From an Upper Floor

My Sister, My Earth. . . .

My Sister, My Earth. . .

Like a compass, I stand,
breathing deep
and at the end of my arm
stands the ancient city
and at the top of my head
the north wind still blows.

Cooler by far
during the last month
of the year but still refreshing.

How to love this Earth
whose pines blister my skin
and give fertile gifts to my heart?
Astringent at times,
comforting at others, the jewels
my eyes would linger on.

It is with marvel I scan
the horizon, for how can man live
without one?
Trees hover, cattails linger,
long after their season, so much.

The water shimmers in the sun,
casting waves, glancing off shores.
Where else can Earth
find its mate?

It finds me, or I, it.
I bow on knees ready to lay lips
to her black dirt, ready also to lay
my body into her to gain her courage.

A sister, born and bred to serve
and to speak her seasons with eloquence;
to shed her gifts with magnificence
and all she asks,

is we be her stewards.

photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.

August 13, 2016

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 Pain of Thought. . .

The Pain of Thought. . .

They speak with their doctors,
their counselors and those with
backward collars
that they are anxious.

And cannot explain the panic
and the night sweats
that engulf them
even in their sleep.

They read they say
all manner of books and articles
on positive thinking
and watch only those programs
that make them laugh
or sing their favorite songs.

They stay away from opinions
that destroy their sense
of equanimity and the
professionals wag their collective heads
and thoroughly agree.

Stay away! Don’t read the message
of those whose views would have
you stray from dogmas long
causing man’s anguish.

Don’t upset yourself, the counselors say,
just stay within the confines
of your parent gods.
They knew what was best for you.

But why then, you still ask,
when you know your life
should make a difference,

this kind of thinking makes your brain hurt?

In this day, thoughtful opinions are too much like work for most people. Entertainment is what is preferred. And when school books are closed, seldom are they opened again. Time is a commodity to be artfully balanced. And unless we are ready to give up what has taken centuries for the human brain to be able to accommodate conflicting thoughts, we must use our time wisely or lose what abilities we have mastered. When high school students find a paragraph difficult to retain, of course thinking will bring on brain pain.

artwork by Claudia Hallissey

August 11, 2016

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.
Comforts . . .

Comforts. . .

There is a comfort
in being surrounded
by familiar things.
After a lifetime of use,
they are as old friends
needing only me as a companion.

My books follow my travels
begging not to be left behind.
Only those I have visited often
can lay claim to shrinking space.

My tablets, journals, yellow pads
and ringed ones need me to keep
forming words like a forever
love letter to mind companions.

There will come a time
when the need for even these
will cease and the red pen
will no longer underline
newly revealed insight.

For it will have all been said
and remembered.
The tablets will be filled,
except for a loose thought roaming
the Ether looking for a like mind
to grasp it and fill in the
fresh, forgotten ledger

lying unattended and waiting. Unfinished.

August 9, 2016

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.
Process of Change. . .

I had just put the dog out and as she limped I thought it did not take away from her exuberance in the moment. We often think our present problem spoils everything. It will if we allow it to. We can learn to overlook or look over the problem, physical or otherwise to see that all else still shines. Physical life is terminal but memory is forever. We will take what is meant for growth and process it within. Our genes will carry who and what we are ad infinitum. All events are not life or death moments. Some events simply are. Stepping outside ourselves will grant us a new perspective..

Life is a process of change. Do we say we have learned all we could with no room for growth? Our progress could have been swifter I once wrote. Yes it could have, had not our commitments taken us by their enormity. Had not the awesome responsibilities of souls committed to us and by us not taken their time. Yet we weave through lives of commitment and see what are the products of those lives and find the results good. And people will have an understanding of life not known before and the world will continue to turn and life will be lived with more depth. And when we take those extra steps, together, there will be miles of progress called evolution. . .

A Process of Change

Winter, when I have had my fill of it,
leads me to yearn for the smell of the good earth
molding and fermenting that will make my roses bloom.

I do not yearn for the change to Autumn only when the Summer
has placed its unbearable burden on me and I can no longer carry it.

And when I have had enough of Autumn, that season that starts
with the famous explosions of color and ends with trees
in a condition of undress. . .

that I yearn for it all to be covered with the snow that
buries our mistakes. And we go on again into Spring where
the stirrings of growth within our depths needs to be
reflected in our surroundings also. . .

Why cry then in my Self of nothing new to enliven my life
when already I hear the melody of a new song. . .

Can I sing of new worlds to conquer?

Photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.

August 4, 2016

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 Space To Grow Bread. . .

No Space To Grow Bread. . .

They are young, you say,
with hormones raging in bodies
having no desire for libraries and
no entry monies for museums. . .

In these places
where soldiers in perilous times
are forever sowing seeds of freedom,
with farmers tilling soil of rocks and clay
to feed the freedom seekers. . .
and artists seek to feed Man’s Spirit. . .

Not concerned these young, I say,
while making brothers and sisters
like themselves, for they are
not yet ready for parenting.
Bedroom gymnastics are played
and little discipline practiced
in the games of musical beds
with its consequences.

We have seen
when burgeoning fantasies
take their energies and hormones
to crash with anger humankind’s
masterpieces with sledges,
to appease an appetite for revenge
out of control.

The children of hunger with
bloated stomachs starve to death.
Young girls are ravaged
and young boys savaged
while in the lives of elders there is
no hope of place for Spirit to rest.

