Stuart Miller-Osborne

You can feel the softness Of the Apple Fields On your bare skin Summer Dreams on Winter Nights Wind blossoms litter the sky Dappling the sunlight Your hand is chilled Mine is still warm

Today I received a glass calligraphy pen Blue in colour As dark as the ink that I use I am searching for lost rivers Which all remain hidden Flowing without dreams My rough pad is quite vacant I have recorded nothing Apart from this frail poem

Your Move Eve

Chess at Sixty

The day is mild Super Mild The sky is grey Super Grey There is no sunlight Even the waves are dull The gulls are quiet Super Quiet I have chalked this poem On to a rock And cast it into the sea Super Poem Super Sea This poem is based on true events All characters…

You asked about the most erotic film I have ever watched  It was a French movie that I saw when I was quite young  I cannot remember its title but I think it was called Leonard of the Sun  It was a French movie typically shot in black and white and was on the lower half…

The final train has arrived The festival is near But nothing moves It is snowing blue Christ is in the Suburbs

Blue not Yellow Yellow confides in Grey Bloemfontein Fields

Each time I turned a corner I saw these ghosts Each of them knew me personally And then I became sick I was locked away in a high room The drapes were slowly retired But this brought me no inhibition Yet in time I recovered my senses I could no longer see my previous ghosts…

I left the world last night Without Sin And soon found myself High above a beach The sun was setting slowly In the white distance Broken only by ragged clouds Christmas Song Jean This is your Christmas Song