Author Feature - January 2021
Steve Anc is a poet, author, scriptwriter, and imagery-writer from Nigeria, West Africa. He thinks in images and loves carving out the meaning from an image. Steve started poetry as a hobby, but in 2020 he became so passionate about poetry that poetry became everything to him. Steve loves metaphor and knows how to make words blend in his works. He has written hundreds of poems, but he does not claim to be a poet because poets were uniquely born. He loves words for their own sake.
Life a moving vehicle found in his book, The Filthy Hands and other Poems is his first poem, where inspiration came from his conscious study of life's journey. Though Steve had a degree in psychology, his passion for poetry started in the year 2019, and since then, he had gotten no cause to regret it.
Steve loves converting and interpreting images, and almost all his poems originated from one image or another. He is known for a slogan, “I am a lover of words!" According to Katina Woodruff Borgersen, USA, "'He lives a life of metaphor!'
Steve has published two collections of poems available on Amazon with a third to be released soon.
EVERYONE WILL GO
Proud thou not and think a dearest friend
Plot not the graph of arrogance
Nor study the atlas of dishonesty
To avoid the dance of shame
Though nature had crafted thee with crystal
Coated thy person with abilities
Caved out the uniqueness from nothingness
Please purchase a solemn heart
Grim thy time with the fairest fame
No matter what it released to thee
For thy name to be plotted out
Tire the robe of simplicity
For the gift of everyone varies
By the kiss of luck, one shines
By the thrust of fate, another struggle
No matter how thou soweth and repeat
Weigh thyself on the scale of humility
Let it be thy guide as thou navigate
Thrust not thy mates beneath the mat
Neither gives thy name to the beast of high horse
No matter how high thou aspire
Detach thy feet from haughty soil
Strife for a merciful lead
Plead for a humble end
Cause fabrics will wear out
Endless sleep is the end of all
THE FILTHY HANDS
Oh, filthy hands in a concrete body
And reprobate heart
From the celestial invisible aboard
Came the voice
Take them off
No pain can resemble the
one inflicted to the vein
It is sweet to die than to leave with y
Our fingerprints in my body
The land of my birth sibilated
Teri hatcher bled in pain
Rufus wainwright cursed your footprints
You caused my heart to bleed profusely
Inside of me, there are words to come out
Words that detailed me in sorrow and pain
Many years have gone, still bound me in despair
Terror of your shadow
Lead me to leave in a world full of dismay
Wish this memory will fade away forever
My left brain sang it as a fresh song
Hot tears vowed never to cease
Cause the nightmare lives in me
To shout out those memories is my wish
To tell you
Take off your filthy hands
A TALE TO MY FATHER
My father regretted on his deathbed.
He wished he would have waited,
He would have seen what happened;
He wished he would have seen how things turn out,
But death stared at him without blinking;
And our paths closed within a dream.
But i am glad to tell him this today:
Nothing specifically turns out!
The titting of the media didn't move a grain;
Days still walk in sequence with nights,
The sun still revolves around the equator,
Tomorrow still nuzzle as tranquility!
No change but blare of an apocalypse;
No confirmation but a cosmic cataclysm;
No government but the label of pythons
No nation but the tale of a bleeding flag;
No leadership but a generation of vipers;
No friends but a bunch of psychopaths;
No democracy but the dread of dictators
No prophecy but an agent of the conspiracy!
Nothing turns out father,
Though fashion and style change,
Vocabularies got twisted and tangled;
Humans multiply geometrically,
The root of history keep digging;
As the root of the plant keeps digging
So my origin is still rooted in you.
Nothing turns out!