Stuart Miller-Osborne

I can see the mill from my window The mill has recently been converted Into a rural hotel The hotel can no longer see me Nor does it know that I exist

You were wearing a red tee shirt Whilst travelling on a red bus On the final day of your journey You had chosen not to wear a bra As the air was humid and still The bus was not wearing a bra

I can see and touch a bus Therefore the bus is real I cannot see or touch time Therefore time is not real

The freedom of solitude Is a afternoon bed Still in its heavy silence It is the world beyond

shyning bright in the depths of a holy night These were the opening lines Of our school song Which was composed By my late brother When he returned from the war Many thought them to be meaningless The ramblings of a man driven mad But I knew him well and disputed that As those who […]

As I climbed up a snow covered hill Deep within a thick pine forest I found a huge star like structure Made entirely of concrete spikes It had never been recorded in books Nor was its initial function apparent Had it been erected in lost celebration Or was its history far more mysterious

I used to play in a punk band We called ourselves Lucky Numbers After the lead vocalist Who I fancied rotten During one of our gigs I found out that she was obsessed With the poetry of Tom Eliot So I pretended to be an expert And managed to get her into bed But she […]

If you know you know If you don’t know Then you don’t know Memories I have always captured memories But one stands out Which happened when I was seventeen It is a very simple memory I was standing on the open platform of a bus When the vehicle had to apply its brakes suddenly I […]

When I woke up you were no longer a sheep What were you doing sheeping with a sleep I do not know why ewe Find sheep so bloody attractive

I was never going to be popular panther in a cage