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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, July 28, 2011

DREAD



Shrugging off this cool morning’s dread
is as good as some calming camomile tea:
must be some fall breeze breaking through
the corridor of elms fencing the woods in.
 

Will autumn repaint all this raw sienna
visited upon this valley by fierce sunshine?
How quickly will all this verdance go?
A tardy spring rushed a stampede of green.
 

Quite like the unbridled sprint of a boy
whistling for wind to buoy his kite beyond
the bourn, this gallop toward dreaded days
of dying and death is a grown man’s dash
 

through bivouacs of war. Nothing will last:
rainbow palettes on treetops turn grey
before the pall of winter inters carrion
of happy seasons. Or is it just crickets chirping?
 



—Albert B. Casuga
07-27-11


Prompt: Another cool morning. Autumn’s in the air, I say to myself, but it’s really just a cricket chirping in the corner of the garden.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 07-27-11

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