From an Upper Floor

The Illusion. . .

THE ILLUSION

I try to grasp your beloved face,
graphically placing it on the mind’s canvas,
filling the valleys with fuller’s earth and
chiseling the planes with a serpent’s tooth.
Devouring every detail with a feverish eye
to circumvent time’s mortal immortality.

But why do I bother with mortal flesh
precluding the wonders of life everlasting?
I love you. Simple.   Your brow extends
to captivate the eyes in locked conflict, then laughs
to meet the corners of your mouth wandering about
in search of a smile.

Your arms encircle the wonder of meeting
life on certain terms, then range in motion to
include the All. A frantic mask we disengage
when discoveries make true a knowledge irredeemable.

But still I chase the memory of you
only minutes out the door.   I cannot remember the face
of you.   I know the strength, the laugh, the love
you reaped upon the wind to leave a mark on me.
I am forever different.   But the other, the package
assembled to meet specific requirements for this
particular place, are as specious as memory and
eradicated by time

like a pen and ink drawing.

Photo by Jon Katz

February 10, 2017

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 World I Cannot Place. . .

As we approach Valentine’s Day, I will be choosing some poetry from a work called Psalms of Love. One chosen to begin is A World I Cannot Place, recently written but not yet included in the work.

Memory is a powerful tool we are graced with and it comes with questions that have many answers. And each answer is a correct answer for some time and place. I have learned that when I frame the question, in me already is the answer. In due time the courage to confront the answer comes.

And it takes courage, for a life will have to be examined, in all aspects. Some of it will be painful, some joyous. And though it may take a lifetime to examine, with it comes Reason for Being.

A World I Cannot Place. . .

Glimpses, given of faces lodged
in the crevices of memory;
the jutting jaw,
the forehead creased with worry. . .
the eyes carrying love deposited
on an already overburdened heart. . .

I lean a tired body
against a gaunt one,
to absorb a strength
I do not own.

Who will shoulder my argues,
arguing with an unfair heaven
the burdens levied on us,
when all the work or good intentions
are for naught?

But the glimpses given are
of arms I cannot forget, even
in a world I cannot place.
These glimpses, glances coupled
with love infusing me
shows I cannot forget what
I yearn for now. . .

Enough for me to identify
what I chase to restore the heart of me.
Enough it is to change me forever;
to give from that overflowing reservoir,
the run off, with the hope
that the knowledge would be mine again,

that once I was special.

Artwork by
Claudia Hallissey

February 8, 2017

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.
An Alternate View. . .

An Alternate View. . .

Jesus said all ye are liars, but a family member commented on that with you can always catch a thief but you can never catch a liar. Liars are slippery. But even this is psychologically damaged goods, a coping mechanism somebody made to survive. And somebody browbeat the person to fear so greatly that changing the story was the only way to survive. It seems we are all damaged goods in some way.

*****

But you see that others do not stir the ashes to bring forth another fire. We have manicured the lawns and have put out the best china for when you come . . .

*****

An awry system of values can disrupt a marriage.

*****

Go with the night and bless. It waits in the shadows but the moon lights the way.

*****

Words shouted with emotion are generally denied by the individual even though they are valid. It is almost like they have to fit before they are worn.

*****

From a younger view, how would I look to someone like me? Pause to consider your Self.

*****

Beliefs are such that when they are dislodged, dislodge also the person. Further study will enlighten and broaden the premise.

*****

Always look toward the dawn when the night retreats and morning rises triumphant.

*****

Words can lacerate the heart in many different directions.

*****

You have often thought if it was written, it was meant to be understood. Only you know now that it is the hardest thing to do. If the frame of reference is not large enough for the topic, then no understanding ever will come from the words even when the desire is there. The footwork has to be done and the reference enlarged. The boundaries of knowledge must be broadened and then the reading will have meaning.

Photo by
John Hallissey

February 6, 2017

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.
It Is Good. . .

It is not without recourse that the soul cries in the night. It is not with abandon that the individual who mourns whatever loss, be it of his innocence, or that of physical parting, is left. We know and are known and never is there a thought which rises from the physical brain and immortal mind, that is not noted.

It Is Good. . .

Times pass and it is called history.
There were those who walked
and talked and held conference
with the unseen but not unspoken. . .

They were from the scattering
where survival meant learning
and not simply breathing.
They pressed the edges of space
and stepped over boundaries
as if they were not boundaries. . .

They come now to claim
their birthright; having given it
away to some bent on power,
promising protection;
some sold to thieves
bent on storing gold. . .
only to find themselves bankrupt.

Now again, righteous in their duality,
the dichotomy healed
with wholeness ensured. . .
man walks to the end
of his world to proclaim
his humanity equals the god within

and it is good.

Photo by
John Holmes

February 3, 2017

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.
Beneath My Heart. . .

