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Illustration of a bird flying.
  • My Exhibit And Reception

    FEBRUARY 10th  AT 2 P.M.
    An exhibit of my work
    at the Oak Park Arms in Oak Park,  IL.  60302
    408 S. Oak Park Ave.

    I will have my wall quilts on exhibit in the hall gallery for purchase and also my books, Kiss The Moon and The Last Bird Sings will be available also for purchase.   The exhibition will feature a series of `want to be touched 18th and 19th century’ winter scenes.   I hope to meet those of you who have been readers of my blog and all who would be interested in seeing my work.

    This exhibit has been in the planning stages for several months now and I want to give enough time for those who are planning a trip to the Chicago area to make room in their schedules to come to Oak Park to see my work.   I would love to see old friends as well as meet you who know me through my work.   I look forward to seeing you.

    I will mention this exhibit several times between now and the 10th of February so plans can be made to include me in your mid winter trip to Chicago.   There will be refreshments served during the reception.   Please come.   You are cordially invited.

    January 7, 2013
    Veronica 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.
  • A Fable and A Lark

    Adam arrived and called Eve
    to join him for dinner.
    She did and they feasted well
    in the beginning of the great deep.
    Together they cavorted and played
    and made love while merry.
    Cain and Abel arrived
    and the merriment ceased.

    They bickered and fought and competed
    for their place in the sun.
    The gods who made them fought and bickered
    for Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel
    were what their gods had made.

    Together, altogether the merriment stopped
    and serious business was on the agenda.
    Serious business like power games and
    competition and who was going to be king of the mountain.
    For in a new kingdom with no memory of home,
    they did not remember who they were.

    Altogether now, altogether,
    we follow the prophets as they wrote history
    from memory, eliminating curious details such as
    why?  when?  and what for?
    Nowhere do we find the fact that Adam
    aged and became paunchy while his liver became swollen
    with the fruits of the vine made soluble.

    Nowhere do we scan the real dilemma for Lady Eve.
    The voices shouted her guilt
    in eating the forbidden fruit of knowledge,
    for all hell broke loose when the woman claimed
    her innate intelligence.    Lady Eve, of course,
    assumed the guilt because of course they all said
    she was guilty.  Did her god speak to her?
    Was she told `not!  not!  Eve, bad!  bad!?

    Or did she simply see that food was needed
    for dinner and what was at hand was easier
    than getting a basket and going marketing in the woods.
    Since everything was good in the world where she was,
    ‘not good’ was outside her frame of reference.

    The apple tree was there so Eve picked a ripe apple
    and shared it with Adam.    Since Adam wanted
    to get on with other things, we must chalk up one
    for woman’s practicality.    Only now we realize
    that Adam could have rejected her offer.

    Had there been an ordinance against eating apples,
    perhaps it would have been easier to understand.
    With no memory of home, it was with enormous courage
    Eve came to earth where her god was not.
    The no!  no! she possibly heard
    stopped her long enough one would suppose
    to take responsibility for a decision
    which proved delicious to the palate.
    They ate the apple with gusto.
    The `why?’ went unanswered to satisfaction
    and the `because I said so!’ has been heard
    by every child ‘s query since.

    And that started the gods speaking the parts
    and the players rehearsing their own methods
    so they could become gods on their own.
    And a potpourri of too many words still unclear
    cluttered the air waves and chaos ensued.
    For who was bright enough to discern all the yodeling?

    Except maybe Eve.

    So knowledge was born and the ability to test
    first hand all things on earth, uncontaminated.
    It was unspoiled, unpolluted and all good
    for the human species.    Eve was the originator
    of the hands on policy.   She taught us
    that the exigency of the moment is best met
    with what we possess and the moment of decision
    will announce who we are.

    So Eve’s god had a hard time with her,
    for a woman of knowledge claimed her right.
    She had the ability to make a judgment which
    was to become valid.

    We still eat apples, don’t we?

    January 3, 2013
    Veronica 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.
  • Let Us Vow

    Let us vow. . .
    that when we cannot share
    our brother’s Light.
    we will hold the candle
    as he makes his way up.

