Stuart Miller-Osborne

I work at a bookstall on platform seven It is a steady job that pays quite well My bookstall attracts philosophers Mainly because of the express trains That scream through the station at speed They often help me to write my poetry Between the hours of nine and five

Before I start Please welcome My new wheelchair I cannot imagine Life without it

I actually love my country I really do I despise those Who hate their country

My work as an academic Bought me a top To go with my jeans It was black and plain to the front But latticed at the back Resembling a venetian blind

I have always worn backless dresses As I am proud of my mothers scar This is often complemented on by those love me

My Polish Mother was shot dead by a German soldier As she tried to escape from from the town I was born five years later with a bullet in my spine

There is a strawberry moon Hanging low over the town It is partially hidden by its journey A breeze has risen from the sea Freshening the young night Its air is caressing my dreams Walmer 11/06/25

There is an exaggerated sun On the cover of my Christopher Marlowe

We were sitting on a lazy bench On a featureless promenade Sharing iced coffee Although the day was quite warm The beach was almost empty It was then that I became Aware of a seal swimming In the middle distance Attracted no doubt By the lack of drama onshore

Disabled people fuck me off They just get in the way And expect to be treated Differently from others I was in York recently And was introduced To a girl named Marie Who was very very beautiful Marie had been confined To a motorised wheelchair After a climbing accident But did not blame others