This is one of those times when life calls for a time out to let the eternal hold sway to be appreciated. We let loose the hold that events have on us and just let life have its way. Our mental balance demands it and our relationships require it. It is enough to catch our breaths and rest our eyes.
We deal with the living we must do but give obeisance to the divine within that molds and creates who we are. Pray that we show this divine side to all who depend on us, visible and invisible. We will then contribute to the progress peaceably of our Earth Planet to the Universe at large.
Common Measure. . .
Your fingers chase
the outline of my face, racing to catch
the smile climbing to my eyes, you say. . .
Where the corners crinkle with laugh lines
but how could they not? Such love
bestowed by a heart matched to mine,
with thoughts commingling gently.
No argument there, you say, for how can you
argue with love filling the crevices of mind,
filling the void with hope; setting a standard
for all to measure against? As with all bars
set high, it will one day be common
with love serving the All as standard measure.
photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.
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.
Can we make the snowman now, the little one asked. Almost time, I said, almost time. Well, he said, when will it be the right time? And I asked him to think about it. He was still for a minute and then asked me what I meant.
Well, I said, there is a right time and a not so right time about things. Can you name some things that have a right time? He looked at me and with a bright smile that showed gleaming teeth, said, yes!!! Well then, I said, tell me.
And he looked at me and said that it was always a right time to make cookies. It was a right time to eat ice cream. And it was a right time to take care of those littler than you. And it is always a right time to put your toys away when you are ready for bed. I agreed with all of those and I said that was good thinking.
And then I asked for examples of things that don’t have a right time. Can you think of some and tell me what those are. Well, he said, the not so right time is when you ask me to do something and I am not ready because I am not finished with what I am doing.
Intrigued, I asked, what can you possibly be doing that I don’t know about and especially when it is the right time? And he looked at me with wonder, puzzled. . . . .you don’t know? Nooooo, I said, I don’t.
Well, he said, when I am doing private things and ‘specially when I am telling secrets and those are private things.
When I am talking to my friends that you don’t see. And when do you do that, I asked. When I play and whisper things to them. They whisper back but you can’t hear them. But we have talks and they are my friends. Who are they, I asked. These are good friends from before. When, before, I asked. Before I came to you, he said. They are my forever friends, he said. Forever.
Hold onto them, I said. Hold tightly to them. And you be their forever friend. Tell me next time you talk so that I can wait till you are through. I know, he said that you have forever friends. How do you know this, I asked. I see you move your lips and I know you are talking to your forever friends. I watch-ed you, he said. I watch-ed you.
And then I hugged this little forever friend who watch-ed me.
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.
I was told that what is done for one will be done for all. Meaning for me that when one does something unusual or different, the potential exists then for all. And this is how progress becomes a sure thing for civilization. Evolution takes a step, sometimes a baby step, but it is forward.
There are others who have experience in matters not common. I have kept notes on dreams and researched my experiences. I could not speak openly and was cautioned much because of public circumstances. Times are different and I speak for the children who are different.
There are babies now being born who have been mentored and if they are fortunate and have support they will teach the lot of us from where they come. In the Dead Sea Scrolls a disciple asked Jesus where we go when we die and Jesus answered, why do you ask when you never wondered where you came from? He also said the ‘the twig is bent’ and religions don’t mention apriori, before we are born.
Most assume that all is formed after birth but every parent knows each child comes already predisposed. My exasperated mother would gladly have told you about me.
No Place To Go. . .
Your words are strong my eldest says. . . .
and the road made accessible
for the rest of us. No need I say, no need.
You will do what is yours to do
in your own way.
The road is closed with wooden horses
barring the way, not for repair
but because a new road is laid.
My Mentor said what is done for one
is done for all. . .so the heavens made bet
it would never be done but it seems
there was the surprise. It is done.
They say they give an inch and I take a mile.
My verbiage is clear. My focus enables focus
in boundary-less places as I weave
in and out of black holes and wind drifts
to find myself welcomed.
I have friends all over who wait
except where I am. Here I am different
and in this place to be different puts one
on the outside looking in. They do not know
where I am coming from.
My vernacular is not theirs and
I have no place to go with what I know.
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.
Sometimes I look upon past work and see a new perspective, a new meaning. And sometimes I cannot remember the person I was who wrote the poem or prose. It is someone who has made up a portion of who I am and I bring her to the work I read today. And I am all who I am, what I was and who I am becoming. That someone I become will surprise me I am sure.
There will be more differences noted not only the physical ones all see. The subtle changes may seem minute but large to me. Glimpses are given embracing memories long faded but now gaining form. Life lived with dedication to commitments leaves few regrets. And what were considered obstacles now become mountains that have been climbed successfully.
We are in the midst of a vast universe. Vast. And we are more than what we appear. Our connection to All That Is is real and wondrous. I bend at the knees easily. In Thanksgiving.
Because It Is. . .
You cannot dream things that never were
for in a sometime and a somewhere
they’ve taken place and left their indelible memory
on your mind.
