Stuart Miller-Osborne

Flower fairies Masked as mermaids Have Painted the depths Blue Red Blue and Green Red blue blue Blue red blue and green Cities have perished Leaving only These solitary colours Glowing between Rocks Blue green blue Red blue and green

Deep sea divers Clad only in rhymes Searched in the darkness For bouquets of flowers

Small dancers in red hose socks Are hopping from cloud to cloud The moon is white clear It illuminates the visiting shoals As they return from faraway bays

There is an acrobat in the sky tonight She is juggling with the moon Other performers are watching her From the safety of the cliffs A sea on a horse floats in the bay Everything is blue so very blue

Constantine Katla Have you noticed how much In the nineteen forties movies That actresses use their eyes You are thinking of Sister Ruth In Black Narcissus Very much It was an extraordinary movie Well ahead of its time Do I use my eyes Yes quite often But you have arctic eyes As cold as the…

I only have five fingers But I like to impress So I lie Whenever I am in cities I wear oversized gloves To mask my dishonesty I am also a thief As I steal tablecloths From churches Sheets from hotels And nightshirts from friends I frequently cut them up For use as canvases

An invisible spider Ran across the carpet And hid behind my Banksy

Earlier today I purchased a Chagall poster As I was walking towards the Seine My Lilith passed me on a red bicycle She offered to take the poster To our apartment nearby As I was late back from lunch I later found out that she had sold the poster So that she could buy herself…

Paris through ttttttttttthe Window Is the only poster I own I own nothing else Apart from a cat That studies The sky People including My sister Are floating Through the city A Metro Train Is travelling on its roof It is reflected In my multi-coloured window

Not much is known about Charles He was recorded as living in Paris Between the wars Although these wars Were never identified Charles was a blind mute Who communicated Through poetry Much of which is now lost Only six poems survive