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ALBERT B. CASUGA, a Philippine-born writer, lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he continues to write poetry, fiction, and criticism after his retirement from teaching and serving as an elected member of his region's school board. He was nominated to the Mississauga Arts Council Literary Awards in 2007. A graduate of the Royal and Pontifical University of St. Thomas (now University of Santo Tomas, Manila. Literature and English, magna cum laude), he taught English and Literature (Criticism, Theory, and Creative Writing) at the Philippines' De La Salle University and San Beda College. He has authored books of poetry, short stories, literary theory and criticism. He has won awards for his works in Canada, the U.S.A., and the Philippines. His latest work, A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems was published February 2009 by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. His fiction and poetry were published by online literary journals Asia Writes and Coastal Poems recently. He was a Fellow at the 1972 Silliman University Writers Workshop, Philippines. As a journalist, he worked with the United Press International and wrote an art column for the defunct Philippines Herald.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

THE BROOM (A Poem Triggered by a Ligne Donne [Given Line] ): A Series


Something about a broom in a closet’s nook
tells all there is to know about cleansing:
cobwebs, mud, guck, refuse gathered
in crannies where we did not expect
to find them, tripping saints and sinners
into a kind of meaning where there is none.

Dirt gathers, envelopes us into cocoons
of guilt and loneliness, and we spend
our lives dusting it off houses better left
without porches, until we begin to accept
how each anguished or angry swipe
simply means a shedding of straw
with every futile pass.

On some porch covered by snowdrift,
we will always find a broom shorn
of its straw, its handle wrapped
in dingy rags, leaning against a post
like a toothless scarecrow. Looking scared.

Mississauga, Ontario 2-3-11

The Given Line triggering the poem (ligne donne)

A thin snowdrift has taken refuge on the porch, covering all but the outermost foot. My old broom sheds pieces of straw with every pass.---Dave Bonta, Morning Porch, 2-3-11 (

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