Stuart Miller-Osborne

Francis Bacon painted my late mother Which was a great honour As she had missed the last bus Francis Bacon painted my mother Which was a great honour Until she spoiled our new settee Francis Bacon painted my mother Which was a great honour But it stained the garden furniture Silly Boy

You never change your reflections They are always green and yellow These are my only kitchen cloths I choose only these bright colours Many years ago when at night school I became friendly with a refugee and her sister They asked me to enter into an illegal marriage A marriage of convenience which I turned…

With my headlights dipped You are sitting next to me We are sharing an ageing bourbon Ghosts roam without illumination I can sense them beside me As we speed through the night

Our second home was tranquil Even though its position was exposed None of our windows were covered As we liked to live with the sea To the side of the steps that led to the beach Was our small swimming pool and assorted chairs We called this swimming pool La Petite Mer Or the Sea…

At first I thought I had imagined it But it was not my imagination Three short clicks equally spaced It was the same message Are revolutions composed Or are they spontaneous I spent the afternoon Watching my aunt showering I liked her perfumed soap She asked me the same question When a country runs out…

I sat on the path For only a short Space of time Nobody stopped for me A mysterious passenger Changed cars erratically And then vanished Only the lonely bus stop Remained constant In the wooden shelter A beer glass Slowly gathered dust Cars belong On the road Boats belong In the desert

Do you realise that this railway bench Is totally balanced Every part has a job to do And if it fails then chaos might follow It is what I call the balance of mathematics Quoting in practical terms it applies to the balance method This is a fundamental rule stating that any operation That is…

I have written about this before To the point of ad nauseam But everything has a lime hue Seriouslyeverything The girl who runs the paperkiosk I know wears a navy blue uniform But she is standing in front of me Wearing the same skirt blouse and jacket But attends a lime hue the specific identity…

I love you As the shore Loves the sea Your purse is full Of lost coins It will not be found

On the last day of the war I found a German soldier Hiding behind a hedge He had dumped his rifle And was reading Goethe I should have made him A Prisoner of War But chose not to do so And passed him off As my German cousin