(The Morepork)

It’s dusk, time to hunt,
I hear the racket
and there I find you perching
mobbed by blackbirds three -
loud cries of distress. You hunter
of small birds and moths

are not wanted here, 
yet it is where you belong.
And there you sit at peace,
so still, watching, waiting,
not flustered, nor distracted
by heckling birds.

In your brown speckled beauty
you look at me, as if to say,
when darkness comes 
Blackbirds fade away.
So calmly you wait
watching a moth flutter your way.

Father, I am so quickly perturbed.
Nagging noises polluting quiet places
so I can no longer hear wind rustling leaves,
ocean breakers, birds flying nor their song - 
I’m unsettled by discordant noise.
Call into being once more - 
restore quiet places.

Jesus Christ amidst life’s relentless racket
shield my sanctuary deep within.
And like this morepork 
I be at peace within a hecklers’ world.
Grant me a listening heart,
a mind that seeks the eyes of Christ,
a soul that communes with You.

Holy Spirit, teach me to listen deep within,
I follow you away from disruptive racket
and unsound quiet places 
so I hear words that flow in intimacy - 
You speak, I listen 
amidst the quiet and the din.

Now it’s dark the morepork glides
amongst kohekohe silent in flight.
Hunting, it perches on rotten tree top
in sight from my window.
There it hoots, ‘more-pork’, 
the only sound heard -
no hecklers reply.
A poem from Vocation as Resistance © Craig A. Roberts 2022. 
(paperback, ebook, audio book)

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