I was lying in the hospital bed and knowing that my body was having a difficult time. I was clear of head knowledgeable when I saw the figure at the foot of my bed. And an arm was raised clothed in a grey robe and the hand was outstretched. I lay there with both arms rigid by my body like dead weights. I could not lift them if I had wanted to, even if I felt that my life depended on me lifting them.

I was not surprised by the visit nor frightened but somehow with an of course. My question was, ‘but who would take care of the children?’ There was no answer and the figure faded away. The nurse walked in and took one look at me and said Oh my god and turned and ran. She came back with an injection and murmured something about turning sour.

There have been several incidents of this nature in my life which threatened the insecure security of many people close to me. The science doctors have done an excellent job of disclaiming any experiences like this to convince people that only what can be seen and measured and named is real.

I have felt my commitments strongly and had always assumed other people felt the same. That they do not is an aspect of humanity and evolution I have had a difficult time dealing with. I still have mountains to climb. One though I was born not having to is that my arguments with heaven are real and because as my mentor promised my eyes are not veiled and my ears are not clogged, I see and hear. When I choose not to comment, it is to preserve peace.

On the eve of our son David’s birthday who transited 32 years ago when he was 31, I wish to thank him again and again for reaffirming my philosophy and verifying that the unseen is as much of an obstacle as the seen and most often a help. He was a philosophy major firstly and a lawyer to boot, and I still miss his conversation, arguments and his eloquence. But most of all, thank you David for choosing me as your mother for this leg of the journey because I chose you.

(the following was written in response to a cosmic question)

Beneath My Heart. . .

How could I not love them?
They grew beneath my heart,
waiting for my heart to beat
so that theirs’ would continue beating.

Did you not think
I would not know that?
And they would be reason enough
for me to keep breathing?

You did not know me. . .
Like a bear
I would fight for my cubs.
I made them. . .

They wear my name
and one day they
will remember. . .

who taught them about love.

January 31, 2017

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.
Thoughts To Ponder. . .

Isolation is a cold place to be. One needs to warm up from the inside. One can be isolated in a crowd.

*****

All Beings are not born with the same kindnesses.

*****

Your god speaks to you in many voices.

*****I

I do not like to think the god within has not evolved further than the human who houses him. It gives credence to the Lucifer angel.

*****

Memories are tied in a double knot with things one would like to forget. Forgetting comes only when lessons are learned from the undesirable memories.

*****

To some survival means learning as much as one can and to others it means simply breathing.

*****

When you become accountable you pay your dues in all matters.

*****

Life has the final word by having us love in the present what one hated in a previous time. Life balances.

*****

How life has been lived defines the person.

*****

We are given the privilege to bless. When mankind shrinks from the task, then bless. Blessings bestowed on man brings peace, when offered to the heavens, bring miracles.

January 30, 2017

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.
Will It Be Me?

Jane Roberts in the 60’s and 70’s when I discovered her and her Seth books, was talking about quantum physics. She didn’t call it that but Seth was saying that all time is simultaneous. And she had physicists calling her because even then they were silently interested in what Seth had to say.

And she channeled Seth saying there are probable selves, all existing or living at the same time. That there are bleed through with some of these selves and I write about them in my poetry. And I am aware by emotions mostly, of something going on that concerns me.

Like at that convention we had attended when a public official came to me in Munich and said when we talked in Paris the week before I did not say I would be attending this meeting. I had never been in Paris and told him we had not met and he became angry. He said he held his esteemed position because he never forgot a face or who he talked to!

So I write. Of this life and from other dimensions. I am not sure from where my thoughts come that I am aware of things and how they seem to rise to consciousness.

I had spoken about these memories only rarely. It is why I was cautioned every time I left the house. Be careful what you say in public I was told. I have since made friends with myself and now share my histories.

Will It Be Me?

Pulsing my perimeter are doubts
raising hackles to be heard and its twin
demanding not to undo. . .

Perhaps the only order is what we create
with rumor telling us that the world
was created for art’s sake. . .

There are brief, shiny moments where if I were
brave enough I would take my leave but they are
so rare they quickly disappear like a poet’s dream.

Could it be done where I would be
whisked away to that place farther than
the sun and closer than the moon?

It will be an emptying that fills to the brim,
a conversation with no words, hearing the cacophony
of silence and a chorus of angels pulling me home.

It will only be at that precise moment.
Every entry and every departure is a precise one.
How many came and how many will depart?

I formed the question only because I know the answer.
The pulsing is there and with it a haunting
that the answer pulses. If I reach out, it will be there.

If I reach out, will it be me?

art by Claudia Hallissey

January 27, 2017

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.
When The Fir Tree Stood. . .

