Stuart Miller-Osborne

When you float You are dazzled By your success But then reality strikes And you begin to drown

I came back as a Victoria Crowned Pigeon Which was okay As I might have come back as a sparrow

Mike and Pauline were sitting in a coffee shop in Marlborough High Street They had nearly finished their coffee and were considering ordering replacements Mike was reading a book about Wiltshire which had frequent references to Marlborough deep in its pages. The book dated from 1951 and it emitted an almost undetectable smell of damp…

January Morning As the morning begins to glow The ice moon sinks Below the rigid horizon The sky is now blue grey blue And betrays the month With its brilliance Birds Black bundle birds Are gathered together On the night branches They await the brittle day Moon A light breeze cloud Now obscures you Return…

Instead of keeping a diary Jones April Jones kept the days of his life recorded in tightly sealed glass jars One day his wife gave him a triple fused nut Which he hid straight away as he was ashamed of its deformity Interview (Delirium) Jones April Jones kept his winter specimens in tightly sealed glass…

Many years ago I was on a train travelling through the Spanish desert when the woman opposite me asked if I would open the window As soon as I did she expressed her excess milk from the train I thought little of it until I travelled back through the desert some weeks later Where there…

Phillip and Angela Feed the Pigeons The mother and daughter were chatting on the coach They did not draw breath I know it was so tedious At least they got on together That is good I went through a traumatic time Stella Why was their conversation that boring It was the one on the subject…

I watched my church slowly die Its handsome features corrupted By the thoughts of others   I was powerless So I closed my eyes     Church I found my church Dead last night It was cold and still There was no warmth   I was powerless So I closed my eyes

I spent some time looking At the surface of a lake But soon realised That I did not know What lay beneath the surface

In the late summer of 1975 And during May of the following year Jean and Ken completed two walks Around the Western Lakes Over forty-five years later Will and Jane sailed across Windermere In their canvas bag wrapped in thin scarves They carried Jean and Ken’s little guidebook