From an Upper Floor

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.

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November 30, 2012

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.
More Nuggets

The hand laying featherlight makes the deepest impression.

Prejudices are sweet comfort food.

Where you are not is where the grass is greener.

Ambition takes on the sharpness of a double edged sword.

Words spoken at the wrong time or words not spoken
at the right time will maim as surely as an arrow straight
from the bow or a bullet from the gun.

Not all things can be anticipated. Some things still
are sparklers.

To die with dignity and a measure of maturity is the
thinker’s final attempt.

To have a truth striking one’s core is to be on the way
but not the only way.

All addresses are forwarding addresses.

All centuries have their share of ducks.

A thought is a silent voice.

Ask and you shall receive. Do and you will be shown how.

You can be sure that what you are reading is not what I am saying.

November 21, 2012

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 Deep Drink

As the evergreens drink deeply
in preparation for the long winter,
I, too, turn to portions of my Self
already stated and prepare.

The journey for both
is through dry country.
The oasis will not be found
except within.

I carry the water to the evergreens
as mine , too, is carried to me.
As I am to the evergreen,
my Self is to me;
water carriers both,

invisible to each.

November 11, 2012

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.
No Comfort

I don’t as a rule write of personal feelings, though for those who read my work, they would argue that my feelings are evident.   I wish to comment on a favorite blogger whose site is Full Moon Fiber Art.com.   She is Maria Wulf and she posted Loving Rocky. It is a big decision she and her husband are working on. The only thing I can say is that the road is steep and the way is narrow.

There was a decision of a major one we made when it was time to put down our companion dog,   Prince.   He was our companion in every way.   The cancer came quickly and after a hospital visit with a vet who was an expert in this particular disease, his diagnosis was clear and concise.   He said there would only be pain left in Prince’s life.   The day was set for his deliverance from his condition.   We would put him down.

When the day came I thought I cannot do it again.   My husband was going out the door and I stood by the south window and could not bring myself to go. We were still dealing with emotions from recent events. I turned around to look at Prince and as clearly as if the words were spoken out loud they were heard inside my head.   ‘You are not going to make me do this alone, are you?’ His eyes were pinned on me and they were clear and he was ready.   I found myself saying out loud, ‘of course not.’ I followed him out.

Did he say those words or was it only my thinking that he did?    If it were possible for this dog to speak, these were his words without a doubt. I was his person and he spent his life with me.   How could I not be with him for this last act of devotion?   There are those of us who at times are given words or thoughts when something is demanded either of us or those we love. And there are people who will always say that we read too much into things.   These are people who do not hear the cry in crisis nor their unspoken words. Perhaps those of us who live lives with feelings on our sleeves and our heads wide open are the ones that heaven finds easiest to get to do what needs be done.   If this is so, we say, almost to a fault, consider it done.

When you are hurting, it is no comfort at all.    But we can do no other.

November 5, 2012

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 Weight Of Words

There are words not in fashion these days.   The words are so old they are perhaps Victorian.   Words like honor and commitment. When these words are used by someone who truly understands the weight of words, there is a time of hesitation, of expectancy and a heart stopping moment that puts the word into a time frame resulting in a memory.   We may forget the deed or the one who used the word, but we will forever know the true meaning of these words.

The meaning of commitment in this day seems to have flown out with all the trendy verbiage that seems to inundate the ethers. The word itself brings to mind a feeling of duty along with the knowledge that here is something expected of us or our work. It is asking something of us.   We are involved with the word.   We must take upon ourselves all that we are in performing whatever it is that we have either created or are part of.   Whatever our work, our marriages or our children, we are party to them and our responsibility should not be in question.   We know the meaning of the word because someone loved us enough at some time in a some place and taught us what commitment meant.   We may not remember the teacher but if we know the word and meaning, the lesson was well taught.

It means that we were worth the lesson.   It means that someone cared.   And we are here, now in the midst of the work and we know our responsibility. This does not mean that abusive relationships should be tolerated.   What this does mean is that in the ordinary course of our lives there will be those things which we will want to opt out of. Too hard, too messy, and no glamour. Certainly we deserve better we think.

What we must take into account is our attitude.   There is one very immediate term used by the young which I applaud.   Suck it up they say.   Exactly.   Suck it up. Stay with the program, change our attitude and make it better.   Somebody did it with us at some time. Remember the lesson.   The fact that we are here and breathing means that the lesson was delivered. Now it is for us to relearn the meaning. Perseverance, responsibility, duty and deliverance.   Many are watching us and our performance. Commitment. Show them the time and effort were not misplaced and we are worthy.

This is the classroom.   Paradise is the result

November 2, 2012

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 Housekeeper

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The Housekeeper. Illustration by Claudia Hallissey

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There bellows a wind
around the turrets
of the mind’s house,
ripping under gutters,
sweeping under eaves,
leaving no residue.

Clean, chaste
as the sweet wind,
stands she exalted.
Prudently swiping at corners
to eliminate even
the shadow of contamination
on her brother’s name.

In good time,
in due time,
the world will be
swept clean
and her father’s house
will sparkle.

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October 28, 2012

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.
Come Into My Kitchen

Come into my kitchen
and use the back door.
Only dear friends are allowed to
walk right into
the center of my home.

Others have to earn the right
by walking through the halls
of my life to get to
the heart of my home.

But you can come
to the back door.

I will let you in.

October 22, 2012

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.
nuggets

Your heart will teach in ways the world cannot.

What is not finished here will be finished elsewhere.

This is called the long view. It is a choice.

When everything becomes a moral decision it

means that issues have been dragged through

the heart.

To suffer means to be aware of the damage

you do to the ones you care about.

Look always to where the sun rises and sets. It

is but half a world.

Dimensions are but changes in perspective. As

one world fades, another emerges where we have

earned the right to be.

As long as the eye beholds and another heart beats

to receive, there will be reason to keep breathing and

not give up.

The unfed Spirit is just as hungry as the unfed body.

Remember that when love does not accompany

the gift, there is no gift.

Uneventful is a merciful condition and that in itself

is a large blessing.

October 11, 2012

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 Strange Bequest

There was a man, a slim man,

whose head was bedecked

with a white cloud

and whose eyes saw dreams

he could not articulate.

He sat one day staring into space

and when I questioned him, he said,

`I am sitting and watching the grass grow.’

I hesitated far too long

and have lived to regret it.

I wish the courage had been mine

to have asked him

to share his dreams with me.

For he bequeathed to me

a mind that does not rest.

I have the thought that his faher

and father before him

wrestled the same misty vision

which now is mine to set in motion.

I question this strange bequest,

for I have not

the staunch heart required

to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.

Papa, I plead now,

to replace my heart with hot ore,

inject me with a vial

of celestial courage

and fuse my spine with tempered steel.

There is so little time.

October 5, 2012

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 Autumn Night

The velvet night plays host

to the September moon

hanging in suspension in liquid air.

Cold, crisp edges

seal in the lunar landscape,

forgetting for the moment,

the hot sky which sealed our noon.

There comes the night,

in desperation relieving

the cloddish insensitivity visible

in the unrelenting stubbornness of the day,

unable and unwilling to release itself.

With relief,

the jagged beginning of the moon,

just now visible to the naked eye

makes its way across the horizon

of the mental landscape.

Its ridges,

its volcanic valleys split in two

and on the other side of the mind

it falls into the sun to rise

from flames on another night.

Having healed with mystic splendor,

balm for the day's wounds, it rests.

I drink in the day and forget.

But the night . . . the night. . .

now bedded in honor, its place undisputed,

finds my words of gratitude hallow the ground

in worlds unattended.

September 27, 2012

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.