Only to be remembered when a slim shadow
casts its spell across your life
and causes you to bring forth a relic,
a piece of the dream that had its substance
in a far time when love was pocketed
near your heart and brought forth to heal
a wound, to make life complete.
Never to question why or why not.
Simply because it is.
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.
I sometimes envy those who chose to come to this Earth having adopted a religion or a way of life to concentrate on what lessons needed to be learned or just to enjoy life. It is only delaying what must be done eventually, and that is to confront the history either chosen or mandated. It will need to be done sometime and I give what blessing we each have, and give profusely. It is a damnably hard work.
This poem, ‘I will speak’ was a Given, as much of my work has been. The footwork was mine, every step of the way. It was not my intent to post this particular one, but when my eyes saw it this morning, immediately was given the artwork done possibly 35 or 40 years ago when I was deep into the journey augmented by Claudia’s art work from about two years ago. I could see the two pieces spoke the meaning of the poem.
I leave the meaning to the reader bringing his or her own history. My explanation would need explanations profuse. We all are more than we appear and I have used up whatever bundles of energy lying about unclaimed. I have picked these bundles up like an alley picker to bring me to this time crowding a century. It’s your turn.
I Will Speak. . .
I will speak of the membrane
covering tightly the beginning
where memories are housed.
It is with comfort I see
in my head and feel in my heart,
spaces where I walked and talked
and hungered for Light.
It is a thin film covering
the foetus of memories
rolled up with bony knees
pressing my heart. From where?
Except that place or places
I was cautioned about for being out too far.
I brought them with me, dressed
in pulverized skin that became coats for us
always too loose,
but garments we grew into as man.
poem written in May 2013
Claudia Hallissey heart art
(my infant on wood plaque )
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.
What I have read and heard of independence makes me think I must negate a life of work which I thought meaningful but not in the currency of the day. It seems we lost our sense of interdependency and community and our sense of belonging to the human race. It is evidenced daily by the lack of communication about memories, our ties to the past as almost a temptation to the ugliness of nostalgia.
It appears to be a coward’s way of living instead of living in the moment. But the moment to me has no meaning except what the yesterdays have given to today to give it meaning. It does not preclude my giving new meaning providing the significance of what is brought to the moment by us.
For we are making a memory in the very moment we speak to someone. They will look upon it as memorable or a nightmare. It may not be what is intended but because of their history, our giving to make it momentous, will be compounded by their input because of who they are. And the who they are is what they contribute to this life.
That will be determined by birth, by parenting, by education and apriori, how the twig was bent with history upon entrance to life. All of it goes to determine their survival. Blanket judgements are often made leading one to think one’s life has been for naught , especially in the case of money in our culture. To be accused of using someone as a meal ticket is highly offensive especially when the weight of the burden is unknown.
In a partnership much needs to be considered. When one is caregiver of family along with home and property manager, though money is not brought in, money for services does not leave the premises. These have to be counted as salary for services rendered.
Much is demanded from a union in a complex world, especially with children and in this day, with extended family under one roof. And often the nature of a relationship determines what the surviving spouse needs to complete life. When aging health problems require help, it is a comfort not to use what little energies are left to battle the details of healthcare. Speaking as one who closes a lifetime and able to contribute to the household, it is a relief not to feel a financial burden to the family.
Looking back on the years of marriage to a public person and being the parent on the premises, maintenance and caregiver of property, and yes I was owner of the trimming shears and pruner, shovels and wheelbarrow, the edger, mower, and snowblower and knew where I put them, had I been hired I would have been wealthy after 60 years on the job.
Plus 20 years of on the job training by a mother who was at heart a top sergeant. When a neighbor saw me painting the side of the house he yelled across the street and asked if I was for hire. Mister, I shouted, you cannot afford me and neither can my husband but he doesn’t know it!
We weigh carefully our judgements. Independence is a marvelous word when we are in good health. Until the first calamity we can be reckless. When time comes we all wish for a derrick to get us out of our chairs. It is a sure thing for most of us because medicines keep us breathing but not mobile.
I am grateful for the cherished young who love me.
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.
There are those who have learned the ways of the world but neglected to learn the lessons that might have led to the same conclusions with understanding.
*****
In the midst of agonies, there is the absurdity. But to carry the absurdity past its point, belabors it.
*****
The lessons have been taught over and over and now the students will either come to class on their own or continue recess.
*****
Today’s man only allows 30 seconds to capsule our thoughts. Anything more smacks of lecturing and lecturing brings back a harness that mandatory education is. Strange that he has forgotten ordinary conversation which once we engaged in happily.
*****
To be less than compassionate is to befoul the learning. To be less than one’s best is to compromise.
*****
The mind set to turn a particular direction is already bent.
*****
Only as we observe that life is everlasting and neverending, and the challenge is in the journey with hope, mankind will tolerate the fact that destiny is in his hands.
*****
The greatest lessons are those that require digesting but man prefers it all to be done while he sleeps. The most meaningful are those of length that he must trudge with footwork and those wrought in the places of ablution.
