Stuart Miller-Osborne

Away from the Hotel Art on an unknown bed she rested her day I traced the red routes of her sleep in the artificial dust of her dreams

Although I am imprisoned my cat is free We spend our hours discussing God This is a fine subject There is little else to do He catches mice they bring him little profit I know that one day he will tire of my confinement and leave me When the rodent market improves

As Henry touched the low sun he wrote Black and White in English on the forearm of a Daimler Plant From their Chicory Chairs the bowmen took aim at their amazing shelter In Wet Swindon the Ghonashh lived peacefully as they had no natural predators They talked of the pleasures of new writing but were […]

As I hide under this shallow bridge I am beginning to think That you do not care for me As you used to

Clowns will play cricket as crocodiles watch and a Miss Lochart will share her room with a sad elephant A brave captain will leave footprints on a burning isle as he draws its final map (and buries The Itinerario with all due respect) Canals lined with tamarind will swarm with dazed mice and the bees […]

My beach hut is not brightly coloured like its neighbours it has views to the Solent but chooses to remain anonymous like the sea it has no time for these Malibu dreamers

I had arrived, she looked at me from behind her abanico. The apartment was as spotless as it always was. Nothing moved in the large white room apart from the reflections of the passing cars. Although only ten hours old the day was already raw, a heat mist was building over the sea. “ Shall […]

they gather around the yellow house to witness the sly slow melt and a southern traveller goes north to a city that waits for death whilst a letter is written to many friends.

Autumn Lovers Wild winds warn winter Brown leaves will fall in the rain Lovers wear their shrouds Winter Clouds Winter plume of cloud Now covers the dry valley The cold will prevail Spring Warmth Warmth from the dead earth Feeds the early colour bud A child eyes will smile Summer Grasses Swift Summer grasses Dance […]

She died within the breath of the sea in a small darkened room lifeless in a wicker chair. She cast no shadow on the floor surround as only the damp drapes were moved by the solemn virtue of the sadnight air.   taken from the painting  A Lady Reading  by Gwen John 1989