From an Upper Floor

The Children’s Primer

When I change my life
things will be better
for I will be smarter.

I will have learned
to be nice to myself
and tell me how good I am
and then I can tell you
how good you are.
And together we will make
the world better.

When I change my life
and I am smarter
I will know my gifts
were given for me to use
and if I choose to use them
to make life better,
it is not a waste.

When I change my life
for a new one,
I will have another chance
to love, to feel, to laugh
and to stretch my psychic bones
and shout to the world
a hello again.

When I change my life,
I will remember
what made my life sad
and not to do it again
and what made me glad,
remember to do that again.

I will remember
why you cried
and why you went hungry.
I will remember
we are two haves
and I will share what I have
and you will too.

It will be a better world
for my body will be new
and will not hurt.
I can say that because I know
if daffodils get many chances
to come up new
and mushrooms, too,

am I not worthy of another chance?

Sept. 1999

January 23, 2014

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.
Evolution II: To Run Like The Wind

The new man emerges
casting his light
which only intensifies
the old man’s sterility.
No more can dogmas
that gave unsubstantial testimony
to the old man prevail.
No more need
the old man’s impotence
be the young man’s burden.

The threatening shadows
have dissipated, revealing
the old man’s vulnerability.
Out of the sunlight
emerges the new man,
clothed and beautiful
in his utter nakedness;
prepared to run like the wind
toward his truth.

Shackled no longer
by what the old man has eaten,
the new man joyously assumes
his course, already chosen.
Confident in his immortality,
the new man emerges,

spiritually elevated and elevating.

Sculpture : Ironworks by Stanley Rybacki
click on the photo to bring it front and center and click again for details

January 19, 2014

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.
Morning Sun Dance

It sometimes is very hard to convince someone that what you see is really so. What I have seen are icicles on the pines. We are in Florida so this was difficult for those close to me to believe . This morning I ran for my cell phone which I do not clearly understand and took several photos like this one. In awe of this morning’s sun dance, I bend at the knees easily. There was nothing else to do. Click on the photo several times to get different views of the sparklers. And you can guess the Christmas Card for this year.

If you click on the photo once it will come front and center. Click on it again while front and center and it will fill your screen. If you scroll up and down you will get different views. This will work for almost all of my photos. It will be great fun.

January 17, 2014

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 Nymph And The Divine Self

The nymph within
took the hand
of my divine self
and lifted me
high in the pines.

Straight toward the place
my heart does rest.
So high, she said,
so high and out too far.

Did you see them
I asked
and I took hold
of my divine image
and plowed the clouds.

I wait until
my name is written
in the songs of the birds
and carried
among the ravens

who hold me higher
than the eyes can see
and higher still till the mind
in pieces lay

at the foot of the Mount.

December, 2013

January 14, 2014

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.
Do You Hear?

Do I have more minutes to finish?   There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight.   In a few minutes he was back and announced, I finish.   Having learned to wait while private things were finished, I waited again while he proceeded to his room.

I followed him shortly to find him in pajamas and ready to crawl into the high bed.   Well, should it be a story to tell or a story to read I asked.   I am ready for you to choose.   Tell me what it is we should do to get you ready for sleep?   And I waited. Minutes ticked away while the choice was being made.   Patiently, again, what will it be?

His face took on a faraway look as if searching for a memory.   I recognized the look and wondered where he would go for that memory to take shape.   I knew it well.   It was a look that had been on my face many times with voices telling me to stop dreaming.   I needed to pay attention to what was at hand and not waste so much time dreaming. So because of those reprimanding voices,   I knew to wait.

He asked if I would sing the one I singed when I singed with other voices.   He knowed that song!

What song is that?   I wondered. There was no time for me to sing with other voices that he would have heard.   Like this, he said and in his high soprano he sang his Gllloooooooooorrrrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaand I knew.   Unbelievably I knew.   The music hung on his tongue and in his throat as if he were tasting a delicate sweet.

When did you ever hear me sing that? I asked.   Before I came to you, he said.   Before I came.   I heard you singed and my heart singed with you.   I knowed I could tell you some time if I just ‘membered it.    I promised I would ‘member so I could hear it again and again. I knowed that you would ‘member if I singed it. And you do! he said, you do!

