How Much He’s Met

There is a time, when time stands still
And in that moment, we still feel
That we have lost, somehow not found
The world beyond this hallowed ground.

And when we seek to put our hands
Forth in reach for woman and man,
We do so stretch and make our might
That through the days, we feel their plight.

It seems to be, with furrowed brow,
We take their pains, on us, somehow
Not knowing that He hears their cries
And wishes us release their lives.

Across the wasteland, the Lord does seek
To fill the holes, your heart does keep.
And in the midst of life’s last breath,
You will see how much He’s met.

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Ocean Calls (poetry)

The ocean calls my name –
It shouts for my existence.
So, I appear before the water’s edge
And walk forward into it.

Likewise, the heavens declare the glory
Of the king above the earth,
And all of mankind knows
The Master rules with love.

Though kingdoms rise and fall,
Capitulation will not bring forth
A resolution of timed response
Against forces that persist and prevail.

Times will seek the heavens’ reach
And draw unto the world,
When kingdoms fall – the all-in-all –
Yet end will never come.

“Shine forth the heavens,” glory speaks,
“And give unto the end.”
We will see the endless round
And start it once again.

Time will pace itself throughout
The rounding of the sun
And all throughout heaven’s hold
Hate will be undone.

Capture not the rising light
But follow where it may
And in its brief beauty short,
“Glory on this day.”

The range of rage will rise and fall
It casts about to grab,
Yet when it finds its wanted catch
It will forever mourn.

Be still, bestow, allow the love
Speak and tell the truth.
When all is told in midday’s breath,
The world will be subdued.

Ancient words do greet us now,
And resting on their souls
Are utterances deeply drawn
From lands that’re ne’er foretold.

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Dancing Among (poetry)

Riding a wave and dancing among stars,
We glide across the celestial floor,
Making our way from center to side,
Back to front, there and across.

Our toes touch down,
Then break away,
Lifting into the sky
Scents of vanilla on paradise.

Music jumps and shines
Hour upon hour
And then slows.
Beats go down,
And bring with them a ventured look.

To the side,
Morning breaks and carries forth its light.
Day enters our minds
Awakens our senses
And leads us on to the next
Opening ridge.

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Stillness (poetry)

Stillness of the moment
Is a welcomed friend.
Lives are calm,
People at peace,
Roads not traveled,
Solitude amplified
Across time and space
To include sounds and feelings.
If you listen carefully,
You can hear the dust falling
From the mantle to the bricks below,
From a window to the floor.
The quiet is gentle on the ears,
A welcomed friend
In the midst of constant strangers.

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Today’s Perspective (poetry)

Perspective sits back
A little farther than normal, today.
Today at the table
It’s about two and a half feet away,
But it looks like it’s miles.
Actually, I know it’s only a little bit –
Instead of far –
But the whole perspective thing,
It adds flavor to the moment.

Sometimes the moment just disappears
Into the oblivion of the past,
But this moment –
It holds my attention longer and stronger,
Because it presents itself as different.

If I wanted to, I could allow it
To change into a perspective
Of Alice In Wonderland:
Shrinking tiny
Or growing giant beyond control.
But instead, I allow it to come and go,
Maintaining a fortuitous hold on its power.
It won’t run wild unless I let it,
And in this case…no, it’s not the time.

Perhaps in the future at some point
It will be to let it go full bore
And take over for a while…
To enjoy the ride it will bring.
But not yet.
Controlled perspective for now.
I know it’s there,
And I can see it across the table
Winking at me.
Yet, it keeps its distance.
We have a healthy respect for one another.
It works well this way.

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Moving Numbers (poetry)

Chased by cascading numbers
Destined to pursue the rotating prefixes
Pasted upon revolving orbs
In ecliptic planes.
To catch a falling knife
By its handle,
Not blade?
No, but to simply pick it up
Once it has stopped
And made its mark.
Those are the patterns I see,
The fixed points I sense,
And the moving lines I feel.
Patterns rise and fall
And sing a song
Through the heavens.
Even though our ears do not hear them –
Since their perception limits
Do not permit certain inaudibles
To be captured –
Though this is as much,
It does not negate the existence
Of such.
Years ago, many others were scorned
For claiming the moon ruled the waters;
Yet now, even surfers thank La Luna
For the tides.
What else will be recognized
In coming years?
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to enjoy
Watching the numbers flow.

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Aviazje, his story (poetry)

Aviazje was born
He walked and lived and died.
But while he was alive,
He felt the world around him
He saw things, yes he did
He learned things, yes he did
He smelled things, yes he did
But most importantly
And most of all
Aviazje felt things
He felt people
Their hurts
Their pains
Their joys
Their smiles
Their love of life
And hatred of others
Aviazje avoided the news
Because it pained him so
To read it
To hear it
To see it
When people died in earthquakes
He died with them
When children starved in famine
He hungered with them
When war blew body parts off of men and women
His limbs ached to the core with them
He saw the movements in the sky
Felt the sun rays coming down
And saw them enter the skin of people around him
Aviazje felt all those things
Until they broke him
So, he tried to shut out the world.
It worked for a while
Then he finally realized he needed to allow part of it in
In order to maintain a balance
Of the good and the bad
That he sensed and felt and internalized
From outside.

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Yellow Asunder (poetry)

A hint of yellow
Fills the fields
Washing all asunder

It stands to tell
The world of beauty
In voice of muted thunder.

