From an Upper Floor

Memory Quilt. . . in triumph warmed. . . .

Many of us have problems that have no resolution.   Even after doing all the things we have learned and read about and even those things we have invented, there appear no answers on the horizon.   We lose hope and we ourselves are at a loss.

It seems strange and baffling that nothing is working.   It is then we confront the heavens and with a put up or shut up attitude, bow to a greater strength.   For if we don’t, then we must admit we are the strength for all time and all things. And find it exhausting. We may find ourselves powerless, unable. Often we give up too soon, never stretching our psychic muscles, so to speak.   And I would venture the great majority never pit themselves against the Great God and that is a pity.

For regardless who or what it is we worship and revere, that SOMETHING will pull strength from us when confronted over strongest arguments of whatever nature.   This is good.   For there are few times in the normal course of living where we pit ourselves against pain intentionally, be it emotional, psychological or physical.   We avoid it at all costs.   But when pushed to the wall, there is that SOMETHING in us required, whether it is heaven’s requisition or our unconscious need to measure ourselves.

It is necessary for us to see how we measure up not only to our own estimation but against our parents and our peers. And the latter can be so important that we look for arguments that are long and drawn out to see how well we fare in the battle.   This is not only true on a personal, private level but think how our leaders pride themselves on the greater national and international stages.   And how many wars are fought because of this need to test mettle by those very leaders vowing that this war will end all wars.

Some of us do this testing early on, setting a new direction and recovering in good health. The puzzle pieces have a sought for place.   Others in despair require more time because their unresolves are more complex, but even they eventually realize their strength is a dependable strength.

Many lives are brought to fruition and our eventualities are all timely.

Memory Quilt. . .

When it is time I will draw high
my memory quilt to cover shivering bones.

Pictured will be events richly patterned
and pleasing to the soul.

Astonishing not to recall emotions
pressed beyond belief, battles fought
to frightful finishes.

Left like barnacles clinging
to a disabled craft, slippery in substance,
suitable only for discard.

When it is time, the memory quilt drawn
will show kaleidoscoped events
lending warmth to fragile skin,

haunting in their beauty remembered,
while I take flight

in triumph warmed.

(The photo is of my granddaughter’s treasure
of her shirts collected for me to make this quilt
of her young life.)

August 8, 2020

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 Be. . .sometimes is the ALL required. . . .

I am calling to touch base with you. It has been too long since we chatted I said. And after a surprised response she started and went on at great length finding her own equilibrium.

I could do nothing for her except be an ear to listen. She called me the next day with gratitude because she said she was ready to puddle. And there was no one to mop her up.

Another young friend would be facing an enormous decision the following week. I was in a quandary about what to do and then realized I could only be an assistant. I could not decide nor input any information.

I would plead ignorance even if I was expert and credentialed. Unless asked, there was no insight I could offer. With today’s abundance of information, there is too much in fact. The brain can only handle so much since everyone is expert in everything. All I could do was stand by and catch the fall out.

Another body, another human is what is needed. Just presence. Just being there is what is needed for the individual to stand and make their own decisions. Just someone to listen to the garbage spilling forth and not stop loving them. To take them in their frustration and to let it dissipate so the residue does not kill them.

Just to be able to have a someone there who does not fall down will enable them to stand and do what they must.

I don’t have time for your drama a husband said and left his wife to handle the emotional conflict of the children. At that moment he exhibited nothing to recommend him as a husband and nothing surely as a father.

Well, mister, that is what earth life, physical life is all about. Here we learn either to handle our emotions or gift them onto unsuspecting shoulders and watch our grandchildren fight the same battles.

Is this our desire? To see the icons of past history smashed by the frustration of generations of ancestral progeny rising demanding restitution?

How better to spend your time than by listening to a soul in search of an ear to hear their lament? Be the quiet symbol of peace. Be the one who stands and gives Presence to allow the right thing to be done.

To Be is the all we can and must do. . . . is sometimes the ALL that is required.

artwork is Claudia Hallissey’s

August 2, 2020

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.
Unconditional Love. . you are so worth it. . .

Unconditional Love?. . You are so worth it. . .

In the face of all opposition, and with many noting your lack of courage, you plod along still with what needs doing, whatever that happens to be. Your knowledge of commitments and placement tie you to immobility and you wonder the outcome on a daily basis.

