Stuart Miller-Osborne

She stood naked behind me I dared not turn As I knew that she would unlock My hidden desires so long suppressed   Her eyes brown were the colour of her hair And this scared me more than her nakedness She was at once alluring and quite beautiful And so disinterested as to cause me…

My late father owned a small garage Which had two gas pumps On its dusty forecourt One was green and red The other was red and green These pumps were in place From 1962 to 1975 When they were removed During modernisation These redundant pumps Were then dumped into a cornfield Behind my fathers garage…

Today I found a large stone On my local beach The stone was decorated With the word cunt prominent   The artist had chosen A middle green paint Which I found a little odd As I would have used blue myself     Sunday 17th July 2022  

Cats Slowly Turning and Jeff lived in a large beach shack They made a living by creating necklaces bracelets and rings From the coloured sea glass that was abundant in the area Jeff was also the skipper of a beautiful white yacht Which he called Cats Slowly Turning after his lovely wife

We are on the same shallow hill That we were on five years ago I am using the same camera You are holding the same pose As in Wyeth’s famous painting But I notice that your figure is fuller Your breasts are heavier and more rounded I ask you to stay still in the rough…

One can be a poet Or even a philosopher But one can never be a failure As how do you measure failure As it has no beginning No middle and no end     Outlaw  

I am wearing a flame red dress today To celebrate the extreme temperatures I love your crisp white cotton shirt And your cool navy blue chinos     China Blue

Blush clouds hang in the early morning sky These are the same remembered evening clouds The air is already warm as travels from room to room   We are both standing naked in front of full length mirrors And are photographing ourselves in the half light of the dawn I have received yours and now…

Anna where have you been Outlaw’s house Why Because I wanted to read his diary I did not know that he kept one Neither did I until I found it Is there much in it Not really He keeps a record of the miles he has walked Is he a keen walker No He just…

Peter Petra and Jane Were hunting butterflies In Central Folkestone They did this once a year On the eleventh day of July They spent the rest of their year Sketching the unusual bus station Using a variety of coloured pencils