STEVE ANC

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!