And I believed him because I gave up choir when he was due to be born.   I took this child into my arms and sang the song he so wondrously remembered.   And when I came to the part he remembered his voice faithfully shadowed mine.   And another posit was added to the Memory Bank but who would believe it?   Who?????? Except the many someones who entered their place of belief every time they bent their knees.

Those are the who. . . . . . .

January 8, 2014

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 Shout To The World

I would fairly shout
to the world that we sit
in the lap of eternity,
the mother lode of time.

Eternity has held us close
and whispered in our ear
the soothing sounds of love.

Eternity promises us peace
at the altar of hard work
and much prayer.

It will give us what we ask
and what we dream.
It is the place for those
whose thirst for learning
is never satisfied and
whose hunger for solid food
begins at birth.

Heaven approves the menu
and the lesson plans.
And heaven approves
constructive behavior.

It even threatens to withdraw
the rewards and
put the babies to bed
until they grow up.
So grow up world, grow up!
Or you will lose your toys.

Life in eternity is not a walk in the park.

photo by John Hallissey (click on photo for larger view)

January 6, 2014

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.
To Ponder Anew

Man clings to many things in this world that no longer have a place. It is his security blanket full of philosophical holes.

It does no good to see all sides of an issue when the heart is concerned with only one side.

Man holds out with what is his divine self, trying against all odds to gain what he gave up when he allowed others to become his soul keeper.

The Ego which needs continual stroking becomes unwieldy and obscures divine passage.

To dismantle an Others’ world demands that we stay around long enough to build another one.

One can care so much that the Other does not have to care at all.

What sells is that which peddles man’s lowest denominator.

The habit of breathing is the hardest one to break.

Man’s struggle is well worth noting. It could have been faster but for some it has been faster than hell on wheels.

That mankind could grow into a benign, caring nature is the dream.

Marthas do not compromise. Instead they are stroke victims.

Marys would not know to be pressed if they were between waxed sheets under a hot iron.

To be in the company of others means that one does not have to accompany oneself.

A good friend will give of his abundance and hug nothing back.

photo by John Hallissey (click on photo for larger view)

January 4, 2014

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 Break Bread

I have broken bread
with old friends
for what seems to be
many centuries.

We continue
our conversations
begun when yet
we were in other times
and were other people.

But it has been, you see,
only a minute.
We bring to mind
all things old and
some things new.

‘Twas but a quirk of Nature
so that our hearts would grow
and become one heart.
It all has a familiar fit.
Don’t you think?

All things will
be new again
when we break bread
in the next of times.
But you knew that, didn’t you?

All things new are really all things old.
Even some of us.

December, 2013
Photo by John Hallissey (click on photo to come front and center)

January 1, 2014

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 Toast From My Heart

Let us drink in

the sight of each other

and let loose

those preconceived dreams

keeping us from

breathing in the essence

of the New Year.

With these we will face

a blessedness comparable to none.

Come, drink and be merry.

We will welcome one another

forever more and be glad.

Salut!

Photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.

December 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.
A Christmas Gift

I lay the swords
beneath the evergreens,
but you knew that.
I also lay old grievances
upon the swords,
for we have outgrown them.
They will be buried
low beneath the branches
so there will be no weapons to carry.

I will not burden my own
with my dreams,
for in another world
they have taken root.
The pattern of my days
with intensity and purpose,
shaped them.

There will be new dreams
for the young to fulfill.
No reason anymore
for the old to lay upon
the freshly crafted heart
the chafings of their envious spirit.

Life is weighted gold,
so sacredly guard it.
I wish to lay to rest
the long held grief
that each new generation
must assume the ancients’ maladies.
If anguish resides,
let us undo what we have done.
We give birth to those we hope
to be the best of who we are.
Children are no one’s property.
Their gift is to find and renew
their own sense of self.
To be given life in any dimension,
is to be hugely gifted.

Come, lay your swords beneath the evergreens.

photo by John Holmes

December 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.