Stuart Miller-Osborne

a warm haze maze horizon hangs

My sea is gentle and calm The air is quite tender My spirits have been lifted How shallow and pleased I am

As we lay in bed you told me that our dream lives were over And that we were both imprisoned by our decaying thoughts I pulled the sheet back to reveal your nudity and kissed your cunt It was as real to me as had been on the day that we first met The colour […]

Why is it that when you are in the bath the gasman calls to read the meter And expects entry even though you are naked save for a small towel Why is it that when you are in the bath your brother walks in As you have neglected to lock the door with care and pretends […]

I have images of Frida all around my house She appears on my cushions and on my cups And is instantly recognisable Which is not a bad thing at all But in my bedroom I have a painting on the wall By Artemisia Gentileschi In which she portrays herself This work is totally ignored by […]

I had a choice of six plays Each was on a separate stage In miniature   How does your garden grow

Jane this is my last message to you before I leave Do not follow me as I am in a great deal of trouble Jane remember the river is blue and nothing else If I reach Hanoi I will be safe Then I will send for you Remember Blue Then I will send for you […]

From my bourgeois balcony I  can see a blue piano In the middle of the river It hardly interrupts its flow Being a celebration of the all the dead The lonely suicides and those Who have drowned through No fault of their own Occasionally this piano is played By those who remember these tragedies But […]

About a third of the ships that pass this lighthouse are independently owned  I admire their courage in these difficult times  Why do you wear shaded glasses Marek Because my eyes are weak They were damaged as I hid in the city sewers during the war I did not see daylight for weeks on end  […]

Christ died on this beach I admired the honesty of the angels As I was not aware of this fact The later told me that his cross Could still be seen on the sands   There was also a white anchor painted On its damp wood which had refused to fade Despite the continuous attentions […]