Zachary Edmond Lockhart

Zachary Edmond Lockhart Poems

Zachary Edmond Lockhart Biography

What first really got me interested literature, was a high school friend. As cliche as it could have possibly been, he turned me onto Camus when we were 15. What I did understand, in the Stranger and The Fall by the French writer, I connected with, and what I didn't understand, I became curious about and hungry for more. To this day, I've amassed a growing collection of over 400 books and often think what my life would have been like had I never crossed paths with this old friend, and where I would be without the outlet of literature that has opened so many other possibilities. I suppose that question supports a method in my writing- to share the inspiration that literature has given me. In May of 2013, I published a collection of short stories and prose, The Ills of Modern Man, in Worthington, OH through a locally owned shop, Igloo Letterpress. Two months later I took the select amount of copies with me on a European adventure traveling from Berlin to Prague. Having walked the same avenues as F. Kafka, Ladislav Klima, Mozart, and many others, I was completely taken away. Since this publication, I've worked harder to hone my skill, and more so in poetry, photography, and cello. I'm currently working on a second book, comprising these three loves of mine. Herein, I will share some poems and short prose/stories I'm working on for this second book. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated and will be reciprocated as well :) ps- my instagram is @zachary_edmond, if you'd like to see some of the photography that will be included in the above mentioned book. pps- if you're looking for local, personalized, and complete control over publication, i'm considering working with another local company, Blue Notebooks Publishing, since my first experience went so well. I would love to also extend this offer to you.)

The Best Poem Of Zachary Edmond Lockhart

For Now, I Am Winter

After the last drops of rain, a silence emerges,
spreading as a crescendo of grey melancholy.

I open the window, light a cigarette,
feeling the cool night air run its fingers through my hair.

In the street below, leaves fall and scatter,
they look like people from up here.

I lift my eyes, and look at the evening stars overhead,
hanging in their silent repose.

The end of my cigarette quivers against a cool wind,
the night is extinguished-

For now, I am winter.

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