Category: 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…” /Pen name often used instead Hudley Flipside

The beetle bug and the worm, it turned out pleasant for them.

Beetle Bug in our garden.

beetle bug

After opening the bathroom drawer up on the Q-Tips box was a large beetle bug. I think we both were surprised. I swooped it up to the ground and got my two sleeping kitty girls. I know this is their favorite pass time going after bugs that enter the house. I am guilty because I’m prejudice on how cats think over the needs of this bug.

As the two girls altered to attention and moved towards the bug it was not a long chase. Seems beetle turned around and pinched one of the girls. End of their engagement. Yet over the week the two kitties did keep beetle bug in the bathroom.

Youngest son and I did some cleaning in the bathroom and did not find beetle bug. So, I put a small plastic container in the bathroom in case the bug showed up.

Beetle bug was there one day in the bottom closet and seemed to be waiting for me. Husband and I caught the bug and put the creature outside on the grass near the rosemary bush.

Hungry as if the beetle bug came upon the biggest smorgasbord in town. Embracing a purple anarchy flower, grass and leaves, this beetle bug’s feast began. Beautiful little beetle bug is now free.

worm

While walking around the block. A break from the rain. I saw a worm halfway across the cement walkway. Knowing about other people walking, dogs and wild things, it seemed like this little creation did not have much of a chance of survival. I often find rolled up ones dried from the heat.

I tried to gently hold the little worm that was very long. He was slimy, grey, and untouchable. So, I grabbed a small leaf and got him and softly put him on the earth near a bush.

The worm slowly moved with all its body’s muscles into the darkness of the earth. Only leaving the tip of a tail. I smiled and touched it saying loudly,

“BOOP!”

With boundless rapidity the little worm pulled a worm tail into the safety of the dark grassy earth and was gone.

Walk instead the curving round

When one listens

To cats’ whisperings

One hears their stories of prose!

Sometimes

walking down

The nice lane

Isn’t the right lane

For you.

Walk instead the curving round,

And angry

Lonely curb

May serve you better.

Why did I try

And save a bee

From drowning

Only to get stung?

Now the bee is dead

My hand

Hurts remembering

the stinger.

Giving hot coffee

To a street person

On a cold day

She responding,

“What’s that?”

“Some nice coffee for you, you look like you need some.”

“Didn’t you know caffeine is bad for you.”

You gawk, consider, and chew over …

The wind is alone

Yours to hear unaided.

Like the ringing in your ears

Yours alone to care.

When one listens

To cats’ whisperings

One hears their stories of prose!

Like Persephone

I will hope on my own

And take some time

Walking along

the curving round,

And angry

Lonely curb.

An Energized Mars

An Energized Mars

Astrologically speaking,

I am experiencing an energized Mars.

I cannot stop from writing even though

I must go outside and do some work.

Maybe clean out an old desk.

I let the energy flow… so,

I thought this image of Mars,

The make-out guy

Who is my stimulating animus

or unconscious masculine side of me,

in a positive direction.

A song too….

very homeopathic.

Fight fire with fire.

No criticisms,

well only a few

thrown abroad today

ride on.

The Desperation of Incarceration

Paul Newman from Film Cool Hand Luke~ June 15, 1967

Captain: What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. Some men, you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here last week — which is the way he wants it. Well, he gets it.

October at the supermarket is another routine that brings to our home good cooking, comfort, and kitty treats.

Like most Tuesdays I hit my local Ralph’s for round sushi bowls, a slice of cheesecake and did I mention the kitty treats.

Something was off this morning. As I grabbed my old sturdy cotton Trader Joe’s bags, I saw a guy standing at the curve before the entrance to the market. He was not moving and standing there like a Praying Mantis on a rosemary branch.

I was near him now. Looking around I saw no cars crossing. I walked quietly past him.

As I grabbed my shopping cart, I looked up to see he was still there. Slightly bent to the right but focused forward.

I thought to myself,

“Maybe he thinks he is invisible or maybe he is waiting for someone?”

He was all alone by himself.

I then went into the market. As I walked down a few grocery lanes he slowly passed me by. He walked slowly without a cart. One time he stood in front of me. Still standing with a slight bend to the right side. I said,

“Go ahead.”

He replied while looking down with the sweetest young voice,

“No please you go ahead.”

He had a t-shirt on with shorts and sported tattoos. I walked by him and as I passed a strange familiar desperate darkness was visible to me as I walked through it. I wanted to cry. I know that desperate feeling.

I walked forward and turned down the lane towards the front of the market. Then I saw some black boots and gazed upwards to see a guard standing about 6 feet 5 inches tall in front of me.

He was standing there transfixed on the lane ahead of me. His gun in holster.

I heard the movement of his leather belt and shoes as he walked. In slow motion. Moving as the other strange man moved.

I then realized he was following this man through the store as music danced from the PA and people walked around unaware.

It was as if I was watching two animals in nature. One the predator and one the victim.

I felt a wave of possible assault that I had avoided.

 At the deli I thought to myself,

“Something does not feel right?”

