Home » Poems » Best » Penny Montalvan » Best Penny Montalvan Poems

Best Poems Written by Penny Montalvan

Below are the all-time best Penny Montalvan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

No Justice In Distances

I remember those eyes;
it must have been years ago,
or so it feels.
Time’s eternity keeps
ticking and I’ve been
missing
the true things in life:
I’ve been missing emerald,
I’ve been missing imagery;
You’ve been travelling
into dust bowls,
guitar-strapped and
leather-bound
Even your steps make
percussive sounds. 

East, west, and the in between,
Lost somewhere in your
dreams; you want to become,
you want to succeed,
but your smile is broken
as are my deeds.

I take it as it is:
you as a memory manifesting
into a poem. 
That’s all reality (sanity)
will allow us;
“How unfair!” cried the poet 
and the dreamer.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

A Dream Escapes

A dream escapes my
grasp of time,
I float, I float, I float blind.
Through kaleidoscope
scars I bear,
my fears mingle with
rattlesnake snares,
and ticking, spinning
clockworks chime and chime,
like death’s  rasp, and repetitious 
rhyme.

I’ll lend you these thoughts:
I keep them in a glass vile,
and I’ll wait for the best 
moment to
shatter. 
They’ll then ponder over
the matter,
as if they were sadder!
And say,
“What an accident, she was forgotten!”

But I dream, I dream of the dead.
Their dark whispers haunt 
my books. 
And I want to give them looks,
I want to tell them I feel.
And that I too see in hues
of vivid memory.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Motivic Dreams

These thoughts of mine
sing serenades, 
out of key,
and silently.
Sentences into phrases
is what I want.  
I want the wanting.
Your phrases are 
beautiful
but unorganized. 
Do you even realize?
She says you’re too smart
for your own good. 
For a week,
I thought you insane. 

Debussy drifts down
minor scales
while we sleep. 
You talked in your dreams,
in Schoenberg matrices
and chromatic choruses;
 I tried to wake you up 
to no avail.
You kept me up all
night, actually.
But, in the morning,
I made you breakfast anyway.
I didn’t even ask of the woman’s
name you spoke of. 

I cannot curse your
unconscious. Your dreams
are not mine to judge.
Reality has you in my arms,
...or does it?

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Camera Lucida

The breath of moment
captures time itself. Pausing, 
breathing, staring into your eyes,
I wonder who will speak first. 
Instead, I look back through my
lenses, those reflective 
beauties. I capture a slight moment
of you. 

I wonder if this is how Delacroix felt
while painting his orphan girl. 
He knew he was capturing something
quite remarkable.
I can tell by the faraway eyes,
she longs for more. Just one look 
at the melancholy smile
and you could cry. 
Her gypsy hair is long enough,	
she’ll wrap it around your feet
if you wish.
 
Our conversation went like this:
You spoke in searing sermons,
and I closed my weary eyes. 
When I opened them, you had
vanished...leaving only a quote
for me to ponder and weep upon.
I took those words you spoke
as if the ticking of time
depended on it. You, not only as my
lover, but as my constant 
listener. 

I will talk to you, be with you,
once my tongue is unraveled 
and untangled by the mess
Time has done to me.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Dreams of Convenience

Trembling heavy eyelids
drifting down,
To the beat of an epic,
a soothing sound.
The night has demanded its stay
in ebony echoes,
casting a thunderous storm
amidst the mystery of midnight. 
This again? Yes, yes, it’s true,
the rain will drown even you.

Soft spoken statements
sit silently in my mind,
I’ve dreamt of you in your youth,
from a time long behind.
Long before we’ve met and
long before you knew life to exist.
Long before your brooding stare
turned to a hurried kiss.

My lips stood still,
they did but shiver
and against my will,
my thoughts then quivered. 

Your glance was quite brief,
it shook in shock then looked away.
That was it!
I was left, despaired, dismayed.

Another dream proceeded,
like a hallucination of shiny ice,
a beautiful allusion of a poem.
In this ethereal world,
ghosts haunt on crooked advice.
There in the midst of gloom,
a fair beautiful woman
cried crystals through the doom
of lost love and time.
I tried to console her with words,
yet my tongue fumbled
and the sound became a mere chime
of a rolling rumble.

