Making Light of Things

Over the past few weeks in my poetry class, we've been delving into light verse. This has been something quite new for me, since I've never crafted humor through poetry - nor have I felt compelled to attempt it. Plus, the comedian slot in the family has long been well-filled by my wonderfully strange little imp of a sister, Kerry. 

Hence, I've gotten used to generally doing the laughing rather than causing the laughing.

See what I mean? However, our assignment for class this week was to write a light verse poem about a serious/dark topic. It wasn't much of a task to pick the subject matter; what better topic for me to make light of than depression?

So on today's bitter, gray, rainy morning, I set out to my favorite coffee shop, which houses my favorite writing nook (shoutout to Fuego; you guys are the best), to try my hand at light verse. 

I've written a great deal of poetry about depression in the past, but it was about as far from "light verse" as poetry could be. I often struggle to wrap my head around the stark contrast between who I am now and who I was exactly one year ago now. I don't feel like I've returned to the Annie who existed prior to depression; instead, I feel like an Annie who has been put back together in a new, happier, healthier way.

What a difference a year can make! 

I wanted to share that difference by posting 2 poems on depression: the first written about a year ago, and the second being the light verse poem that I drafted today. 

To anyone reading who may be struggling themselves: it will get better. Be patient with yourself.

I.

I saw you once, some time ago –

a year I can’t recall.

You smiled gently, breathed with ease;

free of demons; calm.

Darkness saw you from afar

and stopped midstep in fear;

an unmistakable, blinding aura

of glowing light appeared.

I saw you once more; time had passed,

you looked of later years.

But more than that, upon your face

were etched the paths of tears.

Doubt had seen you, coming closer

till you were consumed.

Esteem fell down and made a way

for dour, bitter gloom.

I saw you last in mirrored shards

of life’s old looking glass.

With tired eyes, my last surprise,

was seeing myself looking back.

II.

I suppose it’s not all bad – depression.

Now it isn’t my most prized possession,

as it makes me a bum, and it’s usually glum,

but free coffee’s in therapy session.

I’m no longer a good first impression,

so I won’t become someone’s obsession,

yet since it’s the season of campaigns, there’s reason

I’d rather be viewed with discretion.

And now I will make a confession:

I hate the "down in the..." expression,

but down in this dump, there are no words of Trump –

just a perk of my social secession.

I, too, sing of feeling oppression –

less renowned than that one Great Depression,

and less famed than the blues of the great Langston Hughes,

but perhaps leveled with the Recession.

This illness won’t help a profession,

save for leading a funeral procession.

But hey – on the upside, (sans carbon monoxide)

I do Sylvia Plath’s best impression!

*Stanza 4: referenced Langston Hughes and one of his most known poems, "I, Too" - if you're interested, you can read it at the following link - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/47558

                  (I had a lot of options when it came to the Kerry pics; here are some leftovers hehe)