This year, some of the things I want to be working on are:

• singing
• songwriting (including lyrics, oof)
• chin-ups (I’m up to 5-6 in a row now, from 0 last summer)

As for the other two, earlier this month I took part in another 2-hour album challenge, on the theme of “LIFE” ….

I very often use and collage old poems and texts for my songs — this one (and I did work on the words outside of the 2 hours) ended up getting a bit more original work and not entirely quotation, which is nice, maybe. LIFE was a broad theme, obviously, but a couple of poems I had sitting around for years immediately sprung to mind, so you’ll hear a bit of Ada Cambridge and RL Stevenson in there, though not the whole of either of their theses, especially Cambridge’s. Plus something from the Psalms and — here are the final lyrics:

the moon marks the seasons
the sun knows when to set
the foxes roam the quiet streets from dusk
(and so and so and so)
get up, get dressed for work
observe the wonder of the bones of the human hand
we are mortal, infinitesimal, divine
a little lower than the angels

our island is alive with marvels
the birds sing in the branches
grown about with fragrant bushes
a winding valley where a clear stream flows
and green grass grows
and the sheep bells and the linnets chime and sing

how calm the starry city but beneath
the million-fibred heart of humanity
is twisted with every grief
our comrades homeless, beaten, maimed
how can I sleep in peace
and this is life – pointless to ask
and these things happen

the moon marks the seasons…

at the best of times, in the midst of life
slips between us like a shadow
between your lips and my kiss, the motion and the act
between the past and the future
those two black infinities
where our brief life flashes a moment and goes out

the moon marks the seasons…

and wasn’t this after all the meaning of incarnation
a full life, thirty-three
work and laughter, family
headaches and haircuts, itches, homesickness
drinking with friends, meetings and partings and prayers
when I think –
walking to the site of execution
when I consider
the bones of your hands irretrievably smashed
I cannot fathom:
these things happened

sunrise on the shore
tend the fire, warm your hands
the one who lived and died and lives again
cooking breakfast for his friends