I have killed and, looking into his because I was given eyes, an order I pulled the trigger He didnt

have a gun, The holes effect or sword, bow, or started immediately. dagger. down to his knees Though the report he sank. will say The wind itself that he did. called out why

Zachary Dremann Poetry Portfolio

I saw him raise his And so I watched hands. a man draw his last There was fear breaths. deep in his eyes, but He was my personal he faced me like a TV, man. a movie played just for me. And like a man he The camera focusing died. on his accursed The order came in, eyes.

-Zachary Dremann

Poem about Poetry

Poetry is not the news it is more than just conveying information But that does not mean that instead it should be Obfuscated hard to understand. What is yours is yours alone But you give it to the world, what is the point if it is unintelligible? Your message is not a code to crack not a hide and seek Why then do you hide your message? Is it not for all to hear? A poem is a memory, an experience, a feeling So tell me your story without the distractions Throw away all the rabble and literary attractions Dont hide what youre saying with a wall of refractions Poetry is made to evoke reactions

Poetry

Found Poem
The Valley is young The mountains loomed in the moonlight They catch what moisture reaches them Erosion Mudflows The valley wants to be a lake But the heat Two hundred degrees The earth is baked

death Valley

Title of Original Source: Death Valley: Where rocks go wandering Author or original sorce: Tim Cahill, National Geographic November 2007

Communtiy Poem
Seeing a man hit the floor Seeing a fist flying Seeing the anger in faces Hearing the cheering Hearing the chanting Hearing sound turn to a roar Smelling the nauseating sweat Smelling the choking smell of a cigarette Smelling a hot dog, soon to be sold Tasting the coke, now watered down Tasting the smooth cold ketchup on hot fries Tasting the soft bread on a burger Touching the cold glass of soda, with condensation like dew Touching the greasy, nasty table Touching the flimsy plastic chair, in which to sit down

Fighting baCkwards

soCial issues Poem

A shot fired A plane crashed A nation now together, United in one cause. A cry rings out: We will fight A young boy A trumpet sounding A triumphant marching drum Drives him across the ocean. With a smile on his face, He fires his first gun. A grenade explodes A friend lies dead A boy cries, For he knows death. And no longer does he yearn to kill This is not his battle. A mourning mother A strong-eyed father A casket lies open Inside, a once innocent boy, Now a murderer For his nation.

war

ode
Curved yet angular Brilliant shining metal A soft sheen of glass Inside: colored, globular liquid Globes of light Floating upward gracefully Every bubble a glowing orb of happiness The colors are a beautiful sunset Awe inspiring tension to watch Cold and smooth when off But burning hot when on Pure beauty in a glass jar Turbulent yet serine.

an ode to laVa lamPs

oPPortunity Poem
He was hardly top of his class His grades werent great Perhaps mediocre at best He was busy at school In plenty of clubs, sure But leader of none He had friends, yes Friends galore Some close, many distant On paper, there wasnt much That would set him apart Except that he aced every test A master at all he touched He absorbed information Like a sponge in water The kids all knew who to ask If they didnt understand It was he who taught The back of the class Not that it got him far The biggest candle in the world Leads no one If its just too much trouble To light it

toP oF his Class