Stuart Miller-Osborne

I am in Buenos Aires visiting Angela Tree She lives in Argentina now After the war she married her doctor And left Westbury for good The air is good for her scarred lungs I told her time and time again Not to watch the bombers without me But she was wilful and sat in the […]

There is a field not far from the Westbury White Horse That used to be a wartime airfield Angela and I would climb a tree next to the railway line And watch the bombers as they took off heavy with their payloads The field is still there but it is no longer an airfield But […]

As I look over the fields of spring buttercups I remember my motherland I would have spilt blood for her But instead chose exile As I could no longer feel The bruised soil of my fathers   AW 1938  

Kalinka Komrade Leslie was cruising along the Thames With his Russian bride Natasha They were travelling to Algiers A Green Jesus smiled at them From the Hanging Woods   Kalinka Kalinka On the towpath near the snowball trees Children sang and danced to the Russian song In the main square of the maiden town A […]

I wonder if the Lumiere brothers haunt this station still Or is it a trick of the light A slight of the eye As the train arrives  

Many years ago when travelling through the South of France I split up with my boyfriend after an argument and found myself alone and waiting for a train at La Ciotat railway station My intention was to travel to Nice where the father of my best friend lived But I did not really want to […]

I was a member of the Dziga Vertov Group until I anticipated the coming of the TGVs Fast trains had always fascinated me and I had spent hours making love to Sally Ann next to slow moving branch lines waiting for advances in railway technology The opportunity to fuck her next to the railway tracks […]

What are you writing about at present? The Generation of 98 have you heard of them? Vaguely They were a group of novelists and poets and philosophers active in Spain in 1898 Lorca was a member I believe That would have been hard as Lorca was born in 1898 Who were the Generation of 98? […]

I sketched for a minute and drew a hunched figure in a cloak The figure was looking into a valley The title of this sketch was Victory Have you written any further poems? Yes There is only one May I see it? It is a slightly mysterious and maybe nostalgic poem But I do not […]

Stephen Masefield Stephen Masefield was a young poet who died in a car crash aged nineteen His imagination was as fertile as it was undisciplined But it was magnificent   The King The King is fond of his games Let us on this occasion indulge him   Blind Language I have always admired the language […]