Stuart Miller-Osborne

Tasmain Orlando  Tasmain Orlando was named after the city In which she was conceived Which was lucky for her As her dear parents had originally booked A two week break in Kissimmee   Haulover Beach Antonia and Antonia Arrived at Haulover Beach On the first day of their vacation They could not believe their eyes […]

I knew Tierney for over eight years As we travelled from to Theale to London together In the mornings accompanied by our coffees And back again on the evening train Our routines did not change Interrupted only by holidays and sickness And then one day he was not there I feared the worst but was […]

My parents used to own a small cinema That showed mainly French movies I grew up watching these beautiful films And later married a French girl named Marie-Ange Just over six years ago our small cinema burned down And was soon replaced by a new metro station Which happened to be the twenty-eighth station built […]

The memorial rose was still deep red despite the rich ice That had attacked its petals during the deep frost hours   Nearby the tall string grasses stood quite rigid Paralysed and totally lost within their vertical isolation   In the distance misty ghost ships moved sluggishly As if they were at anchor fearing a […]

Period Drama  Fuck! there are no sanitary products in this fucking house And the fucking shops are closed because of this fucking lockdown   Discuss  

Through the clouds and far away my beautiful cats are coming to play Over the hills and far away my beautiful mummy is coming to stay   This short poem was written by a seven year old child who will remain nameless – I did not write anything worth recording until I was eleven and […]

On the first day of July my only sister died from a disease of the lungs and my poor father who was beside himself with grief soon moved her crimson piano in the eighth room at the top of the house I say that she was my sister but there was no similarity in our blood […]

The mausoleum had been built about one hundred years previously and stood on a slight slope that led to the woods I had only visited it twice firstly when my mother died and then when my sister followed her The stone had aged badly and little or no attempt had been made to clear the […]

You are stretched out in front of me But I do not know if you are asleep Your arms are crossed in repose And your hands touch the sill beneath the blinds The light of the day is illuminating your bare back As it always will do on sunny afternoons     After the photograph […]

Like a dancer you pose with a certain grace One of your feet is resting on the fender And the other is planted firmly on the ground   We are not travelling at present Yet we are moving rapidly Towards our destinations     After the photograph by Edward Weston