Stuart Miller-Osborne

I am sorry that this is little more than an oversized postcard  As you can see I have visited the White Sands National Park  Rod Cassie Gerry and I have been driving without really resting  I feel that I am tasting the real Amerika  It makes the UK seem so small  We have visited so many interesting places …

We live in a small farmhouse in East Sussex  It faces a fading hill that overlooks our fallow fields  The seasons pass without any real incident  Life is so very slow that it rarely challenges us I am married to Caron who teaches at a nearby school  She is a local girl whereas I was born in…

Lives in the flat beneath mine  He is a keen gardener I often see him  Watering his plants   His wife is called Jacqueline 

Five ants rented a house  They were later joined  By five more ants  They were the new tenants  Ok Jane  I slept on the settee  For an eternity and a day Dreaming that my laptop cables were faulty  I felt a little spaced out when I awoke  But after two crunchies I returned  Heights  Yet I…

There is a skull on my coffee table  It consists of two seaworn pebbles  I am not feeling that well today  As I was introduced two two princes  Both were called Peter  The other Paul  Mary Virgiinia “Jennie” Wade  Was the only civilian killed by fire  During the Battle of Gettysburg  She was shot dead…

I was totally alone in infinity  When I heard  A knock at the door  It then opened without assistance  And all the people that I had disliked  During my time on earth  Slowly filled the room  This distressed me  But I was glad  That I had had the foresight  To bring my my vacuum cleaner …

A golden sun freed itself  From the flat grey skies  And hung quite alone  In the chill of the afternoon  I recorded its brief visit  As I had little else to do  During these days of my fever 

I adore blue butterflies  Their translucent wings  Are not totally transparent  But are clear enough  For the light to filter through  We are nearing my home town  Ten For The Turkeys  Monica is asleep  In the back seat  Dreaming of blue butterflies  As I often do  The Basic Hills are to my right  Our stone cottage …

The utterly brilliant Joe Coleman walked under her window and grossed the quad  He was directing She Stoops to Conquer this year  Viola had a small part in the Spring Play  She had been persuaded by Robbie the doomed Welsh poet  Who in months would die in a drunken smash on the brutal A1 He had given her…

If I had not been born  I would have never  Been the poet  That I am  I would have never assassinated The guilty politicians With my silent rifle  Which made the world a better place  If fate had taken  An alternative journey  Then I would have ended up  Just slipping down your wretched throat