Stuart Miller-Osborne

kosovo dance kosovo theatre   Tears of destruction Can be found In the many streets That surround this theatre   I am seated Behind a thick pillar You cannot see me But I am there   From this position I can see you all Fidgeting in your seats Racked with guilt   English is not […]

Whilst relaxing at home I saw the head of a squid emerge from behind a settee I gasped in surprise as I was expecting a steam locomotive

The red and white lid of the first aid box Lay in the waste of the lifeguard’s hut That was the only damage that I could see From the cinnamon journey Others had reported damage But they were dead and beyond care Only I cared enough to ask questions about the incident On page three […]

I sketched you in the courtroom and was then asked to record your likeness in the time remaining before your execution You were a serene sitter distant from the violence that awaited you and just before your final journey you suggested a few changes in the nakedness of your cell Later you were forced to […]

There is a green hill Not far from my home Where a single lonely cross May be found High above the patchwork fields We visit this hill frequently But the cross remains silent

I am having troubled dreams at present But I am not troubled at all In the first I saw a huge spaceship Crash into a high rise block of apartments With devastating results But I could not tell anyone As my room was empty In the dream that followed I was with you With my […]

We had stopped by a dry stone wall On a hill above a village   Each of us was in the need of refreshment But the only inn was closed   So we shared the fruits of our journey As we studied the map of the years     From the painting by James Walker […]

You are looking out to sea As the bus moves with care Along the coastal road I am adoring the clouds That hang with precision Just above the waves We are on our way To the Funk House Where we will discuss Our journey in fine detail

We were dancing on the flat roof of our simple villa A vintage record player was surrendering ancient songs  I looked at the Dalmatian clocks Time was passing us by   We were wearing Only loose clothes Because of the heat And had discarded our sandals   You and I were far from our mother […]

On the first day of my new freedom I purchased a book of poetry These were the works of Lord Byron Who I admired greatly However in between the soft pages Of this scruffy scuffed book I found a number of newspaper reviews Dating back over fifty years One of which noted that the poets […]