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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.


Unexpected rain—
the old stone Buddha’s broad lap
now holds an ocean.

 

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #268
 
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No Going Back

 

Languid autumn afternoon—
does she know a loss is coming,
a loss so devastating
that longing to die will consume her days?
After it happens,
there will be no going back.
He hinted at this, the angel,
who told her she was exceptional
among women.
If only she could see the outline
of some small joy beyond what she will suffer,
then she could bear what is to come
and more.

 

Poem © 2016 and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
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Uprooted

 photo DSC_0084201_zpsgoa8qsbv.jpg
Uprooted and castoff agave plants, Southern Arizona
 


someone’s agave
uprooted from the backyard
and tossed out to die

 
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2