In 2023 I’m changing my songwriting pacing from a song a week to a song a month. Partly because I’m now working 30 hours a week at my day job and partly so I can spend more bandwidth working with songs I’ve already written – playing out and recording.
January’s song feels like it should be February’s but oh well, here it is . . .
You can’t think when you’re with that gorgeous soul You think of nothing else when you’re alone Oh you’ve got it bad And it feels so good
There’s a name on repeat in your ears A face your mind will not let disappear Oh you’ve got it bad And it feels so good
Hold it close Sing it out Let the whole world feel the truth Oh, you’re in love And it’s got you good
From my family to you and yours, season’s greetings!
And, here’s a song I wrote in November, recorded in early December, and am posting on my blog late December. My song-a-week pace has certainly slowed this year, and I expect that to continue next year. Shooting for a song a month, which I plan to continue posting here on the blog.
I have actually written a song each of the last three weeks but didn’t get around to putting them on the blog each week. So here’s a catchup post.
Week 41: An acquaintance was in ICU with COVID the week before I wrote this song. Her husband left her phone with her at the hospital, hoping she would wake and call him. He texted me Sunday afternoon that she had finally woken up and called. I was so touched thinking about that moment, and it (along with the week’s prompt of “too soon”) inspired this song.
Sunday afternoon she woke up Rolled her body over Picked up the phone and called to talk to him
Not a moment too soon This is the right time No turning back now Everything unwinds
In the dusky light I heard them Lovely hungry birds in Trees where my hands had laid their table out
Not a moment too soon . . .
You there staring at the mirror Shedding weary tears for the years that have turned and walked out of your life
Not a moment too soon . . .
Human you’ve been waiting too hard
Breathe now, feel your body slow down Feel the trees below ground Reaching their roots to feed their leafy crowns
Not a moment comes too soon This is the right time No turning back now Everything unwinds
Week 42: A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, published in 1918. The video features a ceramic candleholder made by my talented niece Eva.
I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning: The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle, Or paring of paradisaïcal fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless, Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain; A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not quit utterly. This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily, Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber.
Week 43: Do you name your cars? We do. Our oldest car (randomly dubbed Joe Bryanson by my then-nine-year-old son) deserved a special tribute this week because poor Joe has been through a lot, including getting mugged last week. Bonus track is a voice memo my co-pilot Nathan sent me today, I think he’s working on his own ballad for Joe. You’ll have to watch the video to see/hear the bonus track and maybe understand the depths of Joe’s despair.
I started out in Colorado in the mountains carrying a treasure of a woman to a job she didn’t love She left me in the foothills with a Big crack in my windshield and I Sat there being hopeful I could still be of some use
I am Joe Bryanson I’ve been around the block Mile after mile I have run I don’t drink much, I’ve got a hitch I’m such a dream to park Count on me to get the job done
A couple came from Loveland and they Laid their money down and made Me their one and only And got that big crack fixed And then a few years later we Drove across the Great Plains and they Parked me in a driveway in a City on the river
I am Joe Bryanson . . .
Soon enough I had to share that Driveway with a minivan and Then they turned me over to a Newly licensed kid They kicked me to the curb because they Went and bought a third car that they Plugged in like a toaster And babied like a baby
I am Joe Bryanson . . . But that kid became a treasure of a woman And she played my radio loud On her drive to her first job that she just loved And I felt so young again
But life out on the street, well it’s no Asphalt bed of ease, I’ve had my Mirror cracked, my side swiped, I’ve been Robbed of precious metals I’m getting near three hundred thousand Miles and I don’t know just how much Farther they might let me go But I just keep on truckin’
Julia Bloom 