Category Archives: Holly Duval Cornell’s Poems & Prose

Poems a different way to communicate to the world. The place of “Who fucking cares” to “Hey I hear what you are saying!”
“…to set forth or offer for attention or consideration…let me pose a question…”

The Saints Are Touring Again.

A great dream last night
Those best feelings
of hanging with your favorite band 
Touring as they were 
Family and friends were nearby 
Chris Bailey was sweet 
His lovely sly grin shone my way
as he looked at me
a rich heavy Irish accent 
formed few words
“I’ll see ya tomorrow!” I said.
Adoringly glowing a depth of love
and mutual respect
John and I left the band 
until tomorrow’s show. 
We walked by waving
At Nathan Jones 
We walked by a
large window coffee shop on the Blvd. 
There Ed Kuepper sat alone. 
Having a cup of coffee and a smoke. 
Standing in front of a backstage club,
I looked at the band’s list.
Many names flew by
Under crew - stage 
I saw Holly Cornell. 
John pointed it out 
Feeling a joy 
Only a favorite band 
could give ya 
We will be there 
early tomorrow. 
To help and see the band . 

Punk Poem by Hudley April /2020


Reed


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In the circle
Of fire
He came forth now
A motif of youthful
Rebellion.

We remember together
A time of music
And knowing attraction.

A smile
A wink
Water guns 
both soaked to the skin
Your test cassette of Metallica.

Outside
The Whisky A Go Go
He circled round me

Slowly dancing and singing
“Me and Mrs. Jones
we got a thing going on”

I walked around him
following round
his circle 
embarrassed
boldly declaring.

Two punks.

Who else observed this friendship?
And this continues still
From the start.

The good feeling of being desired
Innocence and fun
I will remember you always this way.

~ Poems about punks by Hudley Flipside


Nothing to fear…



Jupiter’s eyes razor red
Round and doll like
As death’s face
Terrifying
Changing into Lapis Lazuli
Stone chairs
Flying through kindness.

Riding on a white prancing horse
Ascending and descending
Saturn, Venus and Jupiter.

Will you come
Come to see me
My prancing horse awaits.

The earth looks blue from afar
The waterfall moves
Upon ice and steam
To a new view

We go
Affirming to me
“Do not be afraid.”

Eyes sparkle
Through the darkness healing me.
The white horse is parading
In front of your house
Back and forth, back and forth.

Under the three bright planets
I Jupiter in the sky with Venus
Saturn welcomes us all to his Palace.

11/23/2019

Holly Cornell


							

Hearts Buoyant

To U.S. Representative for California’s 28th congressional district Adam Schiff


I see an illuminated bright 
five pointed star
Over the emotional ocean
Of black and greasy-greedy oil
The light moving upon this darkness 
Wavering leaps of sparkling exuberance.

This star ascends 
as the current below moves 
like the waves of a darkened 
Depressed ocean. 

Shall we focus on the star 
For the exuberance is like
A cleaning soap
A detergent affirming justice 
The Eagle is scrubbed clean.

I see an illuminated bright 
five pointed star  
I hear the waves of the ocean 
Calling to break the
Eagle clean.

Returns the rhythm to the rogue waves
I see justice there  
hearts are buoyant 
Upon that black and greasy-greedy oil
awareness and mindfulness
The Eagle is scrubbed clean! 

My heavenly shower

Jerusalem ~William Blake



My heavenly shower
is a sacred place
of hot, warm or cold water.

It is there for me in worst of times
bones ache and chills of fever
cleaning a dark soul quality away.

I sing, talk and compose there
I talk to my medicine animals there
and say my prayers.

It is an old shower with a whacked head
yet the water cleans me inside and out
my holy shower that sings me sweet words.

 

Jaded Poem


A little around the edges
A spinning energy in my middle
Older and wiser and stronger
Less inspired by adolescent rantings!

So I want to write and read aloud
I want to travel and ponder
the meaning of life.

 

Mary’s Special Place

I worked for the Visiting Nurse Association as a Home Health Aide in Santa Cruz California back in 1991. I enjoyed helping the elderly, sick and crippled. I comforted them and attended to their simple needs of washing, food and medicine. I loved their stories they shared. Most of my patients were in their 90s and their lifetimes were filled with a richness that I yearned for. They shared their stores with me.

