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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.

Friday, May 10, 2013


I walk alone in its corridors,
like I am one of the planks,
clean, clear, but cold floors
stretched endlessly, blanks,
empty but will always be full
of the sounds of loneliness:
spoons and forks fall, their
clangour strangely cutting
through the night when
the dinner table is cleared
quietly away, the children
could not make it. Eating

leftovers just isn't the same
anymore, the leche flan still
golden, caramel and cream
browned on the edges will
harden overnight in a freezer
dear to them as “old geezer.”

Morning tea on a bare porch
is absently left to cool off
in a squat cup left untouched
on a receiving table now left
trembling from traffic fare
on the rousing old highway.

Maybe they will call today,
maybe they will still see me
after turkey day. Christmas!
O, will they be here at last?
The cup tinkles, I look away,
a twig has fallen into my cold tea.

---Albert B. Casuga
Poems on Loss Series: Separations, deaths, loss of precious allegiances, defeats---they excite deeply-rooted emotions that stimulate the creative process---let's define them in poetic contexts and hope to find what riveting realities abide in them. Why do they linger? What for? I vaguely recall the Bard's line: "when in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state...". Let's go into these.

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