Stuart Miller-Osborne

I live in a very large city With many underground lines The network is familiar to me But of late the length of these lines Have increased considerably Without any rational explanation

I am an ordinary soldier Who was once a grocer But now I fight in wars I have no argument With any of the other grocers As like me all they really want Is to return to their little shops Ever since I was very small I have kept a daily diary Each day of…

Secure your equipment Boys The crossing will be rough You might not be able To see the stars But they are there We will arrive within the hour Write your war poems now As time is thinning fast

I have to philosophise When I run out of material About which to philosophise It is best for me to die This is attributed to Paul Rée I have named my town And those that surround it After these sad words

Like many parts of this decaying country My town is ravaged by pot holes The result of the inaction of those in power These pot holes are both shallow and deep But they are so much more than that Lou’s friend has shared his thoughts

I do not live that far from a major port Which is confused and busy to say the least It is an unhappy place and is far from pink Yet the country lanes and villages That surround this monster Have not changed that much in a hundred years They are pleasure to roam especially on…

Our hotel room had fine views of the tower The sun was setting slowly in the west Joyce was drinking pink blancmange milk Which matched the colours of the fading sky

I murdered the devil today He drowned Confused In the vacancy Of my juices

I never dream On Metro stations As it is too dangerous

Whilst waiting for the last train I discovered graffiti Written in crude French Les funérailles de mes rêves humides It made me cry Which surprised me As I do not often cry