Stuart Miller-Osborne

When the delivery lorry arrives My daughter dresses As a Polar Bear

When my Fayjer died We buried him in the farmyard But within the week The cows dug him up So we fed him to the pigs Who were later sold to butcher The cows of allisom are no longer In the fields of allisom As the butcher offered us a fair price I no longer…

My tractor is in the barn It is ready for use I am in bed with Angel a The clouds are heavy It is going to rain The fields can wait I am too fond of them My daughter is in a wheelchair She was born a farmers daughter But is no longer a farmers…

Chickens in cages in a lorry I followed the vehicle For about half an hour Until it pulled into Services Carol The driver had left his keys In the ignition such was his rush So I stole the chicken lorry And drove to Abbey Farm Where I released the chickens Cage by cage row by…

Often when I am milking the cows  I think of Great Yarmouth  And wood shavings  I think of you  Sitting naked in the shit  Oblivious of the stench  Written on my phone in Cambridgeshire 

I have never belonged to a school I do not care that much As my talent for what it is Is a solitary talent I thrive in the vacancy Of my own thoughts These are just words That I happen to knit together I believe that have no real style Which may be a style…

I live in a kitchen sink town It has not changed much since I was a kid The shops are uniform and very bleak Even on the warmest of summer days My name is Malcolm X I was named after the greengrocer As he was the nicest man That my late mother ever knew He…

Paul is bathing Jeanne, In a tub on the top floor  Of a house in Archery Square  He tenderly caresses her  With a soft flannel  They engage in small talk  And do not notice That the oak tree  Opposite their high window  Is shedding its fruits  Into the brisk winds  I am by now entering Archery…

AN I MAL S SINKING SLOWLY INTO A SWEATY SWAMP THIS IS NOT A SPECTATOR SPORT

Rotting leaves mashed to a pulp By the wheels of the careless Brown Bunnies mashed to a pulp In the gutters of the rich Severe storms will soon strengthen And wash away much of the guilt