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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.

Sunday, October 21, 2012






Toddling among the leaves,
she lets out a shriek only
diving seagulls can make
as they taunt the raucous
fishermen to let some catch
off their bursting nets, share
the joie d’vivre only drunken
sailors home from the seas
are full of. Aieeeeeeeekkkk! 

The darkening sky lets out
a funnel of fall wind, roils
the crackling leaves raked
by these carousing innocents,
and she stumbles on a heap,
swims through the mound
of sienna and fallen foliage,
but her laughter makes him
tremble now, her pensive

Mon dieu, let her laugh, let
the pall of transience pass,
that she may be defiant
with full laughter. Forever.




I’m moved to get down on my knees./ I’m not even sure what is there.---Luisa Igloria, “Rezar”, Via Negativa,

Dark days will always be with us,
but they, too, will pass, like wind
blowing through gloomy rooms: 

look at her fleetingly smile at you
when you hold her to your chest,
the dove-like cooing telling you  

how warm it is to curl into arms
that will always be there to hold
and enfold however cruel days  

become, however bereft of grace
struggling to live becomes. Look
at her gaze at you long enough  

to manage another smile before
she looks away and closes her eyes
to sleep feeling you will be there  

when she opens them again still
singing her a lullaby, her smile
never once leaving her tender face.  

It is when you are moved to get
down on your knees and pray
that, if this were your final day, 

you would still have her cuddled
in your arms smiling at what you
have begun to doubt is still there  

holding us all in his steady palms.


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