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Who Bled

When all is said and life be trod,
One takeaway the Son of God
Made clear, when rising from the dead?
The winner here’s the Guy who bled.

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Alec Ream is a writer living in the Northern Neck of Virginia. His work has been printed in Decanto Poetry Magazine (West Sussex, UK) 2013-14, Western Viewpoints 2014 (Woodinville, Washington) and Poetic Images: the Great American West 2015 (Woodinville, Washington), The Society of Classical Poets Annual Journals 2015-19 (Mt Hope, New York), The Rocky Point Times 2016 (Puerto Peñasco, Mexico) and in several issues of The Lyric (Jericho, Vermont) 2015-18.  Currently, his work has gone to print in the Autumn Journal of The Writers Guild of Virginia, and his novel Canterbury 2020 is available locally in the Northern Neck of Virginia.  A member of the Demosthenian Literary Society at the University of Georgia, he deployed to Hawija, then wrote on Lookout Mountain, continuing to write, lecture and work for Delta Kappa Epsilon International. He prefers to note that he was first published reading to the pledge class of Michigan DKE, in Ann Arbor.  Most recently, his poem Green Fire was read at the Washington Literary Society and Debating Union at the University of Virginia.


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5 Responses

    • Alec Ream

      Thanks Rector. Really appreciate it. Jesus Christ has taken up for me, many times, that I had to return the favor. MMA Michigan Deke, now an MD, portrays the Son of God. People think Jesus can’t fight hard, then win. Nicea said Fully Man, Fully God. Last time I checked, He can fight hard and then win.

      Reply
  1. C.B. Anderson

    Though the comparison to the Crucifixion might be inapt, the irony is telling and spot on. As they say: It isn’t the size of the man in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the man. The last is what’s called a chiasmus.

    Reply
    • Alec Ream

      Thanks PBS Victory Gardener. My father and his family had Victory Chickens. Victory gets a bad rap sometimes. Like it’s axiomatic braggadocio. A Cajun minister once struck my church as robust; well, that helped make me the man I am, by God’s Grace. The Berkeley Deke who told me to be a writer stood up during my talk and made that touchdown fist when I told the frat that every fellow has some kind of agency to wage.

      I had no idea that I was supposed to be a writer. I had never listened to anyone before him with regard to my own agency. But he had the best looking girlfriend in the entire chapter, and they lived in the former mayor’s home, and then the champagne fountain, and the shrimp fondue, open bar, jazz trio – but you get it.

      I will take those memories up to heaven, and they will be Respectfully Submitted for discussion. Echelons greater than at the Demosthenian Literary Society.

      Reply
      • C.B Anderson

        I appreciated your reply, Alec. Once, a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I was present at an intramural basketball game at Wesleyan University between Deke and a bunch of my hippy friends. Looking at the Deke sideline, I asked the nominal coach of the longhairs who was in charge on the other sideline. He said to me, “All Dekes are in charge.”

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