Of a moon and a lost king by Sunil Sharma at Spillwords.com

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Of A Moon And A Lost King

Sunil Sharma·January 19, 2017

English Poetry

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Of a moon and a lost king

written by: Sunil Sharma

@drsunilsharma

On the rough edges
of a dark-blue sky

hangs a curved slice
of a pimply moon
one thirds hidden

the milky lips describing
an arc
in the wide heavens

and—
grinning below at the
earthlings
like the fool to a vain king

now wandering in the storm
unhinged

his thoughts rambling
like a bulky post-modern novel
there with some best sellers
in a closed room.

About
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Sunil Sharma

Sunil Sharma, a senior academic and author-critic-poet--freelance journalist, is from suburban Mumbai, India. He has published 22 books so far, some solo and some joint, on prose, poetry and criticism. He edits the the monthly bilingual journal Setu published from Pittsburgh, USA

Cindy Georgakas

Cindy Georgakas is a writer of words in poetry, prose and reflections of her heart. She was voted the Publication of the Month on Spillwords Oct. 2022. She is a co-author of #1 Amazon Bestseller, Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women, and is also a monthly contributor to MastecadoresUsa. She was born in San Francisco, California and lives nestled in the trees in a small community about 40 minutes south of San Francisco with her husband. She is a life health coach, and massage and craniosacral therapist who draws inspiration from her daily interactions with clients, friends, her 4 children and nature. Her website is Uniquely Fit. She can also be found on Instagram #ahamoments. Cindy's book Re-create & Celebrate 7 Steps To Turning Your Dreams Into Reality will be released this month.

Brain in a Jar by Anthony Doyle

Take your gloves off, let’s see who you are, he said, chin out, shoulders rolling, pecs puffing, Take ’em off. Let’s see if you can take it raw—all fuel for the fire. I always was a strutting fool. I knew it was dumb, I knew it. Walk away, the only thing you gotta hit right now is the shower. I didn’t need this. I wore belts, I held titles. I was posing in posters on dirty walls and fire-doors, I was legit. Who was he? A street scuffler, a cage fighter. I knew it, and yet I took them off, I unwrapped the straps, I bit the leather and pulled them right off. The light is autumn steel today, bolted to the ceiling. In summer it was a yellow balm, a hot wet kiss. I knew it was dumb, and she keeps whistling that same song, Nurse Mercedes, the same catchy dance tune...

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