Her eyes were blank,
she did not blink
from the sky she drank
and dissolved, I think.

Night after nebulous night,
when the consciousness is at rest
darkness prevails my sight
and challenges reality to the test.  

If I shall never see you again,
perhaps the time shall one day cease,
upon a poet’s mournful lament,
in your stare, I will release. 

I shall let it be known,
like the sway of a gypsy’s hip,
the dancer with her preciseness,
the sensual turn of her lip.
She knows she’s entrancing
as her soft body is dancing
to the men eagerly glancing
at the exotic beauty advancing...
beauty is biased.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Of Love and Muses

I could cry instead, 
though it’s much wiser
to write.
I could stare out the window
upon a polluted metropolitan 
night. 
But instead, my thoughts are of you.

A broken phantom, too shattered 
too smile, told me of her
love for you. I couldn’t fathom
what to do!

Can a mind, a man, a thought,
a poem really move
Time? Can truth beyond all
beauty be relayed in just a 
rhyme?

Love conquers the muse.
(Or is it the other way around?)
I heard your strong voice
singing in a peculiar sound. 
You could have been a 
chanting monk,
on a secluded valley far away. 
Or upon a meadow of flowers
you’d most belong.
Please, could you again sing me
another song?

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Orion & Lyra

Familiar eyes trail,
floating like lilacs into
the air.
A soft indigo mends the
moments lost with
care,
I’ve forsaken memories I’ve 
forgotten to forget.
Those ones of plucking and
picking the true
fruits of life,
in laughter we cried
sorrow for our fears,
in humor we found sadness
wrought with tears,
Together we were one.

Moments like that:
Epics, eulogies, and eternities,
(don’t ever forget you taught me
the galaxies)
They live without living,
a walking, waking death
like every star you ever pointed
your telescope to.
It’s vibrant with death!
Dying with life!
Light years away,
it’s living another day,
but we....
we turn into stars.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Paradigms of Passion

I could tell you the tale 
of the philologist who 
dreamed of his death
in rhetoric.
I could tell you that words
become symbols to
manipulate into 
poems,
but silence suits the
sentence well, right now.

Somewhere, a man takes a flight
across the country.
Nowhere specific, a woman tries
to clear her mind.
The advent of Humanity
is a mere speck 
in the world’s history.
I’ve learned to live it
wistfully,
dreamily,
wondrously.

I don’t ponder over his 
negativity,
over his brood nor his
silence.
I enjoy it,
I adore his thoughts;
the words which wrought 
my creativity. 
The artist is empty without
its counterpart,
its doppelgänger...it’s muse.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

To Blue Waves

Have I ever forgotten
the ocean in your eyes?
Blue waves,
your soft determined
touch 
has delicately,
beautifully,
turned time
into arpeggios. 
Allusive Allen, as I call him
reclusive and exclusive,
a man who speaks to
few.  A man so
true. 
The only man I know!
Anyone else is a still a boy.
Curious, yet children
nonetheless.
No, but not him. 
Age runs through his 
beard, his stern mind,
his aching back.
What is it I lack?
That can’t mend his every
sadness?  I will massage his words
and hands when they ache.
I will stand aside as the
notes bend and break. 
And when his made up 
his mind on the perfect
sound,
I’ll bring poetry and tea
and listen along to music
so profound.

Details | Penny Montalvan Poem

Symphonic Somnambulist

There’s her sweet, succulent
voice soothing your sorrows
in your ear. 
Like soliloquies, soft
sonatas surround your once
dark shadows.
What compares to the composition
of music? Of operatic opposition?
Of triads and miscommunication,
the minor scales know not what to say
when the evening slides away.
You’re asleep, though not dreaming.
I suppose you never do,
just when the sky began to turn white,
it rained again misty blue.
I’m cold,
but not for you.
I think of young Amadeus
in his prime,
he’d never guess I’d turn him
to rhyme.
We’d could create clever jokes 
together, near the volcanoes of 
Italy,
I’d be his best symphony.
Then,
I’d wake up from this dream.