illusions and life to them, we also add to the richness of physical life.   No one knows for certain where our thoughts settle.   I hope that what I think will make my light brighter and our universe(s) all inclusive.

What I am certain of is a dim bulb soon goes out.

January 19, 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 Homecoming

My warm breath makes a circle of clear space
on the frosted pane. I gaze at empty horizons
willing your outline to appear
to give this day extra measure.

You move into view with water pails swinging,
from shoulders whose strength I know by heart,
with strides cleanly cutting
the knee high snow, effortlessly.

I move within the circle and my warm world,
eagerly awaiting your shout and stamp of feet
on the threshold, feeling already
your cold face along the line of my throat.
The woolen nap of your winter shirt
is rougher even than my hands.

It’s been too long you say since you left.
And I laugh. Hardly time enough to clean the barn
for barely were you gone an hour.
And here already. My day has taken shape.

*****

The stamp of feet, the key turns
and the door clicks open.
My hands press the smooth fabric of your
well tailored coat and do not catch.
I take the leather briefcase from your hands
and lift my head for the homecoming.
It’s been so long that you are gone, I say, and you laugh.
I’ve only been gone a week this time, you say.

I turn again to the window to find it frosted over.
And know that worlds have died
and been reborn in less time.

And today, another one.

January 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.