Robyn Curtis

Robyn Curtis has ‘dabbled for a long time – and now finding writing poems increasingly addictive!’ Loves countryside, walking, art, photography and just having time to reflect.

Owen

This baby in my arms
is becoming as we watch;
a damp-wing fledgling.
His eyes, peaty pools
floating;
just once resting on my face.
Newly shucked from his soft shell
raw in the blue light,
 
he breathes quickly,
his bird-bone ribs pulsing hard
as though he must keep the rhythm going,
not knowing
nature does that for him
in some miraculous bellows instinct
that will last a lifetime.
 
His skin the silken lining of a chestnut husk
puckers in tiny furrows of effort;
already thinking his own thoughts,
expressed in an interior look
and a sound
like the tiniest command.
Testing, testing.
 

Robyn Curtis

Poem published in ARTEMISpoetry Issue 13, 2014

e-mail Robyn Curtis

Copyright© of all poems featured on this site remains with the poet