Stuart Miller-Osborne

Unlike previous days when the air was humid The sea breezes that greeted Friday were considerably cooler Jane was preparing an apricot tart in the red kitchen And I was painting a rambling shed in her lilac lady garden We were both looking towards the southern downs As we had plans to walk there later […]

You can dance if you want to  I was listening to The Safety Dance By Men Without Hats When I noticed that goats Were dancing in a nearby field This puzzled me As goats normally discuss philosophy On hot July days  

Henry   I was in Cannes and was due to attend a screening on the new Leos Carax movie Annette My beautiful wife Jane was also invited and had purchased a lovely black dress for the occasion However I fell from a low wall whilst returning a fledgling to its nest and broke my ankle […]

A small likeness of you had been hidden in a forgotten mailbox for over thirty years It was discovered by accident by a passing postman who was driving his bright red van   The painting was soon returned to me and I kept it in my studio awaiting your return As you were living with […]

It is not what you look at That matters  It is what you see   I was thinking about Thoreau As we strolled around The backstreets of Margate   To my great surprise There had been pockets Of complete silence   This was quite evident On the sand flats Between the sea and the beach […]

Please note that this poem has been censored as as SS Sisters do not wish to offend those less fortunate than ourselves   We were asked a question recently A question Yes We get asked many questions What was the question How long had we been sisters Really What was your answer We told the […]

I  write my poetry on mirrors As this helps me to relax I write poetry on mirrors For the very same reason     From The Poems of Stephen (1970)  

Quite suddenly the breeze started to cool   the evening had arrived and the sun was by now low behind me   long shadows betrayed its position   the day was spent   a white yacht on the horizon shared its memories with those who had lingered on the island beach as white yachts always do    

Just before this path splits into two One part becoming an unmade road And the other a pedestrian/cycle pathway You will find what was once a care home I do not know what was cared for Spiders/Donkeys/Sweet Wrappers/Olive Oil Really it does not interest me The house is being renovated So that very rich white […]

On days such as these Kent is indeed The Garden of England   The perfumes of every flower and every herb Linger still in the soft sea breezes And our eyes benign are seduced By the colours of many summers