“My Dead Friends” by Marie Howe

I have begun,
when I’m weary and can’t decide an answer to a bewildering question

to ask my dead friends for their opinion
and the answer is often immediate and clear.

Should I take the job? Move to the city? Should I try to conceive a child
in my middle age?

They stand in unison shaking their heads and smiling—whatever leads
to joy, they always answer,

to more life and less worry. I look into the vase where Billy’s ashes were —
it’s green in there, a green vase,

and I ask Billy if I should return the difficult phone call, and he says, yes.
Billy’s already gone through the frightening door,

whatever he says I’ll do.

I Have Begun

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is like a tree
Whose boughs are hung with fruit;
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

(Chorus)
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

(Verse 2)
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is like a tree
Whose boughs are hung with fruit;
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

(Chorus)
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

(Bridge)
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;

(Chorus)
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

(Outro)
My love is come to me.
My love is come...
And the birthday of my life.

The Birthday Of My Life

(Voice 1)
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.

(Voice 1)
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

(Chorus / Both Voices)
From morn to night, my friend.

(Voice 1)
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

(Voice 1)
May not the weary traveller knock in vain
For some one to let them in?

(Chorus / Both Voices)
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
And all may enter.

(Bridge)
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yes, beds for all who come.

(Chorus / Both Voices)
Yes, beds for all who come.
And the road winds on to the very end...
From morn to night, my friend.

A Resting Place

If you were coming in the Fall,
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time was called.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into the Golden Land.

But, now, I know not when to drop
The patience of Eternity -
It is too difficult to guess -
The time to leave my heart to rest.

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor -
Tonight - in Thee!

In The Fall

(Verse 1)
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

(Chorus)
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

(Verse 2)
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

(Chorus)
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

(Outro)
Haply may remember...
And haply may forget...
I shall not see the shadows...
I shall not feel the rain.

Haply May I

S-s-season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; uh
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, yeah
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Listen, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, shhh
   Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
   Steady thy laden head across a brook;
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
hours by hours.
hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft
      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats's poem "Ode to Autumn

S-s-season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

(Verse 1)
Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

(Chorus)
Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor -
Tonight - in Thee!

(Verse 2)
I cannot live with You -
It would be Life -
And Life is over there -
Behind the Shelf

The Sexton keeps the Key to -
Putting up
Our Life - His porcelain -
Like a Cup -
Discarded of the Housewife -

(Chorus)
Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor -
Tonight - in Thee!

(Bridge)
I cannot die - with You -
For One must wait
To shut the other's Gaze down -
You - could not -

And I - could not -
For each the other's Gaze
Would extinguish -
As I said - each other's Face -
Would put out Jesus' -

(Outro)
So We must meet apart -
You and I -
Somehow - I had but you -
And I had but you...
Tonight - in Thee.

Wild Nights

I gave my all to a love that broke
Built a house of dreams, now it’s filled with smoke
Kept the lights on, waited by the phone
But silence became my second home
I wore the weight like a second skin
Smiled through the ache, let the hurt sink in
But I’m done with the shadows, done with the doubt
Tonight’s the night I’m walking out
Let’s make this toast, let’s celebrate the most
Everybody get a dose, everybody feel real close
Everybody time to boast
Let’s make this toast, make this toast, make this toast
I danced alone in a crowded room
Played our song, but it felt like doom
You said forever, then disappeared
Now I’m raising glass to the wasted years
I cried in colors you’ll never see
Painted pain into melody
But I’m done with the waiting, done with the ache
Tonight’s the night I finally break
 Let’s make this toast, let’s celebrate the most
Everybody get a dose, everybody feel real close
Everybody time to boast
Let’s make this toast, make this toast, make this toast
I kept your secrets, swallowed pride
Held the line while you chose sides
But I’m not your echo, not your ghost
I’m the fire you feared the most
I gave you verses, you gave me blur
Now I’m singing what I deserve
Done with the silence, done with the cost
Tonight’s the night I count the loss
Let’s make this toast, let’s celebrate the most
Everybody get a dose, everybody feel real close
Everybody time to boast
Let’s make this toast, make this toast, make this toast
Here’s to the tears that taught me grace
To the scars that found their place
To the love I gave that never grew
To the strength I never knew
May that shit be over.
May the hurt be gone.
May the truth feel louder
Than the lies we leaned on.
Let’s make this toast, let’s celebrate the most
Everybody get a dose, everybody feel real close
Everybody time to boast
Let’s make this toast, make this toast, make this toast
Raise it high, let it shine
We survived, now it’s our time
No more ghosts, no more pain
Let the love pour like champagne
Let’s make this toast…
Make this toast…
Make this toast…
🌹🥂Thanks to the players from H.C. and Del's studio🥂

All Rights held by songwriter Edwin H. Balder.