In sleep you crash heaven’s door and ask how long. . .? And they say whenever you feel you cannot. . . no one would fault you. But you know that worlds, just maybe, glimpse your behavior and then you think no way. No one, not even those in your circle are aware of what goes on. They are comfortable with things and as long as there is no upset, all systems go.

But worlds watch as the blue boy watches, you wrote. ‘I watch-ed. I watch-ed. And when your lips move, I know you talk to forever friends.’ And the invisible worlds take heart and they see what they can hope for because you keep on keeping on. Living the substitute life? The make believe or pretend one?

The ‘real’ one that has everyone in your circle trying to heal themselves so that the next step can be taken and evolution becomes a fact in meager life. Meager now but fulfilling in its totality. And why?

Because you see the larger picture as your Mentor, the Nazarene, said. You have been seeing the larger picture, the greater one that shows the progress that can lead to peace on earth and a good life. We assuage the anguish of the ancestors that leads to peaceful existence among men of all nations.

And worlds. For Beings of all natures. It is argued that unconditional love is worth little because it demands nothing. But it is priceless because someone saw a something in me that was beyond what was expected. It was Divine. And it sparked a something that I claimed as mine once because I have memory and wanted it again. And have worked to bring it into my life.

And working for me, I want you to know it also. Because as I work, I see it in all life. And once you know it, you cannot but see it everywhere. And as my Mentor said, when you give me a drink of water, all will be satiated. And worlds also. The ethical potential is inherent in all life. What is done for one, all will do.

Doing good enhances all life. Where we are is a beginning. You are so worth it.

July 29, 2020

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 Solace. . . Appreciated. . .

When life generously offers some time to enjoy the last vestiges of breathable air, one guards those hours or days like Midas with his eyes on gold. It is a gift to one whose head was incompletely closed and whose conscience unequivocally honed to needs of commitments.

So the free time, the private time, the time given when nothing concrete is expected due to age and frailty of body is luxury seldom cognitively experienced. The shelter in place edict has been the wish of mine all my life. Not possible for three quarters of it, but desired. To slow down and savor the salts used always was a wish.

Now it is life’s generous spirit balancing what was needed for so long. Living to see, because of technology, the faces of the new babes entering and the love they are welcomed with is a joy.

Not often is such evidence ours for spiritual solace. Finding all beloveds nurturing in this sometimes sterile world lets me know that life’s commitment to teaching has been done wisely and well.

Commitment is accountability for one’s actions. Some call it a mortgage on one’s life. It is a consequence of those actions. We learn there never is a free lunch in town. Better us to be called to account than for our progeny to hurt.

There always is a cost and it is dear. Life’s forgiveness? Love. . . .

Mortgaged. . .

Our hands brush
the sleeves of our
long coats harnessing
our bodies’ warmth. . .

And meet and twine fingers
giving strength
long lost to the
business of living. . .

the busyness of lives
succumbing to the details
of days usurping
minutes not claimed,

hungry for times floating loose.
Wise is the one hugging closely
as breath to breathe what
surrounds the body as private.

Mine! the toddler shouts,
as he grasps what is his
loudly with force
to claim ownership.

Mine man whispers as he
clings to the privacy of minutes
not already claimed
by the interminable needs

of the innocent. The
mortgaged soul has
needs to replenish
before offering more

from the well running dry.

photo art by
Claudia Hallissey

July 23, 2020

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.
Our Lives. . . .prayerful justification?. . .

I was prepared to work today on a topic long simmering but from my eldest came this photo along with others of beloved family that swerved me to play. Which means I go to the sewing machine to finish several things patiently waiting.

I am not going to sit and view happenings on the national scene requiring a nitroglycerine tablet to ease heartache. Coping with a heart that pleads to stop whatever I am doing should not require a 2×4 between the eyes. All it takes is a photo to remind me that new life such as Nora Claire and Emma E. are reason enough to keep breathing as long as I dare.

It was a surprise to see this photo this morning and brought a matching grin to my face. Such beauty in a face beckons a smile as wide as hers. I have to think that where she is in this moment taken for posterity has to be one of great love and joy. This smile is as real as real gets in any dimension. One cannot pretend the joy visible in this.

It is reason enough, isn’t it, to care for and consider as sacred, life when visible and noted with a name. But what of life invisible? What of life that we don’t see and yet understand may be different in scope from what we know.

