You listen wisely and
I will sing songs of love,
concluding a life of harsh lessons.
They were not easy, love,
because you were eager for Light. . . .
The darkness penetrated every portion of life,
too deep ever to see Light.
So we gambled on a road
often refused and not often taken.
Too hard, they said, but for you,
the only one to make bulrushes
seem an easy route.
Your love and I, we make it home
and find it easy in retrospect,
for the new world
already stands in need.
And your balk does not match my bite.
We can only work.
It is a fair piece yet to life everlasting.
(from a work in progress, On Common Ground, My God and 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.
In discussing the inadequacies of language that plague me much of the time and have left me stuttering, searching for a word, I knew that somewhere I was familiar with a word that described a feeling or thought or some occurrence which was lost to me in this world. I knew I could go to the thesaurus and find a word no one would be familiar with but would more nearly describe what I was attempting. But what good would that be if no one understood the word? Can one go deep by ascending? Yes, there is a word for it but it is lost to me. I will one day know it again. I attempt again to share my thoughts.
A Depth by Ascent
It is with agonized words of
‘I don’t know’ whispered
as I entered the vehicle
stopping for me.
‘You don’t know what?’
was asked I thought with anger,
but later realized was a look of fear
and mine was a blank look returned.
I was again focused elsewhere
but still not knowing from where
the words had come.
Since then I’ve learned
from a lifetime that has quickly passed
that the source of those words
came from conversations held deeply
in worlds we do not enter
except by invitation.
I cannot recommend
what I do not know by route,
except the truth is my life
was lived with intensity
in a personal world.
It is a depth our language
has no words for and cannot describe
in this world we live in.
It is a depth the soul ascends
on its way to the Mount.
The soul only knows its own way.
December 25, 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.
Let us lift our hearts
to the Source of our lives.
Let us lift our thoughts
to the highest we envision.
Let us turn to one another
and embrace
to give of our abundance always.
Let us then praise
the goodness of our lives
and wish the new year
to be gracious .
With these thoughts in mind
we raise our glasses in
Salut!
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 my beloved young friend was settling her mother’s estate, she gave me this wooden sculpture and said this belongs to you. My first thought was in awe that she thought this and my second thought to the monk was, ‘where have you been all my life?.’ Through moves and floods it has come with me and has stood on my work table since then, overlooking my journey. I am grateful to my friend to this day for giving me this sculpture but mostly for thinking that I am worthy of it.
The Divine Drama
Man’s god only works as hard as man does.
If man thinks it is a passion play. . . . .then Jesus was a class act who should have received residuals on the performance.
The heart of Earth known as the Garden of Eden, was the crucible for man in several places simultaneously.
Exposition always depends on the quality of motive.
The quality of life is assured by one’s assuming the burden of change.
Spirit leaves home on a journey and at times makes great strides and at other times not but the journey’s end always finds it equal if not enriched by the trek. Never bankrupt.
The ablest keep their silence and work. By their works shall they be known.
Directions come from an inner source connected to the Greater I Am.
The heart interprets the individual’s intent and yields or prohibits.
To fear one’s god is to barter for one’s life, inch by wretched inch.
To roto root one’s memory bank takes much courage.
To be without memory is to strip today of meaning.
A today with no meaning only attempts an already empty tomorrow.
To build memories for oneself and one’s nearest is part of one’s commitment.
It is not an empty effort to build good memories. The memories will be called up in time not yet spoken and by generations unborn.
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 come with the Grace
of all those I beseech, quietly.
In all names holy.
My work done with love,
in prayerful attendance to life,
to acknowledge the birdsong
extolling the morning and
awakening the sun
in triumph over night.
Sending the mist
to dissipate over the Mount,
to nudge the sleeping sages
into activity,
to secure the earth’s roving
in this sea of tranquility.
I acknowledge my blessings
where I am, but I beg. . . . . .
Extinguish the desires of the old
who miss their spoils of war,
and if allowed would set fire
to the hearts of the young
to do their bidding;
negating the work of the parents
who taught their children to love one another
from the first time a sibling
invaded their space.
I beg for lives to be spared
so families can again sup together,
that children will again
have parents on the premises.
Begging you again
to hone the values
that would have us carrying one another.
I beg this beggar’s prayer
that man who denies
his own godliness will one day see
the common ground of his divinity.