Before this I did notice a strange orange bus van in front of the market to my sideways glance before entering the market.

After ordering some food. The darkness lifted and both men were gone. As I went outside the orange bus van was gone as well.

I was witness to something dark and frightening as well as desperate. As what could have happened but did not. A desperation of incarceration.

Maybe an unsuccessful escape? A prison guard targeting a bird like a cat would. I felt deep grief for this young man. As I drove safely home, I thought upon how the young man bent to the right side.

His quietness and subtle sweet voice touched me. I was stuck with grief again. I reflected on the film Cool Hand Luke.

So, I celebrate this nice synchronicity as words become alive and memories shine.

https://www.eventbrite.com/

As for stories Dad was the best at keeping us kids interested. He had the gift and I guess he learned this from his mother. Who he said left poems on the refrigerator door just for him. Later she had her poems published in the weekly Santa Monica newspaper back in the late 40s and early 1950s.

It was my mom who asked me to never stop writing and always supported my endeavors.

I even fought and wrestled with the Flipside Fanzine crew to get a Poetry Page in Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. Pooch continued the poetry page after I left.

Flipside Fanzine Issues 57 Fall 1988

I love to write and especially love to write poetry. It is a time when magic happens. As human beings we naturally engage with memories, with the cosmos, and our feelings. Also, with those large uncontrollable metaphors like our professors tell us.

I was going through my notes and work and found this chapbook of poetry. I was surprised to see it was completed on the day September 17, 2018.

I will be talking this weekend. September 17, 2022. Telling stories with others. It feels great too to join in this narrative of speakers. At a cool pub. I can not think of a better place to talk. My youngest son told me this,

“Mom I just feel so comfortable in pubs, I dot know what it is but is just feels so good. I can just relax and have a pint. Listen to music and have fun.”

We could be talking about the pubs in the stories from Lord of The Rings to the history of William Blake’s’ family where the pub was so important in their freedom to speak and sing when the Church of England suppressed their views.

To the characters who linger, who come and go and grow from such a pub. Or simply to those who want to relax and hear a few stories.

KFJC Tape Eleven 12/10/84

The Plastic Hummingbird

“Sabrina fair,

Listen where thou art sitting

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,

In twisted braids of lilies knitting

The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;

Listen for dear honour’s sake,

Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen and save.”

~ Sabrina Fair (subtitled “A Woman of the World”) is a romantic comedy written by Samuel A. Taylor

I recently purchased a wind chime. Well, it is spiral plastic flowers and hummingbirds that hang on the larger arbor of a hanging tubular burgundy flower bush highlighting our back French doors. They are also solar lights at night that are magical to look at. The cats like to look at it and so do I.

I went for a short cool down swim close to the morning, I looked up to see the plastic colorful hummingbirds and flowers spiraling around in the soft cool breeze. It was going to be a hot day. The Plastic Hummingbird sounded like the nice name of a book.

I started to ponder what the book would be about. The many places we have to be. In nature listening. On the computer writing. Looking into a realm of social media or in our mind’s imagination and then the world of our feelings. We have many places to be or focus our attention.

The world of technology is rather new, but we have long lived in the world of architecture, science, and places of another human’s imagination. Films, books, and music are blending all of these realms.

There is also the intuitive realm or magic, faith, and synchronicity.

Whiskey Girl July 2022

The computer being a kind of oracle. Build by codes among codes among coding… computer programming. A vast new realm of communication on all levels of consciousness by conscious humans or the ‘lack-off.’

Later I went for another quick swim to cool off and once out of the pool sitting on my chair under the cool harbor next to my plastic hummingbird, I hear the sound of a real hummingbird. Under the vining vines of tubular flowers and bush, I see hummingbird right before my gaze. Weaving a little back and forth beating wings of 10-15 times per second. I look at the plastic hummingbird and then the living one and realize the contrary nature of life, plastic, and nature. Quickly grasping those things made and invented by humankind and those made purely by nature.

I flash back to a 1954 film entitled Sabrina. Humphrey Bogart as Linus Larrabee is just discovering something called “plastics” in the film. SO much money, collaborating, thinking and creativity yet no sense of how what they created will affect the environment.

Oh, dear me back to the love story.

“Linus Larrabee: Listen, I work in the real world with real responsibilities.

Sabrina: I know you work in the real world and you’re very good at it. But that’s work. Where do you live, Linus?”

Sabrina ~1995

Hiawatha and Dionysus

Thyrsus detail of Bacchus and Ariadne by Angelica Kauffmann (1741-1807)

I call upon Hiawatha and Dionysus

I often believe you two are the same

Friends of humanity and the earth.

As seeing the history of our earth and the waters of the earth.

As seeing nature and the growing things and vines and the wildness of this planet.

I think upon the goodness and wisdom of Hiawatha and Dionysus.

Both connected to the earth are the best ones to learn from.

As we see politically, globally, and as human beings we need to listen to them now more than ever.

They teach me to listen to nature, that magic is a gift, and our friends are closer than we realize.

