Praise the Lord: A Haibun
This is my morning ritual, taught to me by the elders—women I met on holy ground. Turning to the east, I place a poem on my tongue, as though it were a communion wafer. Like the wafer melting in a faithful person’s mouth, I know the poem on my tongue will die if I do not sing it aloud, whether anybody hears it or not. So I sing: “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Five times I sing the ancient words. And after the fifth time I laugh, for things all round me have joined the song: chickadees and caterpillars; butterflies and blacksnakes; mosquitos, mergansers, and marigolds. Everything with breath is praising the Lord. And the song is glorious.
the old stone Buddha’s broad lap
now holds an ocean.
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Posted on May 31, 2020, in 5-7-5, haibun, haiku, Poets & Storytellers United, The Whirligig and tagged body, die, elders, gift, ground, laugh, met, poem, ritual, taught, tongue, turning. Bookmark the permalink. 19 Comments.