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 what has been said once needs to be repeated. There is a substance to the word that speaks not only to the young but to the ones who care mightily for them. It is the kind of family gift that will bridge generations and allow the young to try their wings no matter their age. It is with this in mind that I repeat a poem that brought response from many. And to my readers who celebrate a holy day(s) or holidays, I wish happiness and the desire to care deeply for life’s lessons. In them are the keys that will open worlds to view.
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 desire, 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
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 family and dear friends who have been married for many decades and wish to give each other a gift with much hope attached, I give to you this gift of words to tuck into your card of love. Do not concern yourself that these words will be misunderstood. For love speaks in waves of gentle understanding to smooth harsh smudges that would blot years of hard work. To find oneself leaning now when one has been a tower to be leaned against appears to dwarf one’s legacy. There is much yet to come. Whether here or elsewhere, hearts will always be grateful for what has been given and so well received. Take these words to heart. It is a Christmas gift to you.
To Begin Again. . . a Christmas gift
Come, sit with me awhile.
Let the anger of bygone years
bury itself. Put your hand in mine
and let our fingers twine.
Let us sit and talk of slights
made uneasy in the light of laughter,
of the grief that burned the heart
fan itself into flames
to kindle a million stars.
Let us look to the God in us
that unites the Thy in Thine
and the My in Mine, happily.
Where can we go from here?
To where the sun need not warm,
the moon pales and
nights and days are quicksilver.
Come, we shall dance.
Across the moonlit waters, we crest.
We leap higher than the horizon and soar!
For we have taken on invisible wings
and spurned the dailyness.
Together we’ve buried the hurts and grief
to allow them their natural death.
But us, Us!
Together we scale mountains
we one day will build.
And set fire to a sun that will warm a heart
and light a moon
that a new world can love by.
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 home, a hearth,
the loving place that nurtures
the fragile psyche,
granting each the right
to perceive the universe
as is his to perceive.
Building memories
year upon year,
granting courage
for the hurting moments
and bearing them.
Yet yielding to
the greater truth that life
continues to be good.
Granting the right for each
to leave and grow away,
knowing that the warmth and love
of hearth and home
can be reached by going inward
to the loving place
you helped me build.
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 question was put to me, how does one teach an Other how to envision the larger picture? Especially when it comes to work? Sweaty work. Weeding gardens or fields of cucumbers? How does one teach another that to look at work from another perspective will give the person a different feel for what it is they do? I spoke to a younger about these words I put on the wall quilt. If I could not see the forest I said, I would not see the beauty of the trees. I explained that only by looking at the greater picture of humanity, could I see the beauty in the person. Yet I wrote about trees. It applies also to all things. Only by seeing what it is we do or see as part of the greater picture, meaning that what we do for one person we do for all beings, will we see our individual input as meaning something. It is only then we see our uniqueness in the fuller scale of earth life. But we need mental footwork to be able to see this. It requires an attitudinal change as well before our perspective changes. It means that our effort will benefit all as well as be for our own sake. If our attitude only takes us to our own end with nothing beyond, it becomes of utmost importance that what we do here will benefit those who come after us. They will be our progeny and they deserve the best we can do. Our world becomes smaller each day so our perspectives must grow to include the larger picture. We are charged with a sacred duty. Let us do it with a glad heart.
Effort Becomes The Way
Take ye and do likewise He said
and I believed Him.
When effort becomes the way
and in a blink of an eye,
becomes a pleasure, nay fun,
one becomes suspect.
For in layman’s terms
work is not pleasure
but desultory means
of making a living.
Woe is the pilgrim
who in life respects
the physical means
of procuring sustenance.
That in its secret
one finds the ultimate answer.
The Virtue is in the labor
and Beauty in the doing.
click on wall quilt
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 it is we desire, is often delivered in spades.
Trophies do not always hang on walls. Often they hang on the heart.
It is more than all right to feel kindly about oneself. It is the only home one has for this space in time.
Oftentimes what we call a mind set is an actual location of the spirit on its route toward its destiny.
Yield always to the heart. It strongly upholds when argument does not.
Race the night to its completion for the morning will arrive and demand something from you.
You are everything your god is.
Angels appear disguised in everyone’s frame of reference. Their robes and wings are now other costumes.
She told him, ‘I cavort with the gods and my soirees are on Mt. Olympus.’
‘Jesus Christ, Mother!’ he shouted.
‘Ahhhh’. . . she said. ‘I know him well, too’. . . . .
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.
