Stuart Miller-Osborne

Dearest The hot air is beginning to be blown in from the continent Each time I look up into the high clouds I can see your reflection You cannot see me That is one of the mysteries of reflection Do you remember this day fifteen years ago when we were on a small fishing boat […]

On the hottest day of the year I thought of Maurice painting Rosalind on the hill above Wilton Wide Water He would be using Belgium Reds and Prussian Blues to catch just some of colours of her silken shawl During breaks in the day Rosalind would swim in the wide water and would return refreshed […]

Sitting in the shade under the magnificent windmill Maurice would watch as Rosalind danced lightly on the meadow grass field He admired her energy and occupation but would frequently ask her inhibit her dance so that he could sketch her before the light became shallow    

Whilst taking lunch at the village inn Maurice watched as beads of rosewater ran from Rosalind’s fine shoulders They would vanish beneath her cotton blouse without announcement He would never try to capture their movement      

During the days of heat Rosalind was told Never to bathe in rosewater As it bore her name    

At four in the morning Lillian K was given a small casket It was decorated with blue,white and clear jewels Which lit up in an enchanting sequence She dressed and stood on the balcony Which overlooked the sea And watched the jewelled lights flashing Blue White Clear Blue White Clear White Blue Clear White Clear […]

When Dorah D felt melancholic She would always bathe her ankles in the bidet And trim her lady hair In order to make blankets for the poor    

As we lay lazily on the grass We watched gliders Piloted by geologists Ride the thermals   There were three in total Each chasing the other In an aerial game of tag With no winners and no losers   I knew that the pilots were looking at us And calculating what influence The subtle presence […]

Today I am visiting your Chelsea House You have been commissioned to illustrate my most recent poems I do not think that poetry can be illustrated You agree but spend the next three hours illustrating my work I feel that my poems are too oblique We break for coffee and you invite me to join […]

Marlowe opened his summer window and thought he could smell a bonfire in the distance He owned a painting by Jamie Klein that showed two Victorian sisters beside a bonfire It was called Autumn Leaves This was his wife’s nom de plume Her real name was June Day Which she disliked