My Earth is in peril
and the classroom in jeopardy.
There is no room and
our Earth is splitting its seams.
In good conscience,
no longer can we go forth and multiply.

There is no place and no space to grow bread.

Artwork by Claudia Hallissey

August 2, 2016

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.
In Prayerful Consideration. . .

Everything teaches . . .

and not being one to allow opportunity to be lost, I caught the moment and brought forth something long on my heart. Even as a child I gave my mother dyspepsia because of my questions. The God of my mother was so busy watching this 8 year old to keep me out of trouble which she was certain I would cause, that he let Europe fall on its knees. She had no answer to that. I was often reminded that men were paid big dollars and THEY could not find answers to the questions plaguing the questing adult. So who was I to think??? But my head was open from the day of my birth and has given me reason to keep breathing. I share my latest observation with you. . . .give it some thought.

In Prayerful Consideration. . .

The younger with his new skill
carved our grilled entree
as my words struck him. .

‘Bless this food
to my use,’ I said,
‘and I to Thy service.’

His head whipped upright
as his eyes found mine
in soulful recognition
of what we once were.

And I needed time
to explain my thought.
Not a Grandfather God,
I wanted to say, but pure Essence,
searching for Itself.

As I search my God Within
who searches the Great God Essence,
we have a responsibility
as we round out our talents to serve
our commitments and humanity
which are one and the same.

We roamed the Ether once
when we sought to express ourselves
and we became Man whom we are. . .
Such as we are it seems,
better than we ever thought to be,
but not as good as we hoped.

So as we become
what our God Within breathes
from the Essence whose greatness
we soar into, bless this food
to my use, I say out loud
and let my prayers be my discipline

for all the days of my life.

July 30, 2016

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.
As The Script Was Being Written. . .

Oftentimes as we age, we wonder, and some of us are prone to wonder a lot, how to have done things differently. And considering what we knew at the time, what situations presented, the conclusions reached are that we did the best we could. We gave it our best shot considering. I understand that on the way to sainthood many options are closed. Tell yourself that. And remembering again as a best friend said, introducing one small if would have changed the entire picture. So be kind to yourself with no more ‘should haves.’ There will be those who will be happy to keep on belting long after one’s demise. Let us not take away that last pleasure.

As The Script Was Being Written. . .

If, as you say, beloved,
that none of it is true,
that what I have built with my life
is a sieve, never to hold water,
then this I say. . .

From where comes
this courage, I ask,
to have sublimely taken on
the heavens and them to task
when my arms, as the
theater marquee shouted. . .
are too short to box with God?

Except of course, you see, I say,
it took a very long walk
to get to this place
where I see how it worked.

I stalled the process
several times
while I gained my footing
to reconcile beliefs. . .
to cut corners so that my people
could hold on
just another minute. . .

But it was what I could do,
only what I could do,
for the ascent was narrow
and steep and the rocks
bit the soles of my feet
and I found somehow
I had courage and life
was lived. . .

even as the script was being written.

Painting by Claudia Hallissey

July 28, 2016

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.
Soul Research. . . .

To be told of the awaiting Divine Reward has its place, but being human a little human praise is never out of place.

*****

Illusions do not dress the effort. The merit of the effort addresses and dresses the work.

*****

Sometimes we wander like lost sheep in search of a shepherd. The quality of our thought will spark the shepherd’s way toward us.

*****

Ancient memories must be put to rest. They must be assuaged, changed to victory and not be allowed to haunt unsuspecting generations forever.

*****

Philosophies are born and discarded time and again because they cannot and do not hold up. What is held to is because the staying power is sustained.

*****

In all things there is compensation. There is something given when something is taken away or outgrown. Not always sad but sometimes even a cause for rejoicing.

*****

Time is a healer, a mistifying, calculating mystery that can pay untold dividends. It is money in the bank.

*****

It is hard to move encrusted thinking. But the boundaries of thought must be enlarged or man’s progress stagnates.

*****

Events are for growth. They are not a comfort station. Happiness is not a constant affair.

*****

Go for broke, but do not dismantle what you do not intend to stay around and rebuild.

*****

Eternity is a long time, sweetheart, to mortgage a life. A long time.

*****

If we would see thought as constant prayer, would we elevate our thinking?

*****

Within the pain is the lesson. Learn it well and learn it forever. It makes eternity much easier.

July 25, 2016

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.
By Whose Authority. . .

By Whose Authority. . . .

Your house is too small,
he said and now
we will expand. . .

I will not put you out
with the vultures,
but what you will know
is that I continue to love you.

And will tell you
winter comes again and
you will see the sun rise
and through the south window
you will see the stars fall
and the comet streak across the sky.

You will hear my voice
and vouch for my presence.
You will embrace the children,
love them and feed them meat
to make them iron rich.

They need a hot core in them
and you will provide it.
You will be asked
by what authority do you speak
and you will respond
by the same authority

granted to you to ask the question.

July 22, 2016

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.
Promises. . .

A Chance For Love. . .

Each time is a new time,
cast in the shadow
of a rock, a cave,
or even a cove. . .

Simply set and
inspired by a rolling coast,
a sunset, a glimpse
of a new place. . .

New tidings of good cheer,
a glass of sweet wine,
robust, quaffed in slow gulps
but favored by a thirsty throat.
Ever new, ever fresh
as a new beginning.

New worlds,
hammering their impatience
with promises;
limited only by how much

we are ready to forget.

July 19, 2016

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.