Stuart Miller-Osborne

I have visited two beaches In the last couple of days They were about fifteen miles apart Both were pleasantly warm Although yesterday a breeze was noticeable As the high pressure changed shape Today is forecast to be even warmer Which is unusual for late May Indeed longstanding records might be broken I started reading…

This is a very impressive book Where did you get it I have owned it for a number of years It dates from 1877 The lifetimes work of its author Do you visit these churches Some of them What about our local churches Not all of them are in my book Or at least recorded…

Where is Geoff Writing What is he writing Search me Perhaps it another one of his mood pieces You really do not like him That is a bit strong Katie Lets say that I do not care for him Why is that Because he won your heart Which was something That I was unlikely to…

The dead had died in vain The peace was more bitter Than the war I like your tee shirt Miriam it is such a lovely shade of blue The quote is from a book by Henry Williamson I found a copy in a bookshop earlier today It has a memorable cover I love the use…

I wore your black pyjama pants In my bed last night I usually sleep summer naked But I am missing you so much That I wanted to be near you Close your eyes Vincent Imagine me in our southern kitchen Sitting at the table of generations Enjoying my ladies coffee Without the hindrance of clothes…

If I walk between the seats In a carriage on a speeding train Not in the direction of travel But towards the final carriage Where am I Do I actually exist

I had been driving my car For many hours And needed a refreshment break I later returned to my blue car And found a small donkey Reading a newspaper In the passenger seat

For as long as I can remember I have liked trains Sitting on lonely stations imagining the past Travelling overnight with my windows relaxed Coffee and snacks to pass the long hours Dancing barefoot on regional services Sleeping soundly in my personal bunk I am a collector of savages

Was born in a damp cottage Which is not surprising As her mother lived by the sea She has at times during her life Been a teacher a linguist and an artist One of her paintings hangs in the Tate She also writes synthetic poetry All her translations are her own

Summer never arrives in this city It is hinted at but never arrives Everything is so very grey I am intelligent and beautiful Yet lack any thoughts of colour I secretly write radical poems Which will become my prison diaries If I am caught or betrayed My friend murdered Meyer A minor official using my…