Ghosts and Landmines


I tiptoed on cobbled streets
Afraid that I may set off landmines
Where your memories hide
For I fear the explosion of nostalgia
Right before my eyes
So I treaded the long roads
With a watchful heart
Praying that I won’t get to see
Ghosts of the past

In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s photo challenge #126 and The Daily Post prompt: Ghost.

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Hushed Love


I used to think love stories come with a soundtrack
A melody in-sync with the whistling winds
The rolling waves or the pattering raindrops
But there was no love like ours
The moon never hummed a tune as we danced
Nor the fire made a crackling sound
Instead, we shared silent exchange of hellos
Our hearts thumped like a drum that only we could hear
And the sound of the breaths we traded
As our eyes held on that tiny wisp of time
Is enough for me to believe
That some love songs are hushed.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: Favim

In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: The Sound of Love

Tending the bar for Poet’s Pub today is Walt Wojtanik with his undying Whispers of Love. The challenge is to explore the sound of love. What is the timber of a kiss? What is the sound of an embrace? What cacophony resides in a broken heart? What does that voice inside your head say when you fall in love? What rumble fills your stomach when you fall out of love? 😉

Head over here to join the fun:


Madame Tesdale’s Teahouse


A huge crowd gathered across the strange-looking building in 12th street. It’s only six o’clock in the morning yet the street was already swarming with people. He could hear consecutive gasps, curses and laughter as he towered behind the onlookers and eavesdroppers.

“Who would do such thing to Madame Tesdale’s teahouse?”

“Genius—whoever those people are!”

“Did she ran out of tea and decided to sell booze instead?”

“Hello Kitty goes Funky Munky, huh?”

“FUNKY MUNKY, that’s a helluva name. Isn’t that supposed to be Funky Monkey?”

Still smiling from ear to ear, his eyes caught a glimpse of the teahouse owner. There goes poor Madame Tesdale who looked like she just raided her daughter’s closet with her pink dress, platform heels, plastic bangles and banana clips. The look on her face as she saw the once cutesy teahouse turned into a funky-looking bar was priceless. She then collapsed.

Unable to contain his amusement, he let out a laugh.

“Hey… You’re the new guy, right?” a neighbor asked. “Is that paint on your face?”

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by TJ Paris. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt.

Enjoy more stories here:

Wishful Thinking


In the infinitesimal glow of her eyes
she waited—
uncomplaining and hopeful
that one day someone would look behind
her smile,
see the beauty in imperfection
in a jar of scars and wounds
that even when she’s unraveling
one would still choose to

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source:

In response to dVerse’s Quadrille – 14: Jar

Tending the bar today is Bjorn with his poems, Why Leave the TV On? and Pickled Summer. The challenge is to write a poem in exactly 44 words (excluding title) where at least one of the words has to be “jar”.

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Inside this body is a storm
a heavy downpour of doubt
strong gusts of fear
and my rage
is a lightning proclaimed
by a silent scream—

News reports a sunny weather
But beneath this skin is a bedlam.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Photography by Anna O.

In response to dVerse’s Open Link Night and The Daily Post prompt: Surface

Tending the bar for Poets Pub today is Gayle with her piece, Linger. A lovely poem teeming with hope (in contrast to mine), I should say. Please do check it and be inspired.🙂

Head over here to join the fun:


Reckless Prey


Reckless Prey
A Goethe Stanza

You are but a felon with might

Whirling castles; spinning web of lies
Waiting for a victim, ensnaring to plight

Leaving broken hearts and foolish cries


And I am but a reckless prey

Lost and barren and severed wings
Trapped in a mesh, unable to flee

Caught by a spider best at pulling strings

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source:

In response to Poets United Midweek Motif: Predator and Prey

Joining the fun for the first time. YAY! Look forward to reading everyone’s take. :)


One Day


“You’re doing great, Manny.” Rod stepped into the boardwalk, his boots thumping against the wood. “A bright future lies ahead.”