    Let us vow. . .
    to embed love
    within our four walls
    so that our children
    will be instruments of Peace.

    Let us vow. . .
    to love one another
    so that Peace is not a promise
    but a fact.

    Let us vow. . .
    a noble vigil
    in the Names of All we hold dear.

    Amen.  And Amen.

    December 30, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • December Confirms The June Woman

    It is June and I stand poised on the landing of the half circular staircase.  I am hearing the strains of the Canon not heard in this, my lifetime.  Shocked still, caught in the shadows of half remembering and yet reluctant to confront the shaded memories,  I wait.

    She is visible, the young woman gliding with joy to the music which carried her down the long hall.   She curtsies to the throngs lining the great walls.

    I stand, not moving.   Her joy is mine, translating to an emptiness in my heart.  The tears scald my cheeks and the rest solidify in a mass in my throat.   I cannot swallow.   I am in danger of drowning from within and without.

    II

    It is now December.   I am before an ancient building in a city bearing her years gracefully.  The snow is circling my feet and the wind is freezing my eyes.  I am rooted to this spot.   The air is ringing with the sounds of holiday; lights flicker their ritualistic colors in harmony.   Yet I stand immobile.

    On the second floor of the ancient building, caught in the winter  of my memories, I see the long hall stretching before me.  The strain and refrains of the Canon carry the young one still, waltzing yet.  The violins smooth the way for her memories to be built.  The red vests of the rotund violinists complement in contrast their black, slicked hair.  They bend and bow in homage.  Their music locks her destiny forever.

    My eyes are again in danger, this time of freezing in their sockets with the salted tears that cannot stop.   The memory does not move,  not to one side nor the other.  My will forces my eyes to play again what can only be seen in my throbbing head.  Courted through centuries with great care to remain hidden,  I unwittingly jarred the box housing those memories.

    In retrospect,  I was ready.  It was my time.   I turned away shaken and knowing

                                                               the past is still happening.

    December 28, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • Christmases Past

    Lifetimes lived secreted
    behind the wooly frames of memory.

    We jog the frames
    of Christmases past.

    Scents of
    pine boughs and holly berries,
    mince pies and cranberries.

    Sounds of
    apple crisp snow and crackling fires,
    and laughter.

    And the sound of silence,
    as love stretches through all dimensions
    to encircle Thee and Me.

    As real, as tangible,
    as the star beams
    on the evergreen.

    A promise given and kept.

    Do you hear the angels?

    December 22, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • Times Such As These

    I lock up the room
    after filing the last remnants
    of words laying about unattended.

    Fearful that pieces of my heart
    may be found scattered among them.
    And why not?

    Times such as these
    leave us with little salve
    to heal the open wounds
    which once were hearts.

    For whom do we weep?
    The children whose siblings
    will no longer come to the table
    to convey with no doubt
    the events that stole their innocence?

    Or the parents
    whose hearts were transplanted
    when word came
    that these unspent stars
    were already breathing the rarefied air
    as heaven’s most blessed?

    Look at us here.
    Pleading that our children
    will be safe as they try to understand
    what we in our dotage
    have not learned;
    to resort to arms

    means death in any country.

    December 18, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • time’s past

    crystal chimes
    strike porcelain ears,
    seizing time
    from memories, past.

    the music heard
    from times’ near past,
    tangles in the wind
    of muted sound;

    and we live again.

    December 13, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • Everlasting Memories

    Beginning with this post,  I will be featuring  poetry I have used
    over the years in hand crafted Christmas cards.   Many of my
    readers might recognize a line or two from years past.   I wish to
    add my voice to the season to bring  forth memories to be
    refreshed for new readers and also those familiar with my work.

    She tenders fingertips to a face
    as lightly as a kiss of wind
    and nudges memories, clad in illusion,
    tentatively.

    Star shaped, diamond chips,
    melting snow on little faces,
    Nature has painted red roses
    on milk cheeks
    and has buried memories
    to be awakened at another time.

    Everlasting memories. . .  but. . .
    we carry the one face
    of the one child

    forever.

    December 8, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • Kiss The Moon Arrives!

