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Eggs and bacon;
tea and toast;
coffee and waffles;
everybody craves something inside them
so that they can awaken-
something that they can eat
while picking up the early morning post,
something that they can savour every bite of,
something that they can eat with a gobble.

A full-English breakfast;
a blueberry muffin;
a bowl of fresh-fruit-
something you have every morning
and will have every morning
until your last;
something new you have been meaning to try,
and this morning you have decided to take a breath and dive in;
something hot; something cold;
something to look at and salute;
something that just hits the spot;
something that in its on right
is a gorgeous thing to behold.

Healthy, or unhealthy;
simple, or extravagant;
a boiled egg that when you break the shell
the yoke is still runny;
a gift from your own garden, perhaps,
and a gift of one of your own plants.

Breakfast that you yourself make;
breakfast that you share;
breakfast that you bake;
breakfast that you eat for a dare;
breakfast on holiday;
breakfast in bed;
breakfast that is like a buffet;
breakfast that is so tasty and amazing
just one bite instantly goes to your head.

A bowl of cereal;
a tub of porridge;
a delicious, succulent, and juicy, melon-
that tastes so sublime you swear that it can’t be real;
a pretzel that you eat on a busy street;
a stack of pancakes that you share
which are dripping in honey on a plate,
on a kitchen table, in a cozy country cottage.

In a cup, on a plate,
in a bowl, as a way to raise your heart-rate;
in small bites, or something you have in one go and whole;
in paper, in a glass;
something of infinite flavour;
something you can eat slow;
something you have got to eat on the go and in a dash-
there is no more important meal
to make sure you have and don’t pass,
and that is breakfast.

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The sun is strong,
the temperature is hot,
the air like it is on fire,
the skin of everyone is burning and red-
no one wants to be inside on a day like today,
but no one wants to be scorched by the sun’s rays for too long:
you may love the sun, you may not,
but the sun can be too much for some sometimes,
and it can make people tired;
nevertheless though there is no way,
when the weather is like it is today,
anyone could possibly choose to stay in bed.

The heat of the city feels like a wave of energy;
the people out and about are like an ocean;
the shops and businesses have all there doors and windows open;
the breeze of the wind makes people feel at ease;
the life of many things combine,
and what can be felt and sensed
is like intoxication from fine wine.

The open spaces are like a haven for sun-worshipers;
the amount of people on the streets
is truly inspiring for street artists;
the food and drink being consumed
makes the entire day feel like a party;
the enjoyment that is openly apparent
makes it seem like everyone is on holiday.

Summer in the city, in any city around the world,
is different to spending your time on an island beach,
or in a town in a popular hot country,
where the sea, and the tops of mountains,
when they are touched by the sun shine like pearls;
summer in the city is an inspiring time and place-
there is so much to attract your attention,
and so many things to put a smile on your face.
Summer in the city is full of infinite sights, sounds,
smells, and tastes;
summer in the city is filled with tantalizing invitations
that only a fool would let go to waste;
summer in the city is like a bubbling coffee pot;
summer in the city- the metal, the windows, the ground,
the people, are hot.

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There are times when you feel you have to get away;
there are times when you need to have a change of scenery;
there are times when the weight of reality
can feel too heavy;
there are times when there is only one thing
you can do, and one place you can go,
to bring you back down to Earth,
and which has always been and always will be
your sanctuary for reasons you could never
share or ever say.

For some people their escape can be a dream
that they imagine and remember;
for some people their escape can be somewhere
filled with people, music, intensity,
and outward displays of freedom and emotion;
for some people their escape can be a place
they have been coming back to ever since they were a kid,
and would go back to every day of the year-
from the 1st of January to the 31st of December;
for some people their escape can be somewhere quiet
that they go to by themselves when they are alone,
or somewhere they go to with someone else
who feels the same about the place as you do
and is the only other person in the world
who can understand why your heart beats so fast,
because they too have been spiked with the same love potion.

The escape can be you home.
The escape can be a holiday you have been waiting to go on.
The escape can be a song or an album that makes you feel
more hopeful and more amazing the more you replay it
and the more you listen.
The escape can be a person who knows you
and who loves everything about you,
just as much as you love everything about them.

