Stuart Miller-Osborne

As the chevil flew above the silver slow downs it thought of its rest and the soft silence of the silk merger    

In the darkness of the alley there are no doors just the narrow light of rapid angels as they descend into the luxurious ideal   1990    

A branch hit the train on which I was travelling I wept for the tree that had lost its child but enjoyed the winter storm     On the 14th February 2014 during a storm a branch struck the train on which the author was travelling near Theale in West Berkshire. Little damaged was caused […]

in the outskirts of Rome a Settebello snaked through The Post Industrial Landscape on a swivel chair in the observation saloon a boy named Anthony (Tony) wrote a poem he wrote this poem in brown ink Pietro dei Cieli   on a cold night peter lay in the iced grass and imagined himself looking down […]

On the 28th July 1947 Troy Weymouth travelled to the Dorsetshire town that shared his name His sister Harriot K travelled in the opposite direction Both used the red tunnel The tunnel was named Ghostcat After its inventor Both siblings knew this to be untrue as the tunnel had not been invented but found by […]

Walked through the empty park each day and counted the blue birds in sequence on the first day he counted one on the second day he counted two on the third day he counted three on the fourth day there were none He did not count any further as he knew the world to be […]

In the window the cornflake packets lose their colour as on the shelves the books (ex Boots Library) gather dust my mother has left coins on the lip of the till these will not be moved as we are all on the beach today    

On the Shipping Day Everybody travels to the sea To view the passing ships And taste their enchanted cargos    

The Ye ye Girls In my room I danced to the music Of the Ye ye girls Until my milk boiled over And scalded my feet   Amsterdam All short films are set in Amsterdam None of these are shot in colour   To Kenny, From the Boys From our southern gardens We watched the […]

passes silently through the open forest half water half mud half hidden it clothes its travellers without option yet all who pass ignore its icy ministry