It’s been three months since Manny became the Department of Agriculture secretary yet it seemed like he spent a lifetime dealing with the country’s rice self-sufficiency issue. “You think so, Mr. President?” he asked, running a hand along the rail, smiling at the infinite horizon of rice fields and blue skies.

“You’re staring at the answer, kid.”

“It’s just that I have this dream… that one day, no child will be seen stealing or scavenging for food.”

“Don’t we all?”

Word Count: 100

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt this week is a courtesy of Adam Ickes. Thank you!

I have never been fascinated by a politician before but I found our new DA secretary, Manny Piñol, a breath of fresh air. I appreciate that more than anything else, he is an agriculturist. His hands have touched the soils. I do hope that he never strays from his mission to towards food sufficiency and poverty alleviation in the country. 🙂

Enjoy more stories here:

Soccer Ball


Soccer Ball

From the corner of his eyes, Liam saw that Andrew was wide open so he scuffled and kicked the ball aiming at his direction. The ball cut through the players but flew straight into Mr. Gardiner’s window and the next thing they heard was a loud, smashing sound.

“Liam, dude, you’re dead!” Dennis came rushing to the house and the rest followed.

“Go on, Liam. Talk to Mr. Gardiner.” Andrew whispered.

Liam, sweating and face flushed, stared at the shattered glass in disbelief. He went inside the house with a heart beating like a drum. His mom would kill him later but would be much willing to pay for the damage. What worried him was talking to the grumpy, old man. Mr. Gardiner never liked kids— or people in general.

A few moments later, Mr. Gardiner appeared from the broken window and threw the ball. Out of fear, Dennis kicked the ball towards Andrew who was suddenly on his feet. The ball, they realized, was not a soccer ball after all. It was Liam’s head.

Word Count: 175

Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yinglan. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt.

Enjoy more stories here:

The Sky is Blue, Always Is


I read hundreds were dead today. Another airstrike was launched; another bomb exploded. Another life on death row; another AIDS victim. Tears were shed as blood smeared the earth yet the sky is blue. Even with the hovering depression, frustration and obliteration, it remains blue. No matter how many times it witnessed death and conflict, heard cries of anguish and utter distress, the horizon is a never-ending blue. It never faded into gray. Why is that? I looked at the cerulean sky and found the glorious sun smiling at me. The sun shined brightly as if saying that all these were just passing clouds—they come and they go. On most days clouds peppered the sky, on some days they filled it. But it never lasted, none of the clouds did. And in the curtain call, as the day faded into night, I succumbed to gloom. I looked up, anticipating the darkness that mirrored this world, only to find a star speckled night sky. The moon winked and said, “Have a little faith, child.”

Weary— my eyes closed
I woke up to a blue sky
Smiling, faith revived

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Breathing in Blue

Tending the bar for Poet’s Pub today is De who’s back fresh from Lake Tahoe. Check out her gorgeous piece, A thousand shards of cobalt glass.😉

P.S. I guess I’m on a haibun rampage this week for dVerse. Will try to flex  my fingers for some lines and rhymes next time.😉

Head over here to join the fun:




There you go again, waiting at the very same corner on 6th street. On most days I ignore you— at least that’s what I barely manage to do. You see, it is hard to ignore someone you’ve so desperately wanted to be a part of your life but it is harder to put up a poker face and tell the world that you are fine. There are days when I pass that corner on 6th street and I feel the urge to punch you in the face. BUT I CAN’T. How can you smack someone who isn’t even there? How can you jab a blow on just a mere memory. Call me hopeless but your memories keep on haunting me.

Wind blows from the east
Eyes shut, I heartily plead—
Take these mem’ries, please.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: Favim

In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: A Little Romance

Tending the bar today is Toni with her piece, One on One. The challenge is to think and pull out your best romantic (or funniest or saddest) haibun ever in one or two tight paragraphs with a true classic haiku at the end – nature based with a cutting or pivot in the second line. The count will be 5-7-5 but some do write short-long-short.

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