Photo: the Demosthenian Literary Society, the University of Georgia‘The Demosthenian Literary Society’ and Other Poetry by Alexander King Ream The Society December 29, 2018 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 5 Comments The Demosthenian Literary Society The nobler and loftier days, gone by, The auld lang syne of the decades that fly, The vast contemplation of time and of space, The fast moving spirits of truth and of grace, The panes in the windows were wavy and old, But mainly, back then, we were brilliant and bold. At Indian Boundary I drove up to the lake to see A turning golden poplar tree, And bending down upon the shore, A burning one of golden more. I wondered why I’d wished to go And thought I’d blundered, rushing so— Some type of cure from all that’s stressed, As wrote John Muir, when called—out West. Note: “The mountains are calling, and I must go” – John Muir Alexander King Ream, formerly known under the penname Neal Dachstadter, is a poet living in Tennessee. His work has been printed in Decanto Poetry Magazine (UK), Western Viewpoints and Poetic Images: the Great American West (Woodinville, Washington), Society of Classical Poets Journal 2015 (Mt Hope, New York), Rocky Point Times (Puerto Peñasco, Mexico) and The Lyric (Jericho, Vermont). A member of the Demosthenian Literary Society at the University of Georgia, he deployed to Hawija, then wrote on Lookout Mountain, continuing with Delta Kappa Epsilon International. Berkeley, Ann Arbor, and Athens encouraged him as a writer. In 2015 he wrote in Arizona at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument five miles north of Mexico. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 5 Responses Joseph Tessitore December 29, 2018 These are yet another excercise in how to end a poem. Well done! Reply James A. Tweedie December 29, 2018 I can’t say that I ever thought of myself as being “brilliant.” Brash, perhaps. I appreciate Mr. Ream’s honesty in placing his own flirtation with brilliance in the past tense. As for things being “nobler and loftier” in the days of yore, it is clear in the second poem that Mr. Ream is still able to experience such things in the present . . . at least in nature. Our mutual lack of brilliance perhaps explains both the existence of the phrase “a burning one of golden more” and my inability to make sense of it. Reply Joseph Tessitore December 29, 2018 I love “our mutual lack of brilliance” – count me in! Reply David Paul Behrens December 29, 2018 Mr. Tweedie: I think you are probably more brilliant than most of us. Sometimes people make up nonsense in order to create a rhyme. Reply Alexander Ream January 11, 2019 I’ve been remiss – thank you…several of you…very…much – the things you say always have weight and are never ignored. Demosthenian Literary Society at UGA – I don’t have the words to tell you how much it meant to be a part of it. Another aspect of my life which was “not popular,” and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.