T he first thing I heard on the news this morning was that a school and two medical facilities, including a MSF (Doctors without Borders) Hospital, had been bombed in Maarat al-Numan in Northern Syria. The dead are being counted.
The bombs were Russian bombs, they say. Or Assad’s bombs, perhaps. From Russia. Bombs do what they will, almost as if they have a mind of their own. There is that element of chance about bombs. They are as targeted and as indiscriminate at hate.
It may now be a minority view in Canada but I am thankful that Canadian Warplanes are being called back. The price, unfortunately, is more engagement, coupled with humanitarian aid. Life! Death! They do form a tapestry, one with the other.
So I wrote a haiku for another flash site, Ronovan Writes, to acknowledge the death from the sky.
A poet’s meaningless gesture.
Later, I wrote a 99 word tale for a new flash site, The Carrot Ranch. I am channeling my inner westerner, creating a small saga of the old west 99 words at a time. For those brief few words in time, I had travelled back to a past I know little about, imaginary moments feted by my lifelong cinematic excursions.
This morning I was also pleasantly surprized to see that one of my two entries this week to another flash site, Microcosms, was selected a winner.
So my day has been a collage of small creative moments, bracketed by news of another set of bombing horrors and, somewhat later, a Donald Trump press conference.
It too inspired a haiku.
Oh, to be The Trump,
Donalding forth on the Stump,
a gaseous grump.
Trump’s trek as a candidate for the Republican Presidential nomination had been excruciatingly delightful for me. Though still early in the selection process, the outcome far from determined, the end result will be a political extravaganza of mammoth proportion. Epic!
Before it is over, I am sure I will feel the urge to compose at least one or two other Trump haiku’s.