We Were the Chasers of Magic - Brand New Poem Typewriter Series #3117

The Matchbook | 6.13.25

We ran through sprinklers once, we stood barefoot on hot sidewalks and watched our footprints disappear. We swam in freezing pools and then warmed ourselves on the concrete and tile, bellies to earth and we felt the heaving of the water we’d cannonballed into, even in our stillness.

We were the chasers of magic.

This brand new, never released Typewriter Series poem, now dubbed Typewriter Series #3117, and the full breakdown of what it’s about, why I wrote it, and the spoken-word audio version of it, is generously provided to all of you this weekend by our beautiful Paid Subscriber community. If you’d like to pay-it-forward, just click the button to support this place, and to keep it alive. It really does help keep me writing this, as it takes more time than you’d ever believe.

Some swam in seas, some wandered old growth forests. Some, some found these liminal places later in life, much later, and found that youthful innocence later, found that youth though it had long since faded.

This poem was a custom poem for a guy to his wife on the occasion of their 25th wedding anniversary, to commemorate the trip they took to celebrate it. They went to Cayman Brac, and whilst there swam for hours in tidepools playing with octopus and a million fish. They watched their colors change, watched the light fade on the horizon, and for a moment, felt that whisper from the universe that you will grow old, but you don’t have to grow up.

I’ve said it a million times, I LOVE writing custom poetry because I get to BE you for a moment or two. I get to feel what you felt, see what you saw, and I get to spin it into words, into poetry.

That feeling of disappearing into that nostalgic bliss, that youthful freedom, and feeling like if you just go far enough, fast enough, you might never be caught by time again. That feeling that all things slow, that you’re precisely where you need to be.

This poem was that, this idea that if we chase the metaphorical octopi long enough, if we can just emulate them and change our colors enough, maybe we’ll stay hidden, maybe we’ll just stay NOW, and all things can be stillness. Maybe.

I’ll say it again, if you ever wanted to hear Your life, your joy, your ache, your pain, your bliss, turned into poetry, I would be so honored to do so. Just click the button and order, and I’ll get to writing.

For now, I hope you like this poem, I hope you’re feeling the youth in Your veins, and I hope you change your colors fast enough to hide from time forever.

Here’s the audio spoken word version for those who don’t abhor my voice. :)

I love you all, a lottle. Be good.