I will share a story of Mary. She was alone in her parents’ home. A beautiful Victorian home near the shores of Santa Cruz. Only one room was used for Mary. All the other rooms, which were many, were closed off. The stairs that went to her room were something out of the novel Gone with The Wind. And to the right of these majestic stairs was a giant Ballroom with a crystal chandelier where Mary told me her stories. In the room where she lived was a single bed and a small bathroom with bath. On the wall was a painting of a lovely sailing ship. The painting was of her father’s ship. It was a family ship. She told me that she came from a sea family. It was a merchant family business.

As the times changed her family and Mary took to living on the land. She was born and raised on a ship. She knew the ocean well. Standing on ground was difficult for her as a young lady. Eventually she married. Santa Cruz was a cowboy town at the time. She told me one night when her husband made his usual advantages towards her. She declined and fell asleep. He went off to the bars to sleep with a prostitute. He gave Mary gonorrhea and after that she couldn’t have any children. It took some time but she forgave him.

This is a poem about Mary and our walk to her special place. She told me that the wild animals that lived there sometimes would pop up in her toilet. Small rats,  squirrels and lizards would sometimes appear. It did not look all that bad to me. Yet, I can only imagine how it once was.

Mary, We Call You Near

We walked our way 
To the stream 
Down a short 
Wood’d green.
Marking our way 
Me with my little red hat 
Mary with her special cane 
To a faerie glen 
Perchance we glance 
To see one of ‘em- 
Of course, 
Mary Would be reciting 
A lit’bit of Kipling’s.
 
Arriving then 
I sat upon 
The concrete tunnel there- 
Mary stood proudly 
Above my stare
A lassie quite young 
That only time 
Be’a steal’n years from. 

A stream did run here 
Once very free 
Now the community has grown 
A lot of concrete 
Be surrounding 
The stream’s old home 
Controlling the flow 
Which was once surely
More freely flow’n-
Now the stream runs
Past wood’d green 
And homes to the ocean shore. 

Mary and I listen’d 
To the green trickling
Of the eternal water go 
I looked up 
to see Mary’s face a shine’n
Like the sun
Full of wisdom and love 
Lots of hopeful youth too.

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old Irish Drinking Song…

A restoring appeal…

After the Woolsey Fire Dec. 17, 2018

 

A restoring appeal bound for
the Santa Monica Mountains
The highway moves by way of serpentine.

Black mountains and summative clarity of once
Overgrown trees and sage,
Wild Promethean fennel and yucca plants.

Fog embraces
The black burned earth hills
Holy sprinkles of rain upon the concealed seeds.

Ivy; It will be a good day !


(11-18-18)

Feet steeping around
In light purple tennis shoes
Morning crisper than it was
Cyprus tree tall as a tower
Dark green tall I upward gaze
Looking straight up
Noticing the ivy that embraces the climb
Wild element of the neighborhood
Sadly, gardeners often slash off all the blossoms
most times, yet not here
Half a block overtaken by tall Cyprus
And wild dark shiny green ivy
Light greets angled points and blossoms
Look up and stand still
Wild order
Sound of harmonic honey bees
Everywhere
Enthusiastic peace
The humming bees
As I gaze silently and listen
A dark crow lands on the tip-top
Upon towering Cyprus tree
Gloria told me once
“When the bird rests on the
Tip-top of the Guest house
At the Rosy Fellowship
It will be a good day.”

(11-24-18)

Today I knocked
An old gentleman
Opened his door
I thanked him for his
Climbing ivy
How he lets it blossom.

He told me he planned
To cut it down
Yet the branches were too thick
He will not be
Cutting the ivy down.

How happy we were
I told him how the
Sound of the bees
Is a religious experience
For me.
He said “thank you:
“For your kind words!”

I know the bees, humming birds
And song birds as yellow as the sun
Love the blossoming ivy.

My chapel is mutable
Here the goddess be
Humming and shining
For all who take the time
To hear, feel and see.

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The wild ivy is an ancient plant… let a part of your garden be wild…for her. 

` Hudley 11/18-24-18


Summer Poem number 2



I used to see anarchy & 
chaos much differently. 
Today I see it as something 
I will not agree to. 
Yet the will of an individual 
can be applied for the benefits 
of all or for only oneself. 
To harm others without caring. 

I used to think 
it was to bring all others 
to the table 
and to change 
and make new ways 
of seeing the 
world creativity 
and imaginatively. 
An individual can 
uniquely inspire a generation, 
or a few people, 
to be good human beings. 

Or the opposite 
can happen when an ego causes 
dark chaos & 
we are witnessing this now.  
It is a time to consider this all,
....
as very important parts of who we all are!? 
So much for August… it does this to me.