*****
We are out to lunch when an Other deals with what we are not aware of.
*****
We can take events and make good porridge from fermented oats. Sometimes it is grain gone wild.
*****
There will be change simply because there will be shame.
*****
When what is done is done in good Grace and a full heart, there will be knees bent at the bed’s edge.
*****
Let the music in my heart be heard in the spheres. And let the heart interpret correctly.
photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.
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.
What I need to say are words that will convey the importance of the privilege we will let pass if we do not get people to their feet and lower the lever on the machine that will give them a future. Yet.
How not to give away the chance to make a difference as large as the next person beside them. It is a big thing we would give away, a chance for this classroom to continue and still be the best in the universe of worlds.
Would we be able to see our image in the waters, or in the mirror or in the eyes of our children or grandchildren and say that we did not consider the vote important enough to guard against what we saw written in our minds and hearts and walls and sky of our time?
How do we not become a throwback to the place we disregarded callously when called upon to do such a simple thing as cast our ballot?
Whether we believe in life everlasting or not or the means of our Being, the fact of the matter is that our souls and minds are evergreens, are daffodils and we live forever somewhere. And we do have memories and all of us are facts of those memories and we live them day in and day out. We live our lives trying to make peace with them.
And we are now on the brink of another election to determine whether only our country continues in the dream of a democracy which has been our heritage but also whether this world continues to be the best classroom in the Universe. We hold the action in our fingertips and it is as simple as holding a pencil in some places, or a lever in others.
It is as simple as writing off our climate as a pipe dream and leaving pollution in the lungs of our children or lead in the water bleaching the bones and brains of them also.
We are sending troops to the borders with weapons to ward off babes in the arms of parents and those babes are holding sippy cups. My father was an immigrant. I grew up on a street of immigrants. They paid taxes and worked and kept us in schools.
This democratic country was one they were allowed to enter to live freely, pray privately and work without peril. Their children grew up and married whom they chose. Over the years the work involved with assimilation continued not easily but continued. It has been a work of centuries to become civilized, to become gentle and kind.
We do not welcome rhetoric that inflames the mind and body to violence. That inflames the people to hate and insults the intelligence of common sense. We are dedicated to hone the facets of the diamonds we are, the best that a democracy has shown evidence to grow in its delicate atmosphere of acceptance and tolerance.
We are the envy of a world that knows what can happen when allowed the freedom that has been our foundation. And has seen how quickly it can be decimated. It is up to us to light the candle.
Eternity is a long time to live with regret. Pull the lever. Vote.
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 day looms with fierce emotions which will lay its colors upon the hearts of mourners forever. It is with little thought given by some that words have great power over the course of our lives. It is we who must teach the children the choice of words must be with care. And we adults who must alter our behavior when our words are met with misunderstanding. Words are the tools of our relationships and must be treated with great respect. The costly consequences are human lives.
The Word Is God. . .
In the beginning was the word
destined to touch the mind of man.
But the prevailing Spirit in its wisdom saw fit
to encumber each with the power to discern.
Meanings floated into space,
shaping themselves to fit the receiving mind.
Reaching their destination,
their shape changed to fit the owner.
Such turbulence! Such uneasiness!
Albeit because the word had taken life and
risen to meet the heart’s need.
The speaker’s heart had taken its intent
and placed upon the Ethers the heart’s desire.
It gathered cadence as it rode
to meet the receiver’s prejudices.
The sender’s intent lay silent, lost.
The heavens only acknowledged
its primordial meaning.
Can it be said in truth that the word be god?
It is.
For within its power to create
it moves with desperation to voice feelings,
to give breath to visions and to heal.
The word created creatures and dynasties,
wars and rebellions, held peace in abeyance
and brought us to life.
So speak softly when speaking.
Words carry the weight of the heart
with intent to topple empires
and worlds and men. In the catalytic movement
of the word, the world’s heart beats,
years are gifted and man’s future secured.
It is all we have.
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.
Already Fall has sent her messages in the form of cold, rainy days that speak of Fisherman hats and boxy bonnets and warm jackets. And it would not be remiss to have warm mittens in the pockets of those jackets just in case.
These past weeks have spoken of the lush harvest gardens for the spirited gnome that inhabited them. Fun and games were the agenda and with mom and dad having some free time with the smiling elf, the photos will help us remember.
In the coming months of dark and wintry days they will again bring to mind a miracle year of good health and fun times and sunny days. It will be a year for Emma E. this next month since she came into the world determined to live her life as she deemed. And it has been another life like her father’s beginning as a preemie also when I said unbelievingly that he would have made it somehow in pioneer times on the prairie.
Somehow I think that there are those souls whatever the circumstances, even in the barest of times, would make it somehow. I am not sure how, just know it from observation of my nearing century mark. This is our Emma E. one month shy of her first birthday. Pulling herself hither and nigh and ready I think soon to tell us what it is all about Alfie.
We need reminders in these times that the real miracles go on within four walls of every home. For they are the barometer that judges the coming times ahead of us all. We cannot make mistakes with the children.
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.