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Your signal is always the strongest;
your picture always comes through clear;
your frequency is always what I am in-tune with;
your content is always new-
but I would watch you, and I do watch you every day,
on repeat.

Your look is fantastic as it is
and never needs to be refreshed;
your ideas and dreams are the characters of a drama
with whom I imagine myself interacting with,
and in a world I would love to live in;
your taste is sublime,
and like a great meal,
every course of you is a feast.

You show me so much every day,
I simply have to look at you and I am already off
on an adventure in my mind;
you tell me and teach me something every day-
a mere glance in your direction is like staring
at an intense explosion of light,
who and which to someone else would be powerful enough
to send them blind.

I am addicted to you, and I have been for a while.
I would choose to be the moderator of your fan club,
and I would proudly wear a t-shirt with my love for you on it
and never hide away or live in denial.

I take notice and I record everything you broadcast;
I think about you even when you are right in front of me,
and the time when I can’t, nor anyone,
can take my attention away from you goes by
and makes my heart beat so fast.

When you fill my screen and talk directly to me,
and no one else, in true and vibrant colour
and in infinite and ultra-definition;
when you blur away the rest of the world
and suck me in, every episode of you
always brings me to the conclusion
that you are the most important gift in my life,
of that there could never be any confusion.

Your voice carries farther than radio;
your message is more hypnotic than television;
your name and your face is what I see repeated everywhere I go;
your energy is like that of the explosion
that is ignited to launch and propel a spacecraft
on a long and deep-space mission.

You are someone I could never just turn on
and not watch every second of,
and just leave to be, like moving wallpaper-
because you are like a window to so much
and so many wonders;
of all the magical sights in this world that I have seen,
you are and you will always be my favourite view.
You are my favourite station of destination
that I never want to leave,
and you can rest assured that any and every time
I want to scan and be in-tune with anyone,
I will always choose to be watching and in-awe
of Channel U.

On an early-morning flight-
just as the sun rises in the sky
and brings alive the clouds
like a wave of fire frozen in time,
like a magical world being expressed
by someone’s incredible and inspired imagination-
a man looks out his window
and simply cannot believe what he is seeing.
He cannot think, he cannot move,
he just knows that he is here for a reason.
He is sitting in his chair on a plane flying 500mph,
in the atmosphere of a planet spinning 1000mph,
with a heart in his chest beating like an unrested drum.
The man isn’t going far,
but to him every flight is like a trip to the moon.
Even as he watches the electric blue
and serene open air above the clouds,
the man swears for a moment
that he sees shooting-stars descend and streak
from above to below in short sucession-
not a trick of the light,
or momentary bursts from the sun-
actual asteroids and meteors from another world
choosing now to reign down from the heavens,
to fall into view and end their billion-year journey
right in front of him.

As the man takes a sip of hot coffee
he wonders for a second how the cup came into his hand,
who handed it to him, how unearthly and incredible the coffee tastes,
if he looked away from the window,
because he doesn’t remember when or for how long.
As the hot coffee rests in his mouth for a second
and then rushes down his throat,
the view outside the window, outside the plane,
intensifies within the blink of an eye,
and the man feels like the plane and his fellow passengers
are suddenly flying on the airplanes wings-
fixed in position, but able to be swept on their journey
by the breeze on their face and through their hair,
and by the feeling of unbelievable freedom.
It isn’t until the plane hits a slight patch of turbulence
that the man regains his faculties and his focus
and remembers where he is.

The air is different up here.
Everything you feel, think, and experience,
while free of gravity, goes straight to your head,
in ways only an astronaut could reciprocate,
or someone who finds love and happiness
for the first time in their life.

The man sleeps.
While still believing he is still awake,
while believing that he has been awake for the entire flight,
forgetting the brief conversation that he had with a passenger
who mistook him for a celebrity
while making their way back from the bathroom.
The man wakes.
The man feels more refreshed than he has done in years.
The man feels like he has been looking out the window
for what seemed like seconds,
before the announcement rang-out
and the “fasten your seat-belts” sign became illuminated
indicating that he and the plane were descending to there destination.

What does it all mean? The man asked himself,
as they passed though the clouds.
Everything means something, he repeated to himself,
from the stirred coffee in your cup that swirls
and resembles the spiral of a galaxy,
to the beautiful shapes and colours that you discover
while you’re among the clouds.

As the sun rose over the fields of England,
I looked down on my home from a green hilltop high above
and I felt breathless, as I took in the view
of this peaceful and tranquil wonderland.

As far as my eyes could see, all that greeted me
was infinite hues of gold, green, blue, and white-
trees, farmland- apparent, and hidden life,
going on far beyond my sight.

I am by myself, but I do not feel alone-
this place is where poetry is seen and written about,
this place, this island of diversity and beauty, in all its forms,
is the place that I am proud to call my home.

I love my home, because it is everything to everyone-
it always has been this beacon for so many people over the years,
no matter where they have come from.

I love my home, because not only is it a beautiful
and an inspiring place to live;
but it is also somewhere that you can discover and rediscover,
it is a place with a heart and a spirit of its own,
it is a place that you can grow with.

Even though I have lived here my entire life,
I have not seen, and I do not know, everything about my country-
every new village, town, and city,
has a rich and a varied identity and history;
every person that you speak to for the first time,
only adds to our country’s charm, allure, magic, and mystery.

From above, England looks green, alive, thriving-
even in the majestic cities, that light-up the country from street to sky,
there is somewhere for everyone:
whether you want excitement, enlightenment, inspiration,
or just somewhere that you can take in as you roam-
England is the best country on the planet,
England is where I will always return to,
and it will always be my home.

Does this go with that?
Should I paint my bedroom Red, or should I paint it blue?
At the time of being asked
seemingly world-shattering and defining decisions,
but which are really changes in light-
because what goes with what should be simple:
go with what feels right,
because they are the rooms of you.

I have watched people literally agonize
over whether there decoration should match their fashion-
I am all for coordination, but when you get to that level of minutiae
style becomes a job, a chore, all for everybody else’s eyes-
a world away from a passion.

I am not an interior, or an exterior decorator,
but I do know what feels right to me-
my tastes in decor may be reviled by a so-called “expert”,
or by someone who thinks that their opinion is superior to mine,
and they can feel free;
however, said “experts”, I am afraid, would have to prepare themselves
to be told that they don’t know what they are talking about-
I am sure they would be well-meaning (or not),
but either way I would tell any visitor to my home
that it is the most perfect and inspirational place on Earth,
of which there can be no doubt.

The rooms of my home are an “Aladdin’s cave”,
each room mirrored in every corner with tokens of me-
details of complexity, echoes of my own voice,
imprints of imagination- works of art, life, and poetry.

Wear what is comfortable;
mix your vocabulary with what you hear and with what makes you smile;
be adventurous in your choices;
never have a psychic, nor an interior decorator on speed-dial;
listen to the opinions of your real friends, but don’t be led backwards;
be creative always; paint your hearts-desires on every wall, and on yourself-
because your thoughts and opinions are more important than any awards.

Every morning, I wake-up, I look around,
I walk through my home, and I take in the view-
I look at the people, the pictures, the art, the identity of my creativity-
I sigh with bliss, and I think to myself:
Mark, these are the rooms of you.

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