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 Rose That Fell in Love with The Owl.

Owl Cluster

Autumn always takes on a new flavor of life. Looking for a poem and an image in my vast collection of poems, course essays, watercolor paintings and photos can be overwhelming.

I looked so different through my 30, 40 and 50s. I was round and motherly sometimes with exceptionally long hair. Yet with a family to take care of I guess I did not worry so much about how I looked. I was healthy. A little depressed about my images but kind of happy how I look now which is much different and polished.

I was looking for a poem I wrote in 1989 entitled, The Rose that fell in love with the Owl. I thought about this poem due to my current discovery of two clusters in the constellation of Cassiopeia.

Caroline’s Rose or the White Rose Cluster

Caroline’s Rose or the White Rose Cluster and the Owl Cluster are in the same constellation of Cassiopeia. So, the poem popped into my mind. That is one thing I have learned in my old age. My mind is particularly good at holding on to things and analyzing information. I must admit it is a strange poem after typing it up and not reading it for close to 40 years.

The Rose That Fell in Love with The Owl.

The owl to the rose:
“Come visit me if you can,
Don’t come if you can’t,
For I won’t be waiting for you,
And don’t be waiting for me.
For I don’t need you,
I don’t want you,
But If you do share yourself,
That is fine with me,
Or not,
I’ll be happy either way.
For your happy, sexy, and warm,
Whether you’re with me or without me,
I’m happy, sexy, and warm,
Whether I’m with you or without you.

For we are two individuals,
I’m an owl and you are a rose,
When together or apart!

Any blending while together,
Is an experience from the heart,
For you care for me,
And I care for you,
But don’t want me,
And don’t wait for me,
For you are wanting to hold me,
Is like grasping ambiguously,
In the dark.

Watch my wings glimmer,
As I fly away.
And your needing to be with me,
Is only an illusionary warm spark.”

The rose took a long gulp of air …

The owl:
“I don’t want to desire or have any expectations for you,
So, don’t want or desire or have any expectations for me.
For if you have any of that stuff for me,
I’ll make me as a mirror,
And reflect yourself back at you,
Cracking the hope,
Spearing that bond,
Throwing you back to yourself,
Any gift you wanted to give, my dear.
Don’t want what you can’t have!
I’ll miss holding you,
I’ll miss caressing you,
Even if your thorns stick me.
I’ll give you a few little essences of myself,
But the only thing this will be,
Are the memories.
And when you are on your way home,
You’ll still be happy, sexy, and warm,
I won’t be there,
But I do care,
Don’t think that you need me,
Because you have you,
don’t think that you want me,
because you can’t have me,
because when you thorn’s cry,
aching for the owl you love,
I won’t be there,
Take what is around you,
Another owl or another friend,
Because you can’t have me.”
The owl quickly flew away crying a “Hoot.”

The rose,
Cried herself to sleep

Knowing that the owl’s honesty was
something she had to accept.
And her open bloom so heavy with a peak of scent,
drew back and closed.
A bud back and her way home from the blossomed
dreams reached expanded
and now had contracted, calmed, and withdrawn,
shaking, shaking with
the warp and weft of the living patterns of life.

But while sitting there she heard
a cat talking to a dog behind her.
He barked and cracked a joke…

Rose: “He, He, He” … her belly knotted with humor.


Shadow Unity

My simple glance at America … a motif poem about human vulnerability!

ICU intensive. 4 patients sick with COVID19.

All on ventilators.

The respiratory team monitors the machines as the doctors do online visits.

Nurses attend to bodily functions as CNAs change diapers and turn patients.

Janitors and the full team wear special gear sterilizing everything. The CNAs are watching for bed sores and making sure patients are comfortable and clean.

We have a black woman who is a strong supporter and protested on the streets for Black Lives Matter. Jane is 34 a single mother with 3 children.

Next to her is Daniel. He is a southern Baptist who was attending services when his community came down with COVID19. Many are fine and only three died. He misses his grandchildren.

Tom is a single young man in his 30s and is a professional federal agent who contracted the virus at a community protest. He was called in by an underground community alert squad who asked for protection. He was only there to monitor the situation. Their city was inundated by people hanging out all hours. Graffiti all over and businesses are closed due to protests, looters, and the virus. The local business community and residents want the protesters to go home.

Dan is also extremely sick he is one of the unidentifiable vigilantes. Local small businesses raised funds to have these military people around to protect their businesses and communities. He was born in India and his family lives locally. They are also fearful and want their communities back. The protesters and media have labeled them fascists.

Meanwhile alleys are filled with human waste and trash from endless nights where people ignore curfew.

The news is showing statistics as we view a monitor as the COVID19 rates are increasing day by day.

A child of 12 views this same video with her father as they are sheltering safe at home. He lost his job as a chef at a local restaurant.

Together they both try and understand why the virus is spreading as the doctors’ state clearly.

 “Don’t hang out in groups or clusters of people, if you must go out wear a mask. Don’t pull it down to scream.”

The 12-year-old thought that was funny but was told by her parents that she will not be going to school this semester. She wants to go swimming at the local beach because she sees so many there on the TV monitor. Her mother says,

” lets run through the sprinklers in our backyard where we are safe.”

The 12 year old is learning about responsibility and caring for others. Her mother is a journalist and works online.

Her parents are struggling as many are, yet they are doing their part not to spread the virus.

They wear masks and practice social distancing! They will not be given their tax break for having a K-12 school age child this year because they refuse to let their child go to school.

A tent is arched under a freeway. A homeless man watches as protesters take over his town.  He does not care what their political persuasion is.

Even he wonders about the situation. No one is leaving coins in his cup. He wears a mask and practices social distancing. As he always has. He is hungry.


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



Goodbye rebel 
friend of my youth 
you touched my beating heart!

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

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.

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 
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 punk friends by Hudley Flipside

Nothing to fear…

Jupiter’s eyes razor red
Round and doll like
As death’s face
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.


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 advances 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 could not 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 would 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 and green

And homes to the ocean shore.

Mary and I listen

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.

download (1)

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.