True Grit (#lyrics #poem #50/90)

Watching the remake of “True Grit”
For the first time after I met him
I thought of my father known as John Wayne
Named after his hero, he lived up to it

I sat next to him in English class
He told me he saw me with a man like that
Years later I see what he saw that in me
I knew who I was when I put down my mask

True Grit not taken lightly
Reputation, integrity at stake
Trustworthy and strong, reliability
Doing all things for God’s sake

I write my songs so differently
Listening to the beat of a different drum
Wandering back to where I come from
On the road of discovering my identity

True Grit not taken lightly
Reputation, integrity at stake
Trustworthy and strong, reliability
Doing all things for God’s sake

Remembering when true grit was part of life
Our heros loved Real Women
Not lingerie models once hidden
But respect and honor and prayers at night

True Grit not taken lightly
Reputation, integrity at stake
Trustworthy and strong, reliability
Doing all things for God’s sake

The Father’s Blessing (#poem)

So easy to deny in a world full of pride
That need deep inside
Surrounded by those with an agenda I suppose
Embracing the eternal lie

Evil is clever putting on the glitz and black leather
Serving up the kool-aid
No father, no problem, any man will do
Trading sex in a false love’s chase

Lost souls are hurting, their wounds are piercing, accusing others of hating in their tirade
Kill the messenger they say and nothing has changed
Subvert the true plan by subverting true nature leaving behind ashes from the flames

When you look closer you can’t miss the answer
Seeking men for pleasure is not your desire
When the father’s blessing is missing, the heart is listening to the fire
Instead of the water that quenches the thirst, surrendering to the true cure

Girls and Black Cars (Tribute to the Grandmother I Never Met)

The most exciting part about discovering my father and his family was uncovering how much I’m like many of the family members. The music, the poems, fine dining, romantic, convertibles, swimming pools, black cars, transistor radios, manner of expressing myself, and the Christian Faith.

So I had to create this video about grandma and me and our love of black cars (she’s the one in the scarf), highlighting some of the gifts they’ve passed down to me. Please like and share the video on youtube.

Thank you!

L.A. Nights Book Trailer is Live

Story and Music by Kathy Holmes

I love making book trailers, using visuals and making my own music to give a peek into a story I also wrote. L.A. Nights is available as a standalone short story or as part of the Cougars in Cabo anthology. For more information, see SHORT STORIES under the BOOKS menu.

Road of Broken Dreams (#poem)

On the road of broken dreams I see clearly now
The longings hidden below the surface show themselves somehow
Blond hair, blue eyes and Bomber jacket
Were signs of a lost love I could not fathom

Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio honeymooning in Japan
A baby born to a teenaged mom would come to understand
How similar the path would be when torn from a father
Searching for love from men and places and happily ever after

A restless heart and wounds from the start
A life of unrest, then happiness in the Father’s arms
To fill that hole with a love so true and real
On the road of broken dreams, so thankful for everything that brought you here you kneel

FAWM Day 5: Howling of the Wind (#poem)

Rat-a-tat on my window pane
The treetops holler from the third floor
Like a stranger knocking let me in
Pounding loudly outside my bedroom door

The slider on the second floor rattles my nerves
Is Daisy safe hiding in an unreachable place?
Should I tiptoe downstairs in barefoot curves?
Dodging life’s bullets hurling in space

Slurping kitty quiets the mouse
And the raging fury of the desert wind
Stills my heart praying for grace in this house
While the muse gathers strength to show up again

Creativity hides from a quiet life
Yet the artist resists her vocation like the Prophet Jeremiah
The priest reassures me about suffering and strife
A human lost in confusion in a broken Hallelujah

Once I was lost and now I am found
And the howling of the wind spins round and round…

(My middle-of-the night offering to my King)

Red Tiled Roof (poem)

Rat-a-tat-tat Rat-a-tat-tat
Rhythm of the drum of an ally cat
Clippity clop of a horse’s hoof
Rainy night on a red-tiled roof

Drip drip drip sings the rain
So unusual on the desert plain
This time home is more of a stranger
It feels so temporary, so full of danger

Where did it go just last year
It’s gone for good is the deepest fear
Three thousand miles more or less
Hurrying back to cross the abyss

Writing songs up all night
About home and loss and other frights
Night time writing so aloof
Recognizing only the red-tiled roof

When the Muse Calls…

So much for all of that bravado about how music always trumps writing fiction. Ha!

Here’s what happened… I had an amazing songwriting day yesterday. I couldn’t wait to hit the studio this morning and start banging out more songs. I did a little keyboard practice. I did some vocal warmup. And then I listened to yesterday’s song. It sucked! I got scared. I felt so intimidated. The imposter syndrome struck. So what’s a girl to do?

Pull out my favorite manuscript in progress and start writing? That’s what stopped me the day before, when I decided I should focus on music – not writing. So I pulled up a different manuscript. Perhaps the muse wants me to work on that one today.

Okay, so maybe I won’t really know who wins until I’ve done enough work that something crosses the finish line. Maybe that’s how the muse works and I should just obey the muse when it strikes.

How about you?

Ode to Cecilia (#poem)

Stories of California Missions and Father Junipero Serra
Disneyland fireworks from our childhood era
Beach Boys and Beatles and Screamie Birds groupies
Cecilia and I sang “Hang on Sloopy”

From “sexy scientist” to Las Vegas beautician
She called herself “CeeCee” following her ambition
Sitting next to Alan at the sixth grade spelling bee
On stage I saw green but he was mine, she reassured me

“Cecilia, you’re breaking my heart”
Paul Simon sang years later and many miles apart
About a Patroness for poets, novelists, and musicians
Discovering decades later, it was a year after my audition

Hiding in plain sight God touched my soul
He sent priests and musicians and witnesses and moles
Pursuing me relentlessly for as long as it took
Saint Cecilia leading me to sing and write the book