Stuart Miller-Osborne

I am holding an hour glass Horizontally on my lap Time has stopped It is quite still Ink tears Ink

Last night whilst washing up I found a tiny fly drowning Using a piece of tis sue I rescued this small creature But it died soon after wards This upset me a great deal As I had caused the accident I was due to attend another lynching But I gave this a miss with little…

Let the great warriors go and bring us honour Let the decent people live in peace Coulanges-sur-Yonne I possess a postcard Of a canal Dating from nineteen eighteen Let the great warriors go and bring us honour Let the decent people live in peace If you look closely you will find these words Recorded in…

Zone Z had not been fully completed There were still small cranes at work I was sitting on a low wall Reading Nice-Matin In the afternoon sun My cousin Christa Was collecting wind flowers In Zone E As she wanted to decorate Our apartment in Zone N

A fellow poet Introduced you to me Many years ago In the Old Graveyard in Clifton You had been sleeping In your maiden’s bed For many years Undisturbed by time Forgotten by history But I remembered Your name attractive name Anne Green Anne Green Anne Green

Last week a terrific storm hit my town I am terrified of storms So I hid in the goldfish bowl A bolt of lightning Hit a nearby mobile tower Which caused the ground to shake In turn the goldfish bowl Fell and shattered on the floor Although I was still hiding in the bowl I…

The named railway carriages Cherry and Cream Chocolate and Cream Cream and Dream Were stationary beneath my box For some reason I was very happy Zoology was sitting in the corner On a high wooden stool Reading a book of Somerset Folk Songs I gave the driver the all clear To proceed out of the…

During the deep depths of my despair I took out a contract on my own life You know the type Buy one and get one three Money back if not totally satisfied But I soon changed my mind As I wanted to write poetry again But I had fucked up and lost the contract Which…

I sometimes engage in sombre conversations with butterflies On windswept beaches and in ruined churches and chapels We discuss the safest ways to transport high explosives And why one’s bathwater should always remain blue These interesting conversations normally conclude When we compare our collections of coloured cottons

I try not to look at my reflection As it bores me But if a mirror Is either broken or distorted I will study my features of despair To gather a truer portrait of my pain