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Mary Montalvo

Love begets love. This torment is my joy. by Theodore Roethke
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Upon waking early this morning, I couldn't see the mountains from my window, so I wrote this poem entitled "Nature" in "free verse" style, as it reminds me of my hikes in the Colorado mountains. Mary Montalvo, the vintage poet


To see a beautiful butterfly in flight
fluttering its wafer-thin wings
is akin to watching an angel fly
amoung a green garden bright. . .

To see a velvet rose, wet with the morning dew
tilting its luxurious face towards the sun
breathing in light and changing it to chlorophyll
is a glorious sight to see . . .

Or a little fawn nibbling upon a field of grass
bending its gentle brow towards the blades
in its daily foray into Nature
to survive yet another dawn . . .

To see a blue-green dolphin glide
and jump above the sea
is to witness the movement of a being
at play in life
and ‘tis a spectacular scene to behold . . .

All of Nature is a miracle
a wonder of an exquisite order
the skies, the creatures, the seas,
the timbers
all were meant to be . . .

Nature is a most wondrous being
it’s beauty and myst’ry are oft’told
and from the depths of the sea
to the highest peaks
‘tis a gift full of splendour.

Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
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"My beloved speaks and says to me:

'Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away;
for lo, the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth. . .'"

Song of Songs 2:10-12 (King Solomon), The Holy Bible
(Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition, St. Ignatius)
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Here is my poem for today . . . emphasizing my desire for the world and everyman to wake up and save the Planet, and therefore, Humanity. Please keep my poem in mind as you go through your day today.

The Fire Within

The burning, burning fire within
of my soul full of angst and full of flames
crying out for my Planet, for Humanity. . .

Words screaming from the depths of my mind
tossing and turning, whirling about and raging,
echoes from the past haunting me, taunting me
to end the scourge upon Mother Earth . . .

Torturing me every waking moment
at every turn, every corner, every step
of the way
along my journey on this curious planet . . .

What shall I do, what can I do
my heart cannot bear the ruinous tide
any longer
and the afflictions of our beautiful home,
I can bear no more, no more . . . no more . . .

Act now, be not timid
so speak loudly and boldly of the threats
to the people and this orb we call our home
and heed the warnings of our planet . . .

And her pleas to save her now, or she and we will die.

Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
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For my contribution of poetry from the classic poets, below is the famous poem, Correspondances, by Charles Baudelaire from his book, Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil). It is a very famous poem. The book was first published in 1857, but was later censored, and his final definitive book was published in 1868 with the censored poems, and new ones. Enjoy.


La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles;
L'homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles
Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.

Comme de longs échos qui de loin se confondent
Dans une ténébreuse et profonde unité,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarté,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se répondent.

II est des parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants,
Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies,
— Et d'autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants,

Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l'encens,
Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.

— Charles Baudelaire


Nature is a temple in which living pillars
Sometimes give voice to confused words;
Man passes there through forests of symbols
Which look at him with understanding eyes.

Like prolonged echoes mingling in the distance
In a deep and tenebrous unity,
Vast as the dark of night and as the light of day,
Perfumes, sounds, and colors correspond.

There are perfumes as cool as the flesh of children,
Sweet as oboes, green as meadows
— And others are corrupt, and rich, triumphant,

With power to expand into infinity,
Like amber and incense, musk, benzoin,
That sing the ecstasy of the soul and senses.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)


Nature's a temple where each living column,
At times, gives forth vague words. There Man advances
Through forest-groves of symbols, strange and solemn,
Who follow him with their familiar glances.

As long-drawn echoes mingle and transfuse
Till in a deep, dark unison they swoon,
Vast as the night or as the vault of noon —
So are commingled perfumes, sounds, and hues.

There can be perfumes cool as children's flesh,
Like fiddIes, sweet, like meadows greenly fresh.
Rich, complex, and triumphant, others roll

With the vast range of all non-finite things —
Amber, musk, incense, benjamin, each sings
The transports of the senses and the soul.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)


All nature is one temple, the living aisles whereof
Murmur in a soft language, half strange, half understood;
Man wanders there as through a cabalistic wood,
Aware of eyes that watch him in the leaves above.

Like voices echoing in his senses from beyond
Life's watery source, and which into one voice unite,
Vast as the turning planet clothed in darkness and light,
So do all sounds and hues and fragrances correspond.

Perfumes there are as sweet as the music of pipes and strings,
As pure as the naked flesh of children, as full of peace
As wide green prairies — and there are others, having the whole

Corrupt proud all-pervasiveness of infinite things,
Like frankincense, and musk, and myrrh, and ambergris,
That cry of the ecstasy of the body and of the soul.

— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

(The three translations show how the essence of a poem takes on different meanings for different persons.)
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Waking from a heart-pattering dream, I awoke to a beautiful sky. Here is my poem for today. Good morning all.


Wafting about in a robin’s-egg sky
the puffy pearl-coloured clouds form
as waves of milky strands stretching
among the azure ocean of the heavens . . .

Drifting there and nigh
like a Monet painting way up high
floating aimlessly all about,
our hearts melt to witness the beauty
among the lofty heights . . .

Come hither to me o’ splendid sights
your translucent bodies full of raindrops
which nourish the earth and nourish man
spilling over as a waterfall, as tears from Heaven. . .

Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
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Artists must be sacrificed to their art. Like bees, they must put their lives into the sting they give.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Good early morn'. I'm going through a creative spurt right now, so here's another poem I hope will launch your day in a good way.

The River

The genesis of your being
mighty river blue
are raindrops from a cerulean sky
or a wellspring from the bowels
of the earth . . .

From snowflakes which have fallen
upon majestic mountain ranges
melting into tiny streams
which grow into unbounded creeks
searching for a home . . .

Trickling, flowing, gushing forth in ripples
from a gurgling, babbling brook
lunging towards an ocean
in rushing, surging rivulets . . .

To become a capacious sea
floating among the stars
among the dolphins, fish and whales
and a variety of sea life
thriving in a watery world . . .

Which is your destiny, and your
destination . . .

Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
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How high do you reach
O’ mountains of the Earth?
Stretching upwards toward the sky
revealing your craggy chasms
to all who would pass by . . .

Mt. Sinai, Mt. Kilamanjaro, Mt. Everest, yes,
the Himalayas, the Swiss Alps, the Rocky Mountains,
Carpathians, and more
span the vast horizons, sweep the spacious terrain
how immense and wonderful thou art . . .

If only I could climb you to see your lovely vistas
and along the way, breathe in your sighs and echoes,
your streams and rivers, creatures and forest floors,
I’ll view your towering trees
and kiss your summits once I have arrived . . .

O’ mountains you are full of majesty
mighty and stalwart, steadfast and blue
rugged and indomitable, yet
you are subject to tectonic plates shifting . . .

Drifting . . . you into oblivion if they wish,
so we should cherish you all the more
whilst thou art still with us.

Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
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