My photo
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.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

A LESSON (A Found Poem): Series


Plot a scenario where it could occur:
six inches of newly-fallen snow
is as good as a sunset on the bay.

Lie down on it, make snow angels,
steal a Facebook picture of her
stretched in mock-sultry splendour,

then tumble where she trashes
to make her angel’s wings, laugh,
let her scream her wildest trill

then plant an errant kiss. She will
push, you will pull. Do not cease
from childlike giggling. Roll over,

wrestle like the pair of squirrels
you pointed out to her under that
bare maple. If she struggles, wait.

Wait for her to lie still with her
weakened guffaw, lock her into
your arms to gather warmth.

“To keep you warm”, you protest.
She is ready, if you are.

But that was when you saw
the quondam pair of rodents
in frenzied coupling on a swinging
branch, and she let out a stifled
scream. The pair on the maple trunk
scampered, retreated to separate
limbs, paused, stared, and left
off where they were rudely
interrupted. First lesson learned.

The next lesson, therefore, should be
on separation.

Mississauga, 02-22-11

These are the images where I "found"the poem
Six inches of fresh powder. A pair of squirrels wrestle in it, then go up the big maple, couple on the trunk, and retreat to separate limbs.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 02-22-11

Photo by Dave Bonta, "Porcupine"


Hannah Stephenson said...

I love the format of this, the spaces between the sections (we have to wonder what is happening in them).


Interesting observation, Hannah. Yes,a lot is said by what is left unsaid. Same as "ideographic aspirations" in Chinese and Japanese characters, and the hokku and haiku.