    I am pleased to do this post because today we picked up the books,
    Kiss The Moon,  A Woman Speaks And Gives Grace, from the printers
    and this weekend I will package and send out those that have been
    ordered.   And for the readers in England who have wished for my books,
    I will be happy to take your orders.    When I am at the post office,  I will
    inquire about postage to the U.K. and reach an equitable rate.   I do so
    wish for you to have my books.   I was so pleased to hear that my website
    was to be taken as their book club’s topic.  My work was to be discussed
    and I am proud of the life  I have lived that has brought forth a work of
    caliber that other women wish to discuss.  It is an affirmation of a part
    of my life that was woven into the main body of me and my commitments.
    I can say in honesty as I live in the winter of my days that I would not
    have wanted to miss a moment of it.   Still honestly say also that there
    were times I wished that events were not mine to live through.   But it is
    what makes our lives rich beyond description and meaningful.

    These are soft cover copies of Kiss The Moon and the thrill of holding
    the  first copy was as wonderful as the first hard cover many years ago.
    But costs being what they are in this day,  we went with the soft cover.
    The Last Bird Sings is also soft cover and the companion books will be sent
    in one mailing if they are ordered at the same time.

    For those who are looking at my wall quilts,  by bringing them up on
    your screen and clicking on them, you will find the quilts on the left and
    a description on your right.   For a clearer view, double click on the
    quilt and it will be brought front and center with a white border around it.
    You will then see clearly the details.  The smaller details seen on two can
    be clicked on and brought forward for better views.  You can contact me
    with any questions and I will be glad to discuss them.   This has been a
    wondrous year for me.   Not without its challenges, but wondrous.   And
    I appreciate your interest and comments in me and my work.

    December 6, 2012
    Veronica 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.
  • My Wall Quilts For Sale

    My Wall Quilts For Sale

    When I work with the quilted wall hangings,  I find refreshment pouring intome.  And as the hand glances on the quilting, I hope that the new owners of these quilts will find that they refresh them also; bringing forth old memories and making new ones for the young.   They ask to be touched and I hope the ones who are viewing feel that they can do this.  The quilts seem to come alive beneath the fingers.

    I find my greatest peace when working with the winter scenes from the 18th and 19th centuries.  There is no line drawn for me and the scenes blend into each other.  And I hope my heart continues to beat until the last is finished. They are quilts with a soft touch to them.  They all measure near the 18-20″ width and the 25-28″ length.  The Christmas Trees quilt is 35″ x37″.   It is thelargest in this selection.   It will hang nicely over a fireplace or a far wall.  The smaller ones which I call Kiss the Morning (I have made 5 of them,  slightly different)are for me a morning greeting.  The strut of the young one is enough to make everyone get up and march.   How can anything be so grim when the sun comes up somewhere in the world every morning?  Indeed the sun wins the battle over night.  Every day.  The Christmas scenes for many of us awaken memories.  It was a time of innocence and faith in everything, from the babe in the manger to Santa coming down the chimney.

    What I try to portray when doing the wall quilts is an understanding of a time no doubt that does not exist in reality, but in illusion, in dreams and perhaps another world or dimension.   Does it matter?  If it is a dream, it happened somewhere for it to be so real to me.   The word imagination comes from the root word image.   So there is a time in some dimension for this image to have stayed with me for so long.  I think this is why the quilted hangings demand to be touched.   I have watched people look at them and before they stop themselves, their hands reach out.  I know that they too have this scene in their memory bank.   I hope I have captured this for them.  In this day of hi- tech medicine we still have little knowledge of Soul and Spirit and so little of who we are.

    I am pleased to say that Kiss The Moon will be available because it is at the printers and orders can be taken.   The Last Bird Sings is in stock so the companion books can be ordered at the same time.   My views and explanations are my own after a life of independent study.   Another world, another time will open me to other views.   But come with me on this trial run.  It has been an interesting  journey.

    [product_category category=”wall-quilt” per_page=”12″ columns=”1″ orderby=”date” order=”desc”]

    November 30, 2012
    Veronica 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.
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