Stuart Miller-Osborne

The evening waves of the silent sea Are just happy memories We are now visiting York Where a bar carries your name But that is the only similarity

It has only been six weeks Since we sat on the terrace Of the Sunset Calypso You were wearing your deep red dress Which contrasted with your golden hair

I was surrounded but I survived In this terrible dream By using cunning and luck To my complete advantage Napoleonic dreams are rare But I have my fair share of them On this occasion I was trapped But somehow managed to escape

Is Hector Please love Me Before It is Too late

I keep most of my dreams In a glass coloured jar This method has never Been fully challenged

I have a small wooden pagoda Which is eight stories tall It contains a number Of coloured beads It is obviously a game But I am ignorant Of the known rules

Where have you been Silly Boy In Calne Calne Where is Calne Japan You are teasing Everybody knows that Calne Is a small country in South Asia What were ewe doing in Calne Writing the Biographia Literaria And a few poems plus a play You have been a busy boy then Did you get around…

I woke up to blue skies This morning But this did not last And by noon It was overcast My sundial Which stood In the middle Of the garden Was no longer Counting the hours As it had fallen Out of love again

The many photographs of Alfred Austin Were taken in deprived areas It was said that they were full of music And that the harsh beauty Was the equivalent of fragrant roses Deep within a gentle summer Your thoughts Joe There is no beauty in poverty There is no beauty in the chaos Of their bleak…

After a long journey I had reached my hotel Which overlooked A furniture warehouse April was taking a shower I was sitting on a large bed Half reading and listening To the violence of the winds Later after a cup of cocoa We both retired without thought Which was rather surprising As I had travelled…