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Keith has gone
He has passed on
a week ago
I am letting everyone know
His fellow poets in Windermere
will publish a few new poems here
To  my  home  there  on  the  hilltop.
To  my  home  there  by  the  dale.
To  that  place  which  is  a  part  of  me.
One  day  I  know  I'll  sail.

I'll  step  off  the  ships  forever.
And  I'll  sail  no  more  the  seas..
When  I  answer  yet  the  sirens.
Of  my  homeland  calling  me.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.
I  read  a  obituary  in  the  newspaper.
Of  a  long  lost  friend.

It  hit  me  off  the  page.
Like  an  arrow  through  my  heart.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
I see you looking back at me,
but I have no memory of you,
no name or event to link us
as kindred soul.

There's a sun playing
expressionless games
about to fall from the shelf,
my feet may burn, but never my heart.

My mirror is a broken window,
the broken window, a city,
and a man and woman
are crossing into it,
—crossing my mind,
fused together.

Their laughter like
claps of thunder,
bursting forth in a sky
devoid of any signs of me...
 Nov 2022 Sukanya Sinha Roy
Colm
Color grows above
And wrestles darkness down slow
Behind the mountains
Peaking into wondrous lost
The next day is found awake
ST11

A set of colors and dreams and thoughts
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