Poetry

The Highschool Circle

This has to be one of my all time favourite “self” written poems. Aptly titled “The Highschool Circle”, I wrote this in my head as I was going to see my ‘brother’, Jason Lefebvre. As I was pulling into his driveway, a funny scene dawned on me: I wore something nice to school, Jason came and wore something nicer, then I tried to up the anti, and Jason did the same. Then I realized; “This is a high schooler’s life!”. Also a side note: this poem was published in the W-O Say So last year.

The High School Circle

By: Andrew “Self” Kipp

I hear…

I hear the coolest guy,

He speaks so movingly,

He wears the best cloths,

 

I see…

I see the coolest guy,

He is wearing the coolest cloths,

I want to be the cool guy,

 

I run…

I run home,

To see how much money I have,

I have savings,

 

I spend…

I spend all my savings,

Now I’m the cool guy,

Now everyone wants to be like me,

 

I hear…

I hear the cool guy,

He’s got new cloths,

He wears the best cloths,

 

I see…

 

When I See the Grey Clouds

 This poem was written for a conucopia of different reasons. Firstly, I needed to write a poem for writer’s craft. Secondly, I wanted to share my point of why country life is so much better than city life. Suffice to say, my attempt at being insightful ended up turning into a dark, shifty and at times (I’ve been told) creepy voice. I swear, I must have been gothic in a past life or something. Personally, I just think the images I’ve created are cool.

When I See the Grey Clouds

Andrew “Self” Kipp

 

When I see the grey clouds roll over the scape,

The whithered grass swaying against patches of snow,

Dead trees creaking to life,

And the shutters of old homes rattle a haunting call.

 

The wind chimes a ghostly toll,

And howls through the ancient forests that seems to contain a story of its own.

And every passing car rips up the fragrance,

The fragrance of the fresh rains and stale snow.

 

When I see the grey clouds shed their tears,

Sprinkle the Earth in rejuvinating sorrow,

It lifts my soul to infinite heights,

As I stroll down that vacant road.

 

The empty fields call to me,

Their abandoned farm equipment buried under layers of mud,

And a shambling wooden post fence,

Where a crow perches, as if to guide my tracks.

 

When I see the grey clouds engulf the blue skies,

Casting shadows over the lights of the city,

I flee those concrete jungles and retreat to the country-side,

Where I eternally wander and ponder.