Different does not have to be frightening. Different should be respected and given time for understanding. Different may require study so that we become familiar with it being other than us.

It is time to become kinder in our attitudes toward what we don’t see. And can encourage invisible life hidden at the foot of forests by not stripping them and life beyond the horizons only invisible to our eyes.

And even hear what are not melodies in the sounds of our ears. The Nazarene said that hearing you will not hear and seeing you will not see. We are told that we are watched by other lifeforms that gauge what in their futures they can expect.

I will carry what moth and rust do not destroy with me to my next address. Those have my name attached. I take my loves and I hope what has attached to me will carry a grin as wide as Nora Claire’s.

It is something to think about today. That our lives are the prayer we have lived all the days of our lives. When we are called to present ourselves, we are what moth and rust do not destroy.

They will speak our justification. It is all the obituary we need.

Photo by parents of Nora Claire

July 20, 2020

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.
Truth is Costly. . . when pulled through the heart.

After watching Rachel Maddow last night with her interview with Mary Trump, I would like them to know of my gratitude and the gratitude and envy of all who watched MSNBC; viewers like me and their professional colleagues.

I think Rachel is an excellent teacher and should she teach in some classroom in another world still , I would find my way to her and sign up for every class she teaches. She sees connections like I do but I am tired of seeing connections for almost a hundred years.

It was an eloquent hour last night with a cost unfathomable. So much hung in the balance that required high wire steadiness, that even a few moments of banter with Lawrence O’Donnell was too costly as has been her practice. It is not often our gift to see such professionalism and I hope the thunderous silence at conclusion, carried the world’s gratitude to the two women.

Rachel’s questions were thoughtful and ones we wanted to ask. Mary Trump’s answers were answered in the same tenor. Much was in legal balance and consideration. There was extreme understatement by Mary in her professionalism as well as familial empathy. The dynamics in her family situation must have weighed heavily in the writing of this treatise.

What those who have lived long and introverted lives as I have, wondered, what understanding can we bring to our progeny to explain what we have learned simply by living and observing. And to keep loving those who brought us life for which we are grateful. Yet, it is a predicament because we see our fateful flaws caused by prejudiced perceptions in our upbringing as well as the careless emotional neglect we experienced.

And we cannot teach what we have not learned. Love and caring should be the security blanket we are first wrapped in at birth. And when the mother and father gods fail us, pray that there will be someone at hand who cares enough to love us. Someone has to do the footwork.

I was proud of my gender again last night. It was in awe of the tremendous courage for both to do such a professional work that those in their walks were envious. And should life demand of these colleagues such courage, they hope they would be ready.

Scholars, both Rachel and Mary, who showed why dedication to truth is arduous and costly when pulled through the heart.

artwork by Claudia Hallissey

July 17, 2020

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 Simple Often Says It Right. . . .

The Jenny Genes are rightly sometimes a curse as well as blessing. It drives this writer to despair when the right word evades and the curse begins its perseverance work on me. And search I do for the precise word. For there is of course we think a precise word for everything. We search through the day and half the night compelling the word appear. Eventually we give up and lo! The imprecise simple one is used and the heavens moan in relief. And so the reader leaves the dictionary lay where it is. We all take victories where we can.

The Right Words. . .

She said the right words to the beloved.
Suck the fear out of it; it is the only way to go.

Because every morning throughout the world,
man does his ablutions in the privacy of the bush,
in the privacy of his very expensive room,
or in a modest place wherever he lives.

And hopes he releases his fear before
he appears to face beloveds and the day
overtakes him, leaving him soiled.

He whispered,. . . that is the way it is. . .
suck the fear out of it.

I don’t want a dead bird hanging
around my neck for the rest of eternity.
There is no final place but a place of becoming.

It is life everlasting in all its measures.

July 14, 2020

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.
Connections I know. . .

And you will know also. . .

Nine years ago, when I was 80, a grandson said I should do a blog. Not knowing what a blog was, he proceeded to teach me. This perennial student did not want to disappoint the good teacher. Edited here is one of the early posts where I try to explain my views. For those who missed the first years I hope this helps to understand from where I come.

