Stuart Miller-Osborne

The idea that reality Is an illusion Does not mean That nothing exists I am sitting in front Of our travelling tent The air is warm We have views Across the bay The sun is setting Its theatre is immense Is my happiness Nothing but an illusion Or is it real

Happiness Is the proof Of my existence Without happiness The world is a fallow field

I do not know What made me So happy The long sandy beach The Sea The Sun Our wonderful swim Or seeing you fully naked For the first time Since we met

It was much cooler than I had expected I had brought a thick pullover More to use as a camping pillow But here I was wearing it in the city Eve was also wearing her blue hoodie As although the sun was white bright The wind was from a chilly direction Which was unusual for […]

Without your beauty This world is nothing Your hands Your eyes Your breasts Your smile Silence the words That no longer exist

The light that is lost In the universe Is never recovered Time is precious

Gravity the mysteries of Gravity I saw a ghost this afternoon In a former grocers shop Which closed in nineteen forty six It walked through a wall As most ghosts tend to do Even though the wooden door Was a Jar

After thirty-six long years Sister Clodagh was released From her tiny cell They had expected To find her mortal remains But found only pink petals Many inches deep

One of the nice things about travelling on trains Is finding the occasional railway pub There used to be many but few now remain Which makes it more exciting to discover A bar where secret lovers once met The Railway Arms on Station Road The Three Guineas on the Cornish Line York Tap York a […]

We walled up Sister Clodagh today As she knew too much Out of Sight Out of Mind No Longer Wanted Left Behind