Stuart Miller-Osborne

Hi my name is Joe who is not here I am sailing the seven seas With my sister Josephine And my fiancée Sephine (yes it is true) But we have had 2 return As my silly mummy Managed to break her leg Whilst she was in Egypt Thankfully it is not 2 serious I am…

Little boy blue Come blow your horn The sheep’s in the meadow The cow’s in the corn Where’s the boy that Looks after the sheep He’s under the haystack Fast asleep I was born in Manchester and raised in Chelsea Or so I was told by my parents dear I preferred my southerly home As…

Sister pregnant at sixteen Caribbean husband Out of work Has never worked Already has coffee coloured kids In two other towns I am deeply in love With the garage owners daughter Who I intend to marry When I am released I am her bit of rough She finds me dangerous I do not stand a…

There is a large modern clock Above an androgynous platform A large number of trains pass This blind clock each day Unaware and not understanding The complete mysteries of time

When I was very young I was gifted a subscription To a glider magazine It taught me all I now k now About blue gliding In the vast unknown I am often asked Why I do not glide My childhood models Whose whitening remains Now scar common fields Is my on ly ans wer

The village railway station only escaped the axe Because the then owner of Sommerseat Was a friend of a friend of the chancellor This was to my advantage as I owned The rather lovely stationmaster’s cottage Our station was reduced but not unkindly so With both platforms remaining and an hourly service I belonged to…

I found a white silk scarf On a hot summer’s afternoon In a waiting room painted green

Millie sat beneath the sky trees The park was so small and gentle She could feel its human warmth

It is always an identical emotion After a high a chasm appears Which is hard to deal with As I find only blind warnings

angels do not live on earth they do not feel the dusts of the summer soils between their toes you are just an ordinary girl with ideas above your station you are not an angel but a glowing red poppy lost in a field of golden corn