There will be those who question whether it is my memory of having lived a life or many during the formation of this Earth or whether it is genetic memory passed through the ages and lodged within my mind. Or possibly a parallel life living in the capacious present since all time is simultaneous as the quantum people say and is happening now and mine to pick up. Does it really matter? What it has done to me in my life with my perspective is make me very aware of my behavior. What I have not wanted was to cause painful memories for someone . It is a hard way to live but it leaves fewer heartaches. To pull your actions through your heart teaches you a lot about yourself. Probably more than you wish to know as you head toward the exit gate.

When The Fir Tree Stood. . .

There was a time
when the fir tree stood
proud and tall and
with its essence could
make us drunk.

It was a fair country,
somewhere in that cold land
where only the hardy
lived to tell of it.

We smoked the fowl
that became our meals
with the fish caught by
nets skimming beneath the ice.

The smells were of Earth
and its parts, crisp and
broken into shards.
The more of us were happy though.
We knew the needs of all
and our wants were few.

Somewhere in time,
we cast our lots and became
the favored people.
We think now of
the differences and wish times
could be for a moment exchanged,
if only to remember the taste of

a pure and whole sense of truth.

January 23, 2017

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 All Take The Journey. . . sometime. .

We All Take The Journey. . . sometime

When I approach a subject that some find uncomfortable, I am told bluntly, I don’t want to go there. Some people simply find it untenable to think outside their comfort zone.

But we all will take the journey to the center of who we are at some time. If we are in a relatively comfortable place, in a relatively stable condition, now would be the time to do it. The next place of habitation might not be so comfortable. And there may not be a voice who will tell you that they have gone the route and have survived the sink holes.

I realize many take a dim view of things that do not match the qualities of mind I swim with. We are given sufficient qualities to match who we are and what we attempt. I have often beat the air with clenched fists shouting I don’t need another mountain to climb! Do ye hear me? And you will too.

And you will find that you qualify and are strengthened and will be grateful that you have proved that strength to your self. You will be glad that there were others who survived the deep and find that you can too.

It Makes Little Difference

It makes little difference
the road you take to master this.
For to get to where you are,
the way makes no matter
but the destination is what
leaves its mark.

Centuries on the road
brought this to you, this awesome
view that struck your heart
to shatter it.

You went down on knees
too stiff to note the pain
but surely the heavens knew
the custom derived from it.

We cherish the journeyer,
the traveler, the one,
who found no words to match
the awe struck heart.

It makes little matter what touched
home in the trunks of the trees,
in the music of the wind
rising to the acapella, rising,
still rising to the onrushing tears.

We are home. We are home
and nothing else matters, other
than we set the bar for others to cross.
They will, but not until they know
that the pursuit begins in the heart. . .

and ends there.

January 20, 2017

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.
Affirmation For All Of Us. . .

Affirmation For All Of Us. . .

Many times I come across something in my journals I would like to share. It could be a feeling or a thought connected with some of my reading, but mostly it is because my thought processes were of things I held in high value. Such was the entry 15 years ago and I found my thoughts have expanded and gained depth. I think there are readers whose thoughts parallel mine and perhaps it would be comforting to know someone has gone the route. I wrote. . .

When I was sitting upstairs I had a feeling pass over me that said to me and not for the first time, that this is not all that important, that this world is but a fragment of what reality truly is. The reality is that there is no reality. That as we cross over this fades in importance and takes its place in the memory bank, in memories and becomes a rolling file, a vault where we go back and remind ourselves of what was, of what could have been but mostly of how it came about because of who we were. If I were asked is there something else to do, the answer would be not unless we seek it out.

Not unless we knock on that door until it must be opened, not unless we feel the heart surge in yearning for knowledge. Not just one time or two times but we live with the yearning. We must have it as a constant in our lives if there is to be change. And then the way will be shown. And as we grow in understanding, as we broaden our premises, then we will be able to absorb and integrate more and more that now seems foreign to our natures. Do we discard everything we learned? Sometimes. And sometimes not. I don’t know I can envision the person I hope I become before I become someone else for another time.

As I have said, it is so tiring running back to who I was and running ahead to who I will be. It is all a body can do for now. But the feeling was choice. It is almost as if I know already that the minutes before or the time in preparation will be fluid before crossing over. That there will be a time where I will put things in perspective and make the crossing with as much ease as possible. That it won’t be hard and also that the distance is not all that great. Not from one dimension to another. It is only from here to there. From one degree a variation to another. But in that variance there is a change in worlds that is magnificent.

I did not read Michael Talbot’s book The Holographic Universe about the revolutionary quantum theory of reality until 2015. I learned then that when I was born I must have had my hesitations firmly ensconced and have walked with one foot in other worlds. I have always grappled with differences and other perspectives. For others like me, I hope this is comforting, knowing there is affirmation for all of us.

photo by Joshua Hallissey

January 17, 2017

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.