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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">The Poet</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">Pencils scrape and carve<br>to create art.<br>Pens leave lifelines as they bleed.<br>Keys work to obscure light and play tricks of illusion, <br>shape the mood and lay before you a representation<br>in the shadow of another's imagination.<br>Thoughts are projected onto a paper canvass<br>or a screen<br>or mirror<br>hoping others will recognise and reflect<br>like the tattoo that is watched as it blurs and fades over time. <br>Presenting an image of one's former self<br>within, its identity and aspirations.<br> <br>Open to criticism, we display vivid colours and opinions, insights and observations. <br>Words scream and letters whisper.<br>The discourse is played out in both secret and public, though few would read,<br>listen or care to understand. <br>Voices speak in the background to form and shape subliminal messages<br>using a language that circulates and resonates while increasing in volume <br>until it can no longer be ignored or contained.<br> <br>Read me<br>hear me<br>see me.<br>All is a door that is open.<br>Oh pens,<br>pens will beckon<br>you in. </pre>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">The Reign</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">A coat was laid upon the shoulders<br>potential threats firmly at bay<br>arms that held the precious mould are<br>protecting those who chose to pray<br> <br>a bridge to cross a sea of secrets<br>as towers leaned towards their fate<br>cross the heart and aim to keep it<br>and swallow what will fill the space <br> <br>a canopy arched over wisdom<br>confidence came in its wake<br>another bound to seek a kingdom <br>let tragedy come and dictate<br> <br>supported by the staunch and loyal<br>rallied a champion whose colours bled<br>a sacrifice made for the soil<br>the consequence cost him his head</pre>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Janice</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">Her arms don't work as well as yours<br>though their movement works just fine<br>her legs are still and stationary<br>one too many bridges climbed<br> <br>her mood spurred with frustration<br>and what she cannot say<br>designs above her station<br>with words she cannot play<br> <br>held in her capabilities <br>no conversional hold<br>despite her disabilities <br>at just twenty years old<br> <br>her eyes will dart and light the room<br>her smile is warm and true<br>a lack of understanding here<br>processing dared presume<br> <br>reliant on your charity <br>to quantify her life<br>a mother she may never be<br>she still deserves her rights<br> <br>though at times she's motionless<br>her presence deeply felt<br>pushing upon a point to prove<br>on to her mental health.</pre>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Growing Pains</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">Wrapped up with stolen secrets<br>infused last summer's wine<br>the wound back clock<br>that ran a mock<br>when we still had more than time<br> <br>Everything was warm and golden<br>at least to the naked eye<br>now the limelight fails to beckon<br>looking back<br>on long goodbyes<br> <br>The hues we knew indifferent<br>that strike had struck a chord<br>when pens drew insufficient<br>then the ink's<br>its own reward<br> <br>A sword smith's sharp intention<br>to scratch and slice the page<br>with twisted caps<br>like old road maps<br>that grow on us with age<br> <br>Fashion lost to functionality<br>to practice and master fate<br>head nods become formality<br>and patience<br>worth its weight<br> <br>Twilight heralds the autumn<br>the process of the wheel<br>copious amounts<br>with meagre doubts<br>deepened on how we feel<br> <br>The age old question motioned<br>though shunned and hid from sight<br>replies to fit emotions<br>open up<br>the last<br>good night. </pre>



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<p class="has-text-align-right has-background" style="background-color:#f1f1f8">Ant Mac has been an author and poet for over thirty years. He writes for both adults and children. He recently published his first collection of poetry titled, <em>When Nature Calls: Sea, Air and Land</em>. He has also been published in several poetry magazines and anthologies, including <em>The Coffee People, The Pavement magazine, Eclipse Lit </em>and<em> Open Door</em>. As an author, he has written two books for children: The Tale of <em>Little Beak</em> and <em>Toby and Ben.</em></p>
 
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‘THE POET ‘ / ‘THE REIGN ‘ / ‘GROWING PAINS ‘ / ‘JANICE’ | four poems by Ant Mac
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