Be sure to visit Tina's playlist here:
soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/tina-talone-may-this-kind-of?si=c962a19838244cafab03c08ba110c75f&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=t

Let’s Make This Toast 🥂Tina Talone🥂

Lofi Dallas captures the late-night energy of the city with a chill, relaxing beat designed for studying, working, or simply unwinding. Inspired by the neon glow of Reunion Tower and the quiet streets of Texas nights, this track blends smooth rhythms with a laid-back atmosphere perfect for focus and flow.

🌙 Whether you’re sipping coffee, reading, or deep in thought, let Lofi Dallas set the mood.

📺 Listen on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@abimbolaaina

Lofi Dallas

Tortured poet or a showgirl, tell me who you chose to be
Did you trade your ink for glitter, did you sell your melody?
Was the spotlight worth the silence, was the fame worth losing me?
Tortured poet or a showgirl… which mask did you believe?
She wrote in journals, not in gloss
Sang to mirrors, not to applause
Her words were thunder, raw and wild
But they told her, “Smile like a child”
She wore her heartbreak like a crown
But they said, “Girl, tone it down”
So she stitched her pain into a dress
And danced her truth into finesse
They gave her stages, gave her gold
But never let her soul unfold
She learned to sparkle, learned to spin
But lost the girl she was within
Tortured poet or a showgirl, tell me what they made you choose
Did you trade your truth for trophies, did you paint your pain in rouge?
Was the glitter worth the grieving, was the silence worth the sound?
Tortured poet or a showgirl… did they build you just to drown?
She wrote a verse they called too sad
So she danced instead, made the critics glad
She kissed the cameras, played the part
But buried lyrics in her heart
She wore sequins over scars
Sang of love beneath the stars
But every cheer felt like a theft
Of the girl who hadn’t left
They gave her fame, they gave her fear
But never let her voice be clear
She learned to pose, learned to please
But lost the right to grieve with ease
Tortured poet or a showgirl, tell me what they made you choose
Did you trade your truth for trophies, did you paint your pain in rouge?
Was the glitter worth the grieving, was the silence worth the sound?
Tortured poet or a showgirl… did they build you just to drown?
She’s the verse they never read
She’s the tear they dressed in red
She’s the truth behind the show
She’s the ache they’ll never know
Tortured poet or a showgirl
She’s both, and she’s neither
She’s the fire they tried to bottle
She’s the storm they called a teaser
Now she sings with open wounds
In sold-out halls and silver moons
But every note still asks the cost
Of all the selves that she has lost
Tortured poet or a showgirl, tell me what they made you choose
Did you trade your truth for trophies, did you paint your pain in rouge?
Was the glitter worth the grieving, was the silence worth the sound?
Tortured poet or a showgirl… did they build you just to drown?
Tortured poet or a showgirl, tell me who you chose to be
Did you trade your ink for glitter, did you sell your melody?
Was the spotlight worth the silence, was the fame worth losing me?
Tortured poet or a showgirl… now the world will never see.


🌹Thanks to the players from H.C. and Del's studio

All Rights held by songwriter Edwin H. Balder. 

Be sure to visit Tina's playlist here: 
https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/tina-talone-may-this-kind-of?si=c962a19838244cafab03c08ba110c75f&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Tortured Poet or a Showgirl 🌹Tina Talone🌹

Music Studio, covering any genre, any kind of artist.

In the shadows of Apache Junction, at the foot of the majestic Superstition Mountains, sits a weathered hacienda. This desert oasis is home to an enigmatic figure, a songwriter whose journey reads like a long, dusty road of honky-tonk bars and college cafeterias. He wasn't chasing fame or glitter; instead, he chose the soul-crushing beauty of music for music's sake.

Years spent hunched over sticky barroom tables and scribbling lyrics on napkins earned him a reputation—not in the spotlight but in the back rooms where deals are made. He wrote melodies that found their way into the hearts of stars who had lost their own muse. He sold his creations for cash, with no recognition, but the whisper of his songs carried the weight of his soul.

Finally, he bought this piece of desert paradise—a stable income from his timeless songs allowed him to live comfortably, if anonymously. Here in this hacienda, with his family beside him and the mountains as his backdrop, he found the peace to write hits under his own name. He chuckled at the irony that now, without chasing fame, he could create music that brought him joy.

In the end, it was never about the spotlight. It was about the journey, the stories, and the songs that wrote themselves through his life. As the sun set behind the Superstitions, casting long shadows over the hacienda, he strummed his guitar and sang—content, unknown, and unburdened by the world's gaze.


Copyright 2019 Edwin H. Balder

I may be dead when fame comes but my real glory was always JULIE & The Kids. Thank you for such love

New tracks tagged #Relaxing,