Your escape can have a plan.
Your escape can be a point on a map.
Your escape can and should be something that makes you happy,
and not somewhere you want to escape to forever-
your escape shouldn’t ever feel like a trap.
Your escape can be a life-long journey,
or a mission to fulfill something primal, or instinctive,
and could see you jumping from an airplane,
jumping off a ravine, travelling over many bridges,
and through many tunnels, just so that when you reach the ground,
or you finally feel the light you have been chasing,
you achieved something you wanted,
and you did something you needed to do,
and your reason and your mantra the whole time was
‘I am doing this because I can.’

Choosing to escape is not a mistake.
Choosing to escape is a choice everyone has to make.
Choosing to escape can be slow at first
and then accelerate into the speed of a chase.
Choosing to escape can be the first thing
you think about when you look in the mirror
and you see you own face-
everyone has a place to go to for what they need
and for what always makes them feel better,
and for me right now this is my escape.

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I am really going to miss this place.
This island has been my home for almost a week,
but now it is time for me to leave,
now it is time for me to return to England
with renewed inspiration, and new questions and new truths,
that I now cherish and seek.

Walking on the beach for the last time this morning,
I felt so sad to say goodbye to the sea, the sand, the air,
and to the beautiful sunlight and perfect sky
that greeted me at every dawning.

I have made so many amazing, wonderful, and incredible memories
since I first arrived here, unpacked my case,
through my bag over my shoulder, and set-out to explore-
everyday the wonders of this beautiful island
have awoken me with peace and tranquility,
and has seen me fall asleep with memories
and recollections of the day before
that took me to sleep feeling more alive than ever,
feeling more inspired than ever,
feeling more hope than ever before,
and spellbound with awe.

Leaving Jersey, watching the ground disappear below my feet,
rising into the clouds, into the evening sun-
unable to move, completely stuck to my seat.
The feeling of take-off,
I can only describe as like feeling the wonder and the magic
that you feel when you are a child-
when the world seems infinite, incredible, indescribable, and wild.
Watching the island disappear behind me,
I feel so sad to leave it;
but knowing what effect it has had on me,
makes me feel like a newly-inspired, enlivened, and brand new poet.

Seeing the coast of Great Britain again,
seeing my country, the island of my birth from the air,
fills my heart like an intake of breath,
makes me feel light-headed, glad to be home, as if I hadn’t left.

Landing on home-soil, through the golden haze of dusk,
time feels as if it has frozen before me,
and I have to question which senses that I should trust.

Taking my first step back in England,
looking up at the blue, red, and golden clouded sky,
I attempt to describe the beauty that I am seeing in my mind,
but the words that I find fail me at every try.

Returning home, everything seems different
and yet the same- just like me.
I want to go back soon;
but for now, my dreams will be enough
to return me every night
to the place that has me under its spell:
the beautiful island of Jersey.

This morning, at daybreak,
as the tide came in and went out and came in again,
I wrote my name in the sand with a black stone,
in the place of a pen.
Writing my name so close to the beach’s end
I knew that it would not be long before the sea washed it away,
as if it had never been there-
but it is something that I have wanted to do for so long.

For every letter that I wrote
I could see that the tide was coming in faster with every passing second,
so I wrote every letter of every word as fast as I could-
it was like a race against time to write my name
there in the sun soaked sand, before it was washed away like a flood.

We all leave footprints, hand-prints,
names in the sands of time, as we travel through the world
from sunrise to sunset, from sunset to sunrise-
what we see of the world does not end with what we see with our eyes.

Most of what we do is temporary;
most of what happens to us surges and then settles, like ocean spray;
most of what we build within us is gone by the next day.
Some of the things that stand the test of time are invisible on first look,
and that is why they are untouched:
rock-faces, islands, channels, rivers-
when you look at them you can see natures signature in its sculpture,
and because of the perfection that you see,
you can tell that nature does not rush.

Our lives are sparks in a fire;
our interactions with each-other are like waves on a sea;
our fates are entwined together like holding hands;
our voices may be small in the chorus of the cosmos,
but I think that there is something wonderful and powerful
about something so simple as writing your name in the sand.

Barefoot, at dawn,
in the soft sun-bathed sand of the beach,
I left my footprints in the sand for others to follow-
hoping to learn, hoping to teach.

As I looked into and out to the beautiful, perfect, blue sea,
I was touched by inspiration, a blessing,
a shine of creativity, a muse of poetry.

