Author: Stuart Miller-Osborne

  • Pippa Passes

    Pippa passes many a***s On the nudist beach She is with her friend White Brown Dolores And ignores my vulgarity As well she should I am her brother Lawrence Smothered by desires Quite why we holiday together Is a puzzle for the Gods We swim abandoned But I am quite lustful Greedy for the female […]

  • Le Sommeil

    I have a print of Courbet’s painting at the foot of my bed It brings me pleasure at the end of the day My wife does not really care for the work As it reminds her of her recent past We each own a blank canvas But keep our brushes locked away

  • A Christmas Catcus

    A great number of things fuck me off There are too many to mention I wish ill to all of them Especially when I am feverish as I am now Yet one is outstanding above the rest That is the abuse of Christmas Cacti Look at it this way my friends You are a happy […]

  • Lines During Fever

    Lines written during the days of fever Are best left unwritten Because of their extreme clarity

  • Thoughts

    A woman without beauty Drowns in her ordinariness I will share my tears

  • Repetitions

    We met on that railway station Whose long platforms Were fringed with tall palm trees That dwarfed the passing trains You had engineered our meeting Knowing that I was travelling that day I was not sure at first whether you loved me Or whether you loved my poetry Or were in love with my image […]

  • Lynchings

    Why are you so unhappy Henry My book of poetry has been criticised Too oblique too obscure are just two Of the criticisms in the press today He is crude racist homophobic They have accused me of all things How dare they I hope they all die Think what critics are Henry They are failed […]

  • Christopher Tietjens

    Jane have you ever read Parade’s End By Ford Madox Ford I cannot say that I have At one stage Tietjens notes that one has to go to bed With a woman to be able to talk to her That sounds like shit to me Stan Maybe but it does say that to be friends […]

  • My Whitby Friend

    He has a gift for language That few can share He can see things That few can see He senses beauty Where beauty cannot exist He owns decorated pencils So that he might write Decorated poems

  • The Waiting Room

    I am the Station Master at Clifford Railway Station Having held this position for over twenty-five years It is an unremarkable redbrick station rebuilt in 1910 After a fire had destroyed the original Victorian buildings Yet Clifford has one claim to fame As it is located on the longest stretch Of straight track anywhere in […]