Magic not mine

It all began with sumptuous morning melon -
flesh melting from seeds in ready deliciousness.
But still I chose to plant one in my stomach
Hoping for magic.

and magic you have painted
at the park, you
awkward giants:
skipping through sprinklers,
wrestling on dry grass,
sharing seeds and nuts from meager pocket money,
growing into bigger bodies yet bubbling with the universal soul of childhood, in pure love of play.
Magic.

Let's swap languages with eagerness, capture your silly stunts on film.
It’s okay to lap up attention like the cats snarfed macaroni.
You may feel too few validate your unique spendour -
Let us be some who do…
Go on, we are open like this golden sky!

Thank you for ‘funny times’… sharing the beauty of boyhood:
dragging us on the dizzying merry-go-swing singing whoo weee,
unleashing the laughter of twenty boys tumbling down hills in contagious spontaneity,
licking melted ice cream with appreciative abandon.


I would swallow all the seeds so your lives could be bathed in learning and joy
like this, always.
For you to be safe in work, have limitless opportunities ahead.
But who am I to control things...
without some struggle can we know joy?
Is there a reason for your pain?
Perhaps if it were all in our hands there would be no magic…
So swallow a few in faith
and share them,
that your lives unfold according to your hopes
and that you find beauty in your own ways
Magic not mine.