I felt like I had received a message from someone,
and I felt this need to send one back-
and that is what I decided to do,
while standing looking out to the clear blue horizon,
as the white ocean waves crashed against my legs,
as I could feel the warm sun on my back.

So I took an empty bottle from my bag.
I took out a piece of paper with my name, my address,
a link that someone could use to contact me again later,
and an invitation for someone in the future to read my poetry,
and to reconnect with me.
I put the piece of paper in the bottle,
and then I sent my message and my bottle out into the blue,
and I watched them be carried out to sea.

As my message in a bottle was carried further and further out,
I watched it with hope in my heart
that someone would one day find it, read it, and understand it;
but I just know that they will, I know it beyond any doubt
that the message, the wish, the muse of me
would be seen, read, and felt, by another, and another, and another,
until we are all part of the same verse of poetry.

Who knows to where my message will go,
who knows how far it will travel,
who knows if my message will dance the waves fast or slow,
who knows whether my message will be read in France,
back in England, or wash up on the coast of Portugal.

I have no idea where the tides will take my voice,
but I have hope that whomever it finds
they will choose to follow the footsteps that I left on the beach,
on the sea, and on the sky,
and in the gift to be found by someone I have never met,
one day in my message in a bottle.

Yesterday, I walked to the top of a castle
and felt like a king as I looked out over the beautiful blue sea.
Today, I got out of bed, I got dressed,
I walked down the high-streets and roads
that I had never been down before,
and found myself walking down tunnels bored through solid-rock,
to squares of liberation and liberty.

Yesterday, I walked on the sea-floor of a harbour-
through tethered sailboats and fishing boats
that laid land-locked temporarily-
while the tide was out.
Today, I watched people start their day on this beautiful island:
commuting to work, going to school-
walking, running, talking, silent-
ready to begin their sun-blessed day,
seemingly without doubt.

Yesterday, I walked to the beach
and saw the effect of the ever-present Sun and Moon
on the Earth and on the ocean-
and as I took in the sea air into my lungs
I felt like a new man.
Today I watched life begin, continue, and change-
moving in every direction, and breaking the beat of a trance.

Yesterday, I felt the past touch me on the shoulder-
showing me and teaching me, yet again,
that what has passed does not mean that it now resides
in the realm of history.
Today I walked among the remnants of a great war-
one that changed the world forevermore-
and I feel more enlightened now than ever,
thanks to what I saw today,
and yesterdays journey of enlightenment-
which I am going to call from now on
my Gorey Story.

As the tide was going out in the morning,
I looked out to sea from where I was sitting
and I saw a white sailboat slowly making its way
silently in the distance,
sailing the horizon from right to left-
no one else looking out, or walking their dogs,
near the water seemed to notice it but me.
I wondered to myself who it was
that was sailing this beautiful boat
at this beautiful hour of golden washed ocean waves.
I wave out to sea at the distant passing sailor,
knowing that I could them but that they could not see me-
just as my way of saying good morning to them,
and hoping that they too, and I,
would have a wonderful day.

From door to door, on moon-lit night,
pilgrims of every age, and of every height,
embark upon a mission of masquerade
on a hallowed October evening
at the time of autumnal twilight.
What gifts will they receive,
and who will they meet,
on this annual, but one night only,
quest for trick, or treat.

The faces that can be seen from left to right
range from those that will make you laugh out-loud at the sight,
to those that never fail to shock you and imbue you with fright.
From vampires, werewolves, and witches,
to zombies, Frankenstein Monsters,
and plain old white-sheet ghosts and ghouls;
from superheroes, to Jedi knights,
to cardboard robots made at home with the help of parents;
or a costume made by a child on the day before at school-
Halloween is a day and a night of fantasy, frivolity, confectioneries, and fun;
today Halloween is a joyous holiday for all
and a welcome occasion to be someone else, even if only for a night,
and to do something that you have never done.

From ghost stories, to haunted houses, and Halloween parties;
from carved pumpkins, to illuminated Jack-o’-lanterns of every design
on countless doorsteps-
the wonders of peoples imagination are in full-display
in infinite forms, colours, and depths.
What I think people love about Halloween is the freedom of identity
that it allows, invites, beckons for, and asks-
an excuse to display your inhibitions on the outside,
while still remaining the same person behind the eyes of masks.

Happy Halloween

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