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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, May 7, 2015

THREE POEMS FOR MY WEE LASS, A SOUL SURFER



MY POEMS TODAY. MY WEE LASS PRETENDING TO BE A SURFER UNDERNEATH A NEWLY-SPRUNG CHERRY TREE.


THREE POEMS FOR MY WEE LASS

(For Marie Clementine)


 1. Sundance at Sauble

Do you hear that rhythmic titter
from the ebbtide, my wee lass?
Sundown waves mimic whistles,
hisses or calls of “encore”:
an unbridled adoration, if you ask,
but I might just be bantering
about old enchanted mortals
who have long asked whence,
when, how, why, or what haven,
have you come from to shower
this grace on our little lives?




 2. A Beau Geste

Dance, wee lass of all hearts.
It is still the loveliest beau geste
to this sun and sea and stars
that have claimed you their
own sweet child, their bright
pulsing star, their dancing girl,
their balm for all the ills visited
upon the Earth, O, our fiery star
on darkest eventides, wee lass,
to last us all until the sad end
of all that is beautiful and wild!




3. Surfing a Wave of Flowers

Pretend like that surfer then, lass,
roiling through the green meadow
cuddling these bloomed cherries,
blossoms of pink waves sweeping,
rushing through waves of flowers
until they pull you into an eventide
where all I could see is your face
bobbing out of the eddied water,
showering us with gentle grace.
Surf, lass, dance into my old heart.



---ALBERT B. CASUGA
May 5-6, 2015 Mississauga


 

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