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Papo- Poet of Ksanakai
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Poetry of KsanaKai Poem Collection 
“King Of Love”
These days the hierarchy,
has become vastly corrupted
as the royal colors of the soul
have become a fabricated production
there’s many you see who think they can be king
a crown obtained by illusions and facades
Radiant blooms now overtaken by weeds
Discernment, is no longer taught
Time for nobility and honesty to be redeemed
My royal Court invaded by pretenders echoing fault
“He lashed out at her, and we all heard the obscenities”
“He’s acting like an entitled brat, don’t follow his lead.”
If only kings weren’t human, but were bred by the gods, and the seas.
Conceived by the winds, loving the leaves
Caressing the trees in which they gleam
I’m not born of some special breeze
Breath of the gods didn’t give me life
Born but of eternity, and serenity
Of salvation, and strife
Of limits, and missions
Rebellion, and Light
Born of mistakes, and tears
Just like everyone one of you dear
Losing this crown I don’t fear
It’s never was the goal
King of Planting seeds
Of belief and peace
When fear and hate run amok
I don’t want to fight for a crown
Or for triumph
I want to give my hand,
When the waves are crashing
Just know we all are human
All I ask for is some compassion
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Enjoyed this. I’m assuming the king these posers are trying step into the shoes 👞 of none other than Jesus Christ, if not, I would suggest that or allude to it in some way. You go on a wonderful poet’s roll here in some spots, for example, “If only kings weren’t human, but were bred by the gods, and the seas. Conceived by the winds, loving the leaves
Caressing the trees in which they gleam,” I’m just enjoying the word flow.
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skin sketches
by S.A. Szoke
i.
dry, wrinkled
finger pads worn down
frontal aspects often joined in prayer
sunken knuckles over deteriorated bone
connect the stars on the back of her hands:
grandma
ii.
pale, nascent epidermis
fingers flaring frequently
squeezing tight even more so
often inserted orally, suctioned:
newborn
iii.
melanin releases easily
labeled ‘yellow’, actually tan/olive
smooth, homogenous appearance
birthed in the People’s Republic of China
deeply indented scalp and skull, maternal abuse:
friend
iv.
nails abraded to their beds
only partial prints remain on fingertips
paint, chemical, garden residues
myriad tiny cuts, abrasions, blisters
artist, gardener, home repair commando:
myself
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Gypsy Of The Wild Wind
by: John Gilman
tonight, a ghostly wind howls
through this chilly moonlight
as shadowy trees slow dance
while the past slips into sight
you blew in on a winter’s day
dark cyclone bringing change
singing me sweet gypsy tunes
words I would not rearrange
silhouettes in a cabin window
sharing this blazing fireplace
your frosty breezes dying out
warmed by love’s sweet grace
but,
with a
lobo wolf’s urge to roam
you couldn’t stay here for long
on nights like this I remember
how I lost you to the
wild wind’s
song
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