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.
This baby in my arms
is becoming as we watch;
a damp-wing fledgling.
His eyes, peaty pools
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,
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.
Poem published in ARTEMISpoetry Issue 13, 2014
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