Howling at the Moon — Poetry by Robert S. King


Neither as full nor as bright as the moon,
like a dark cloud I shield my eyes
from its face of scars.
I glow but fear the spotlight whose
x-ray beams expose me as hollow.
I flee inside to bask in light I’ve paid for
that paints my walls too thick for the howls
of young wolves and leaders of the packs,
too thick for ghosts or gods to pass through.
In the uncaged world outside,
the monk’s head with pockmarked face
ancient beyond numbers floats by
and charms the beasts. I deny the muse,
say the moon ages like the sour cheese
I’m meant to be, though shy truth confides
that I’d love to hang out that high,
answer the prayers below,
and shine as brightly above.

©Robert S. King

Robert S. King, a native Georgian, now lives in Lexington, Kentucky, where he edits the literary journal Kentucky Review. His poems have appeared in hundreds of magazines, including California Quarterly, Chariton Review, Hollins Critic, Kenyon Review, Main Street Rag, Midwest Quarterly, Southern Poetry Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review. He has published eight collections of poetry, most recently Diary of the Last Person on Earth (Sybaritic Press, 2014) and Developing a Photograph of God (Glass Lyre Press, 2014). Robert’s work has been nominated several times for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of Net award.


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