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.

Friday, July 18, 2014


Amir Schiby added a new photo.
(For the Palestine Boys Slain on the Beach in Gaza)

They were running through tar-black sand, racing...

for the ball before the waves could pick it up: Aiee
then a billowing red cloud burned my serpent
kite, its long tail falling by the river bank. Aiee!

What wild wind would wander this way? Why?
It was like a huge face. A very angry face? Why?
Its scowl and its roaring laughter made them all
scamper, hide under overturned fishing boats. Aiee

It kept on hitting us, the rain of broken pebbles,
and then there was this big blue bird cackling. Aiee
its quivering beak raised to the darkened sky,
sounding like Grandmother yelling: Go home, boys!

We would pipe down and hear her stoutly protest:
Quiet, quiet! Your grandfather must sleep. Aiee

Would I get my kite back again? I am afraid,
Grandfather, but I want to go back to that dream,
rebuild my broken kite, bathe in that river,
look for the blue bird that scolded the sky. Aiee

I want to play ball with the lads on the beach.
They have not come out of the bunker boats, have they?
There’s just splayed legs and split oars and blood flowing
Out of their covers, severed hands, cut off feet, Aiee

July 18, 2014


No comments: