Saturday, December 25, 2010

Could Have Been

Image by vladeb

He saw her pass by.

A beautiful glow was on her face.

He smiled his sad smile,

as he remembered her sweet embrace.

Could have been his,

her smile, her kiss.

Yet, a mere memory.

He saw her meet her lover.

Fear had been his sin.

Back then, he could offer her nothing.

Her love, he won’t keep.

Alas, he went on and let her weep.

Could have been his,

her love, her face.

If she had kept his heart?

Forever he will wonder.

(c) Phoenix Montoya @ November 29, 2010

More sad poems by this author:

Is It Love?

Ice Queen

Broken Spirit No More

Tell Him

Sonnet 070

It isn’t easy to smile when you’re sad,

or be merry when your heart is breaking.

It is very hard to stand on your ground,

when everything you see is collapsing.

How can you ever find light for guidance,

or have faith in such sorrowful darkness?

No hope remains, an act of cowardice-

of trust upon His majesty’s kindness.

It’s never easy to see someone sob,

or hear somebody fall from misery.

Hence, we find courage for the sake of love.

We rise again to kiss darling’s cry.

Indeed, a hardship to carry the world.

But in love’s name, nothing is such a load.

(c) Phoenix Montoya @ November 29, 2010

More related love poems by this author:


Coming Home

No Worries

Beautiful Girl


Saturday, November 13, 2010

My Logan

It was love at first sight.

The way you look at me.

How my heart skipped a beat,

with your smokey blue eyes.

You are my sole desire.

The others- just for fun.

The way you look at me,

melts my heart with passion.

Can you be the wrong choice?

Your kind had been a threat.

But with your lovely voice?

My joy to take the bet.

Always your mistress,

my beautiful Logan.

You needed my caress,

you have my affection.

(c) Phoenix Montoya @ November 13, 2010

'A puurrfect poem :P'

Sonnet 016

An ordinary day of September,

no time for daydreams, the mind grows weary,

of learning and reading, too much to bear.

Thus lazily, hours become cheery.

I gazed upon a new discovery,

as it transforms into an interest.

Something exquisite like a strawberry,

with such delightful scent I crave to taste.

Familiar face yet a different look,

a Sherlock’s mystery to be unfold.

Splendid distractions better than a book,

and as moments slip, forever I hold.

Child in into a lady, lost in a dream,

of love’s enchantment, it’s opaline stream.

(c) Phoenix Montoya @ November 7, 2010

More love poems by this author:

Sonnet 012

Pleasant Walk

I Am Yours


I see my star,

sparkling blue beyond the velvet east.

I look at yours,

white diamond shining from the west.

Different worlds under the same sky.

Diverse tongues with the similar smile.

We are stargazers,

separated from across the seas.

I see my star,

as it slowly fades into the dark.

I look at yours,

as it disappears into the clouds.

Glorious things are meant to be lost.

Still, we search and hope for these to stay.

We are star lookers,

entranced by the beauty of the sky.

(c) Phoenix Montoya @ November 4, 2010

More life poems by this author:


Why Do People Die?

Is It Love?

Friday, November 12, 2010


Eleven years ago, he was just a small baby with a pair of eyes similar to a coma (,). He was the cutest, the most beautiful and the most charming boy I have ever seen (probably because he is my son). And all the female would want to hold and play with him.

I do not know if I should be glad but now that he is eleven, he still possess that charm. More to it, he has become wiser and knows how to use his words for his own benefit.

He calls himself locust99 and has a deep interest in becoming a game creator when he grows up.

With the story plot and characters, I know that he can do that pretty well. He is very imaginative and creative. There is one problem, though. He is still battling with his Math subject :P

Dragons, monsters and dinosaurs have always been his favourite.

My poem Dragons was inspired by my son. It is an unfinished tale actually, but a fun one. Enjoy my friends.

Coming Home

I live in a place where it rains a lot. We have frequent visits of typhoon too. But, thanks to our mountain, these visits do not last long.

I usually associate rain with sadness and trials. When I was younger, I used to think that the sky is crying when it rains because people had been bad.

I would spend the afternoon by the window just looking at it pour down and then I would end up lonely and bored.


Bored… bored… bored..

I guess the word is a common denominator between me and my siblings. While our youngest, Teobets, just groans a lot like an ogre (quite annoying too), my brother Al who is four years younger than me would ease his ‘nothing to do’ by meeting women.

As for me, shamefully and not being proud, three times I had committed suicide.

The first one was twenty years ago, during my sophomore year in high school. The second time was during college – my third year in Pharmacy. I was constantly diligent with my studies and was always stressed out. Life had been boring for me by doing the same thing over and over again. Mercifully, I was spared by some funny circumstances.

The third attempt had opened my eyes entirely. It was seven years ago, I was already married and had my two kids. I was bored again but during those times more frightened. I cannot go on anymore – too many problems and I was fed up dealing with these.

Then, I thought of my children. I realized myself being selfish…. All those years, I was just focusing on myself alone.

I started praying and asking forgiveness to God and to everyone I could think of. I had been given everything but there I was, always asking for something more.

That day I found my inspiration to live on.

I was thinking about my third and youngest child while writing my poem Coming Home. But, writing this memoir, I found out that, the poem was actually inspired by my loved ones – by my husband who usually understands and by my adorable three children who always make me happy.

Modern Amazons

My husband is a very intelligent man. When we were still in high school, he was one of the brightest students in class.

I had a terrible crush on him that I studied really hard just to level him and get him to notice me.
Unfortunately, I think I over did it in some ways...

My poem
Modern Amazons is a sort of a truce - Women are still women.

'She’s almost perfect for the modern world.

A new amazon,

independent of men.

Yet her heart, always a woman.'