On Connections

‘This is an idea spoken of since man first began to think about the purpose of life. Or perhaps his purpose on this planet. It deals with the idea that every thing is connected throughout the Ethers. That nothing happens in and of itself but is the result of an action happening because of a previous action elsewhere. However long ago. Our purpose, however wrought with meaning as we think or not, is the result of perhaps a stone let loose on some distant hill, rolling and crashing onto a field. The storm in the night is the result perhaps of an argument lamenting the arduous activity of sea lions in some obscure waters. The idea remains cleverly innate in heads looking for reasons to believe that of itself nothing exists. We are connected, one to another and one event tied us tightly to all of life. It is with this idea in mind that this poem came to be.’

Because I Know. . . .

I see worlds in motion
taking a portion of each one’s talent
for their own survival.

This is what I do with my hands.
This motion of knitting yarns to form
a piece of world to fit the mind
of an elusive soul.

See here, I, content in what I do.
I free a soul to do the Great God’s bidding
in keeping a world in motion.

See again. . . I give of my Self in this time,
to free an Other to build what may be
the perfect Universe or many.

So content that this time is mine to see
a great plan, a strategy, yet unheard.
It may not be for centuries that

that my knitting fingers will alert the senses
of a soul to keep in motion
a Life, a Being, an Idea.

Sit here with me. . .and show my hands
what to do and they will do. The task so simple
will gather other talents and make for itself
the grand design, futures down the line.

A bidding, the nature of what
has never been seen before.
I know it and because I know

you will know it also.

July 11, 2020

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.
And This Is What He ‘Membered. . .’cause It Is True. . . .

And I heard the young one say, and I know this true, he said, that this lady likes to work with blue cloths is ‘cause he said, that she said this is what heaven is like.   And I want to know he said,   how does she know?

And I told him that some people just know things,  not guess or they believe,   but they know.   What do you think heaven is like I asked him.   What do you think?

And he said I ‘membered ‘cause I only 5 fingers old, and she was right.   What he ‘membered was that the colors of everything was so bright, even brighter he said than the sun or even, he said, the moon in the night sky when everything else is black.

Then you know,   I said to him, you know.

And he said then that there were lots of things he knowed, but he did not like to say ‘cause other kids said it was baby stuff.   But he knowed, he said, he knowed and this lady also knowed he said.

Do you like the colors she uses, I asked.   And he said this is what he ‘membered and they are true.

July 7, 2020

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 Build On Words. . . .

I have not been much of a television watcher but in retrospect I realize more people than not were. Not only watchers but some inadvertently imitators. Young girls mimicked teen agers with inflections and tones and even lilting questions at the end of sentences. Not knowing nuances but inflections their phrasings created.

Immature emotions in adult bodies were suggesting behaviors to others and I witless knew nothing except words which told me meanings learned with root honesty. I took words as they meant to me with no sophistication.

Sophistication is easily learned and ten year olds do so readily. Words and action intertwine easily in free society and become reality with a foreign substance. Television as well as the written word took on boldness which gave license to sensual behavior adopted by the young and old alike. It was called freedom from Victorian strictures but what it also did was put licentious behavior into the realm of normal.

Even the so called adults were greedily grabbing at what they thought the young were freely given what they had not. To view what we highly thought of elder role models suddenly becoming teen agers in acting out fantasies became doubly difficult.

Not only having no role models show what proper public behavior should be but also needing society to change perception as to accepting that improper behavior as okay in the so called role models themselves. Difficult? How to have the young with little experience know when what we say is not demonstrated by what we do?

To have those in high office exploit the young or take advantage of the less educated to the sophisticated ways of those who today are knowingly playing a game is criminal and immoral behavior. Our conscience should give us no rest.

Everyone who is manipulated feels they are played the fool. It goes by the name of PR. When honest it is building public relations, when not, it is a persuaded response, whatever one tries to sell and it could be ulterior or ‘not good.’

One cannot have a life with meaning when life becomes a game. It must be taken personally. Everything must be taken personally. Otherwise it is a slippery walk through with no meaning.

Verbal Juxtaposition. . .

I speak the words, hesitantly
and on my pauses
their meaning weighs heavily.

You take my words
and on my pauses your meaning
rests on your totality.

We touch at points,
harvesting our realities
singularly.

Astonishing
to see how we differ, yet amazing
to see the world we’ve created

moving magnificently.

June 30, 2020

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.