Stuart Miller-Osborne

Our green guest house Is slowly coming into view But it will shortly be obscured By the grey hanging clouds

The trees in the low valley Are almost hidden By the descending clouds It will rain within the hour              

As we stroll around the gallery I notice that neither of you are wearing bras But your breasts are not a mystery to me as I have seen them on many occasions Yet not so often these days as we live at opposite ends of the city Occasionally I see men looking at your breasts…

As we stroll around the gallery I notice that neither of you are wearing bras But your breasts are not a mystery to me as I have seen them on many occasions Yet not so often these days as we live at opposite ends of the city I think that I prefer Mary’s tee shirt…

You have not yet written your astonishing poetry I am the only living person who knows of this strange fact My name is Pass the Cuthbert and I sell beautiful flowers In front of one of London’s busiest mainline railway stations

Adventures in Realism with Hot Harry Hotspur Was a song written by Nigel Pearce Patrick Of Rochester Kent This nineties group disbanded soon after this Their one and only hit record  

For many years I travelled with the same person opposite me He was called Bryan and worked in an architects office in Kings Cross We rarely spoken but usually swopped newspapers at Paddington That was our daily ritual five days a week and twice a day on occasions On the day that he retired we…

A mournful Fado song Hangs heavily over the empty streets You are reading naked on our bed As the night air is still gently warm   It is then that I realise That I have not written about you For many years as my pen becalmed Had floated aimlessly in the silver seas    …

As the sun cannot be bothered To chase us here on our chilly island We have decided to chase the sun And are staying in a beautiful villa Not far from the main Lagos beach I have always loved the music of maths         Chris & Bea Lagos (May 2021)

Snow in the Afternoon It is often said that lovers Sleep in the afternoons Of deep winters days But I know this not to be true For like me they are forever tobogganing Across the wide and rigid fields   White Heaven  If heaven should be like today I would not love it less Indeed…