My Sister is my Biggest Fan

In St. Louis, my baby sister won $50 in a poetry contest by performing the following poem, one of mine. She wants to send the money to me (isn't that sweet?) even though I'm pretty sure she doesn't even have health insurance. In honor of her performance of my work, I now offer you that poem.

The King of the Scraped Knees
By Nathan DeGraaf

I promised myself I'd learn how to write
But I didn't like what they taught,
So I learned
To write
Wrong.

No one sang along
But
The words
Enticed me,
Enriched me,
Dared me to play with the sole of my soul
And never let go.

Children dance in circles of future sin,
Not knowing
What world they're in.

Poets prance in forests of tortured sin,
Never knowing
Where to begin.

The poet and the child
Lost in morality's wild
Winds,
Float on ideals made from sugar and spice,
Showering fields with the spittle of wrong and right
?offering unanswerable questions,
not easily digested.

Peace in words.
Wisdom floating like perfume
On a chrysanthemum cloud;
Responsive and right,
Yet crushed without might
By the weight of a few dollar bills.

Oh, child of the public dream.
Do not awaken to materialistic wishes.
This world is your wisdom.
This now is your why.
Open your heart and close your eyes.
Watch forever trickle by.

I never found an answer
In this or any time,
But my merry go round goes 'round merrily,
As the poet in me tries
To be the kid I once was
When I knew it all,
To be the playground champion,
The king of the fall.

I'll play one more game of dodge ball
With this world in all its gory,
But then I must move on
And write the battle story.

Observe yourself
Observing the world
Observing you
And all you do
Then
Remember grammar school,
When everything was new,
And wasn't nothing
Definitely
True.

Go back to your childhood wild
And find every good you were.

Universal truths
Are formed in our youth.

Take off on that mental bike
And find me that champion child
Who questioned the because and why.
Take off in whatever direction you need,
Become once again,
King of the scraped knees.

Then write for me,
Whatever words you please.

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