The Dionysian Thyrsus is a powerful compelling campaign addressing the wonder of life and the earth and harmony.

It is all within us and outside of us.

Hiawatha speaks to the wind and in our souls of the equality of all things from minerals in rocks and out towards the star beings.

Balance and harmony, creativity and weaving our stories, hope and timeless ambition to run with the wildness of our natures.

Lady bugs to bear, mountain lions to the praying mantis.

Trees and rivers, rain, and thunder.

Love making to eating and dancing.

Hiawatha’s departure: Hiawatha sails Westward into the sunset


Photographic Print of Hiawatha/Longfellow. Hiawatha’s departure: Hiawatha sails Westward into the sunset © Mary Evans Picture Library Media ID 580113

The Yucca Poem



Upon the wall was a painting
Simply framed of a Yucca plant
My parents’ home enfolded it
Hanging on the living room wall 
always smiling at me
The artist’s hands painted 
it upon a wild hill
I looked at it all my life
From babe until the painting
Was stolen away after 
my parents’ death.
It had a constant white bloom.
Curiously I looked 
at the flower many times
I am sure it sung me to sleep.
The Yucca is a wild plant
Growing along
The aromatic California 
coastal ranges
further into the valley and hills
Tall thin and tenuous
boldly spread throughout 
valley canyons.

Yucca calls us to our 
nobility of character
Yucca calls us 
to a wild uniqueness
Singing if you listen quietly
A hum older than we know.

April is Poem Month Hate / Love

By Hudley Flipside April 3/ 2022

I hate festivals

And big shows

I love small clubs

And intimate shows

I hate covid-19.

I hate the divide… big chasm

between punk bands

and their fans

I hate the good security sherpas!

I hate being a face in the crowd

I love being backstage

I love Queen

I hated seeing them at the Long Beach giant coliseum in 1977.

I loved riding in the Santa Monica mountains on my white mustang.

I heard Native American braves screaming

in the wind as we ran our horses through the hills together.

Around the time Elton played at the TROUBADOUR in Hollywood in the early 1970s.

I love my Empty Sky LP I bought from friend Brady at his garage records for sale day.

I hate big Elton John shows

I hate The Angry Samoans

I love a few of their songs

Metal Mike is a wise old fool

I guess he hates me now

I love Bernie Taupin

who is only 3 inches taller than I

Sweet Maid

“Most people were in bands, if not they did magazines, records, owned stores did artwork etc… it was a scene that begged to be contributed to, and ripe with contributors… X-8 and Tory were in Low Budget, who made their Hollywood debut playing over the Dils at the Whisky, Larry Lash was in a weird Quick sort of band, Pooch was in a progressive (!) band, and I was their friend, couldn’t play anything, but still wanted to be involved [Al Flipside].”

Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Issue #1 August 28, 1977.
Cover of my electric punk guitar.

I am not a musician. Sure, as a kid I played my parents old player piano. I could hear a song and I then played it on that old lovely musical hardwood black upright piano. My mom got me an acoustic guitar when I turned 16. Along with it was a record to learn chords. I did not follow it through.

I appreciate the lyrics and the sound. I have a knack for listening to the song in a way that is so satisfying to me and as my life went on, I found others like myself. Journalists, fanzine writers and ‘scenesters’ who supported a growing musical world. I will leave the real musicians and their creative genius to themselves. I sure love to hear and feel their songs though.

My dream last night took me to a multilevel club. It had a front door and back door; it had a bar and an outdoor patio. It was very easy to access. I had booked a one-day event to perform. I had my old guitar with me at all times. A guitar a band member gave me, and we had cut out the “Quaker Maid” milk symbol from a large ‘sheet metal sign’ to place on the front of my guitar.

Why I pulled that old guitar I had from the 80s into my dream seems strange to me. I also had my old fender amp.

There was a small stage in the bar where I practiced. Realizing I did not have a clue what I was doing. Yet when I touched my sweet maid, it made a loud punk sound. I thought this to myself while dreaming,

“I am going to go on stage here and play for my friends. Not having a clue what I am doing, I will just improvise … like I always do,”

The first person who greeted me at the door was Shawn Stern. He was drinking a beer and seemed very happy. Then as I walked through the club. The club was peppered with many characters, and I thought to myself,

“I will play a chord from my sweet maid and then read something from an editorial from an old issue of Flipside. Maybe this can be a spoken word event with improvised guitar sounds?”

Hudley, Glen E. Friedman, Shawn Stern, Lee Ving. Taken from Let Them Know 2008; The Story of Youth Brigade and BYO Records. /Stern Brothers.

Outside on the patio I sat with a couple of gals who were talking about another show. I was cool with that and then walked in Cliff Roman.

“The guys at that show were wearing TUXEDOS.”

He had a upside down smile on his face when I smiled at him as I was holding my sweet maid. Cliff was wearing all black with a big oomphy black sweater.

I realized I was at a club without my mask on. It felt so good to be out and about again. No fear and happy to be hanging out at a club again with others.

Then I awoke. I don’t go out to events now. It seems like I still do in my dreams…