What is it that makes you, you?

What is it that makes us tick?
I wake for the sunshine.
I wake for the promise of movement in each day.
I wake for the connections I will create.
I wake for the ones I love.

What is it that makes us shrink?
I avoid the dampness of disillusion.
I avoid the heat of confrontation.
I avoid the conflicts of telling someone no.
I avoid the inevitable – change.

What is it that makes us hum?
I sing for the blues skies.
I sing for the green-eyed cat, purring beside me.
I sing for the little boy upstairs.
I sing for turning of the leaves.

What is it that makes us smile?
I laugh for joy of today.
I laugh for the humor of my father.
I laugh for the brightness in their eyes.
I laugh for the friendship created.

What is it that makes us weep?
I cry for chances lost.
I cry for those whom have gone.
I cry for fear and frustration.
I cry for release of pure emotion.

What is it that makes us believe?
I trust because I have no other choice.
I trust because it brings me comfort.
I trust because I know I can.
I trust because I am.

What is it that makes you, you?
I live for the joie de vivre.
I dance to make me smile.
I smile because I can.
And I don’t believe there’s anything I cannot do.

My Big Fat American Burrow

In a house formerly inhabited by
ten Buddhist nuns and forty Dachshunds
There now live two
wonderful women, their son, age
two and a half, a dog that never
barks, three black cats that I can’t tell apart to
save my life,
the lady who rents the
basement, with her
computer and exercise tapes,
and me, with my guitar and enough clothes for an army
Not to mention the numerous
friends, visitors, and the occasional cable guy

A full house to say the least,
But one with good, warm energy
That of a holiday gathering, every day of the week
A family reunion of perfect strangers
a family without the problem child, and the alcoholic
One with cat litter, dog hair, and love in every corner
If you’re feeling lonely
go upstairs and listen while she reads to him
If you need some inspiration, just sit and
observe the voices of the children coming from outside
Or the murmur of feet on the floor boards above
Take note of the rhythms of the house
the comings and the goings of each
tepid being within the walls of this
old abode

As I write these verses,
one fuzzy creature purrs beside me
Tail curled around my arm,
taping softly to the beat of some
internal musician
Our breathing becomes one and we synch, subtly
BAM!
The front door hammers open, and screams of joy
hit the ceiling
Flexibility, and grace, I must master these traits –
learning to love and adapt to constant change

Visit: an official call paid for the purpose of inspection.

According to the books,
I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
A place ranked third in the world for destination weddings.
A place of healing and renewal.
A place one can find it all – outdoor adventure, vacation resorts, healing energy, and beautiful scenery.

According to me,
I live in a small town in Arizona.
A place where people come when they’re in denial.
A place to try and loose oneself, only to be found out as a fraud.
A place of beautiful, picturesque landscapes, pockmarked with mansions the size of a Super Wal-mart, and that’s about it.

Let’s compromise.
It’s a nice place for a visit.