It soothes the parchness
Of my soul
And brings a welcomed smile

Instead of walking
On and past,
I think I’ll stay a while

Softened hues
Go on forever
Casting here and there

Their beauty, although
Earthen-bound,
From soil into the air

This is why
I breathe the air
This is why I feel

To sense the glory
Of the stars
Around and in me, still.

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Writing Songs In 15

When we were little, my sister, brother, and I would challenge each other to adapt a song on the radio or make up a new one within 10-15 minutes.  The catch was you had to be able to sing it back before time was up.

“Song time! You’re IT!”  Whoever was “IT” would ask, “Okay, what do you want this one to be? Fast and happy? Or slow and sad?”  We would fire back responses at each other: “Tell a story; but you have to use names of random objects around you; also has to rhyme.”  “Ok. Challenge accepted.”

Then all of us would go back to doing what we were doing while “IT” was making up the song.  This would be done while we were hoeing the garden, milking cows, feeding calves, baling hay, or any of the other things we regularly did.

At the end of 15 minutes, somebody would yell, “Time’s up!” and “IT” would perform.  Usually though, the impromptu songwriter would be done in just a few minutes and start singing on his/her own.

The other two would listen for tune, rhythm, rhyming lines, and whether the song met all of the other requested conditions.  If it was bad, we would “boo” the singer and have them re-do it.  If it was good, we would pretend we were the audience in a giant concert hall and applaud like there was no tomorrow.

When we were in the barn milking with the radio on or at home in our room with the stereo, my brother would always say, “If you’re gonna sing along, sound like the song!”  So, if it was a new record or cassette, we would listen to the song with our eyes shut one time, the whole way through.  Then we would sing it back, sounding just like song.  After that, we were allowed to sing out loud anytime the song was on.

Part of our ability to “write” all sorts of songs was because of the old, beige radio in the barn.  It was always on to help hide the monotonous sound of the generator outside and to help kill the boredom of milking time.  Whoever was in charge of milking on any given day determined the flavor of music we listened to for the whole two hours.

If Clifford was in charge, the Country sounds of Hank, Merle, Dolly, Waylon, and Loretta filled the air.  We learned the songs and sang along (on pitch!).

If Bob was in charge, the R&B and Soul sounds of The Temptations, Gladys Knight & The Pips, Kool & The Gang, Four Tops, and Marvin Gaye filled the air.  We learned those, too, and sang along.

If Daddy was in charge of milking, the radio station altered between old-timey gospel and Prairie Home Companion (I think that’s part of where our storytelling side came from).  Again, we learned the tunes and the words, otherwise it would have been a very boring two-hour stint in the barn.

When Kelly was in charge, it was AC/DC, Def Leppard, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Foreigner, The Beatles, Boston, and Molly Hatchet full-on.  Those we knew the best because it was what we listened to the most, outside of the barn.

As we got older and our inventory of “music heard” increased, our ability to write songs improved.  We could think up lyrics on the fly, change them to rhyme, or add in a word that one of us (usually Kelly) would randomly throw out, to keep us on our toes.

While we were kids, we shared our “secret” with a few people over the years, but ironically it was met with fizzle.  We were repeatedly told there was no money in show business.  That always seemed a bit strange since we constantly heard new songs on the radio and watched movies on TV… hmmm.  So, we kept our little gift to ourselves and only wrote songs when the two or three of us were alone together at home or out working together.

However, over the years, Janet has been asked to sing a number of times at weddings, funerals, and in church services.  She’s even laid down some tracks in the studio.  I’ve quietly written 40 – 50 songs and have been looking for ways to “get them out there.”  Kelly’s ears and eyes of accuracy are still as sharp as ever.

Recently though, our secret came out. Somebody at work played an instrumental tune he recorded.  Without thinking about it, I started singing along, making up lyrics on the fly.  He stopped the track and asked, “What’s that?”  I said, “Oh, sorry. It just…sort of came out.”  He said, “No man, that was great!  Was that just a fluke, or could you do that for some other tunes, too?”  I grinned and answered, “Yeah, sure.  Let’s hear ‘em.”

So, there you have it.  If you’d like a song written for a tune you have, let us know.  My siblings and I will take our time and make it sound nice.  Or if you’d like to test us, we’ll write you one in 15 minutes.  ‘Cause we can still do that, too!

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You can email me at martyjreep (at) yahoo.com.  This article was adapted from one of my upcoming books.  For ones currently published, go to www.Amazon.com/author/reep

In the Valleys

Green are the valleys
That spread out before me
Filling my eyes with the glory
From above

They speak the truth
Of the peace and anguish
That have comingled there
Since the beginning of time

Their verdant sides
And fruitful floors
Fill my eyes
With wonder

And cause me to pause in thought
Wondering why is there such a mixture
Of the good and the bad,
And why doesn’t one just crush the other?

But they don’t.
They co-exist as if in some diabolical mixture from hell
That caresses the beautiful locks of heaven
And gives wait ’til it lays its head down for sleep.

And…the side from heaven that shows itself in the valleys
Likewise wait for hell’s caresses to end
So it can cut off the fingers
And end their meddling.

All that – I see
When I look upon the beauty
Of the valleys
Below.

All that –
Waits to be recognized in the eyes
And catapulted into the minds
Of the viewers and occupants there below.

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Excerpted from one of Reep’s upcoming books. 
For ones currently published, go to www.Amazon.com/author/reep