.

.

Hope

What task be done, you thought was not?
What asked and sought, forgot, was wrought?
What strain was set against a blow?
As gain unfettered, bettered, lo,

The frost was last before the sun;
What once was lost recast as won.

.

.

The Moment

“And I knew just as surely, and just as clearly, that life is not a work of art, and that the moment could not last.” -Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It

The moment that could never last,
It fomented, to sever fast,
Crafted thus, as ever hast
Been. Dormant though; it did not die,
Somnolent, sweeping, low to fly,

And as a dream that touches morn,
Again to gleam, and much reborn.

.

.

 

All the People

Where do all the people go?
Here and there, they ebb and flow,
What do all the people say?
As they hurry on their way,

What do all the people think?
As they eat and as they drink,
Likely much the same as me;
Striking such resemblance be.

Photo by Clayton Samuel Trette

 

 

.

.

Alec Ream is a writer living in Virginia. His poetic work and creative fiction have been widely published. A member of the Demosthenian Literary Society at UGA, he wrote on Lookout Mountain, and continued to write, lecture and work for Delta Kappa Epsilon HQ. He was first published reading to the pledge class of Michigan DKE, in Ann Arbor in 2008. Recently, his poem Green Fire was read at the Washington Literary Society & Debating Union at UVA.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.

 

***Read Our Comments Policy Here***

 

7 Responses

  1. Dona Fox

    I enjoyed these poems so much I couldn’t stop reading them. Thank you.

    Reply
    • Neal

      Thanks much, Christine – difficult not to be so with images such as these.

      Reply
  3. Neal

    the first memory of good form I recall was the quick sound of the heel of my mother’s shoe clicking on the wood floor…”We’re going to the Cotillion.” I was 4 and didn’t know what a cotillion even was, or that waiters also wore tuxedos, like my father.

    I was “impressed,” meaning that I was imprinted (italics) with an outline of good form.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.