They Called Her May @martinjameskelly

Uploaded May 2026 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago

They called her May
No one knew why for sure
Maybe because she said the word so often
It began to sound like her

She often spoke of the month of May
And how it didn’t last that long
Said she’d hold it in her arms
Then she’d find that it was gone

May I sit here
May I stay
You may remain
Or drift away

You’d ask her things, she’d take her time
And never quite be clear
Just leave a “maybe” in the air
And let it linger there

If you asked her for her name
She’d smile and turn away
Say “it doesn’t matter much”
Or “it might be May”

May I know you
May I try
You may sit beside me
Or pass me by

They called her May
We let it be
Like something almost certain
That wasn’t meant to be

I like the Bassoon Over Every Other Instrument

Christmas Dinner by Vance Gilbert (Cover Version)

The Song is the Thing by Phil Hogg (Cover Version)

$Songwriting Songwriting class begins the same An envelope with my name A check I slide across the desk Beside a song I’ve second-guessed We read the lines out loud and slow She asks me what I meant to show We sit with words that don’t feel right And try to turn them toward the light Sometimes I wonder as we start If something shifts inside the art If it begins with a transaction Does it lose a little fraction Of the quiet, sacred spark That first flickered in the dark? Can my song still be meaningful If it’s part of something paid for? Or is it simply what we do To help a fragile thing come through? They say a song should stand alone That truth is best when grown at home But singers train and runners fall And no one learns without a call Even healers seek a guide When doubt is heavy at their side So why should music be the one That must be born from only one? Still it lingers in my chest That small uneasiness at rest If it begins with a transaction Does it dull the first reaction? Or is payment just a frame For tending carefully a flame? Is the spark diminished there Or simply handled with more care? Maybe money isn’t sin Just the door we’re entering Some say the truest songs are free Wolves howling endlessly Or orcas calling through the sea Wind chimes stirred by mystery But wolves don’t wonder if they’re heard And whales don’t weigh a single word They sing because they have to sing Not asking what the cost might bring If it begins with a transaction Maybe that’s just human action We trade our hours, trade our skill To help each other climb a hill Maybe art is still as true When someone walks the path with you And maybe grace is not undone By how the work is finally done So I slide the envelope once more Pull out my rough draft as before And somewhere in the give and take A better song begins to wake$