Trying to Be Hopeful

The last few weeks have been kind of rough. My depression has come back, as it always does once the weather gets cold and starts turning to winter. The thing to remember about depression and all mental illness is that there isn’t always a reason. Sometimes there is no former trauma, there are no triggers, it just happens. I’ve been trying to look for the good and see hope, though. I wrote a couple of poems about it. They may seem a little forced, but sometimes that’s what we’ve got to do. We have to force ourselves to look for hope in the midst of darkness and despair.

October Moon
by Tacy Gibbons

October moon spreads its light softly
over fallen leaves and fallen tears.
Just enough for some small hope,
a little healing.

Understanding.

Change, metamorphosis can be painful.
Dying leaves crumble beneath heavy footsteps.
Yet even in the dead of night
the jeweled moon shines.

Trees on the mountain, blazing red, orange, yellow, will fall,
replaced by new, vibrant greens in spring.
Growth. Renewal.
Ever stretching toward the sky.

In November
by Tacy Gibbons

Tunnel vision is easy
when the sun rises late
and sets too early
behind craggily-toothed mountains.
SADness feels like it will last forever
in the long, cold, dark winter.

I find some small comfort
in black-capped chickadees perched on frosty trees,
continuing to sing
with breath curling out before them—
a twirling, lilting song of hope
in the freezing November morn.
Advertisement

A Poem About Depression

Depression
by Tacy Gibbons

there isn’t always a rhyme or reason
time or season
anything recent
depression attacks

dark tendrils creeping
cause such weeping
leave me pleading
for relief

seeking reprieve from the storm
crying I mourn
so tired and worn
just take this plate away

bring back the light
warmth so bright
away from depression’s sight
give me a reason

Time Flies

I’m working on normal blog stuff, but for now, here’s another poem.

Time Flies
by Tacy Gibbons

Two kestrels dance beneath a gray-clouded sky,
swooping, swerving and swirling around one another.
A display of timeless beauty,
over in seconds as one bird flies away.

They say the days are long, but the years are short.
Yet most days go by in a blur of have-tos, need-tos and must-get-dones.
The years fly by in the blink of an eye.

A snap of the fingers, and I am old
and no longer dancing like a pair of kestrels.

The Cycle

Cycle
By Tacy Gibbons

up, down
all around
left, right
where’s the light
spin, spin
twist and turn
try your best not to burn
start to climb
fall back down
slip and slide
you might drown
pouring rain
cut the vein
here we go
all over again

Songbird

Sometimes it’s discouraging and difficult to want to continue with something when it seems like no one cares. But song birds have taught me a lesson I put into a poem.

Songbird
By Tacy Gibbons

House finches land at my feeder,
then fly into a nearby tree and sing.
Rain or shine
they sing.

Sometimes they duck and hide
when swirls of snow hit
or take flight when starlings
and red-winged blackbirds invade,
but they always return.
And they sing

I, too, will sing my song.
I may duck and hide
when storms rage
or take flight when blackness surrounds,
but I will return.
And I will song my song.