Stuart Miller-Osborne

My dreams are handicapped by the ghosts of my dreams past  Said Alice from the sanctuary of our bed I do like the snow glow it is a rare phenomena  We were both watching the soft white shadows Crossing our pale bedroom ceiling After the days of the frozen winds I am so happy that…

I often travel Unconsciously Into my Silent sky blue Memories As I face The bitter winds Alone On this raw And wretched beach      

My wife is sitting in front of our sea facing window She is wearing her blue silk pajamas The room temperature is about twenty-five degrees The temperature outside our window is minus five There is a savage north-easterly ice wind Blowing diagonally across the grey green sea My beautiful wife is a glass warrior Whose…

In all my days of memory I cannot recall Such a savage wynd The beach was totally deserted But my thin lips Betrayed a smile As I knew that the soft spring wynds Were not far away In the shadows of this raging beast   Pale Fire Garance and I were drawing the heat From…

As I walked along the path by the railway track A pebble-dashed underground train passed me at speed Which was strange in itself as they are usually red Then my lunch hour turned even stranger As I soon discovered that the underground train Had turned into a common coffee machine It was when I was…

In about an hour the cops Will have caught up with me They are closing in from all sides I am trapped on this icy beach The deadly east winds Pistol whip my already injured face But I feel no pain The sea is hostile and lacks music No beast so fierce but knows some…

You were there When I needed you That is all that matters You bathed my wounds And found room for me In your fathers house   Alice Cox 1934  

I always bathe before breakfast So that I can watch my dreams Sail away on a thousand ships   Sometimes you join me in the bath And I pleasure you with my tongue Before washing you gently with a silk red sponge   But today I am alone in the resting waters It is snowing…

Simon du Gard is waiting for the snow to arrive This has been promised by many He has never seen snow on a beach And is worried about the light  

I often go to the nude beach with the vicar’s daughter From a distance we can see a row of shops I am told that they are a Marxist collective   The vicar’s daughter is totally uninhibited Unlike her sister who is a nun She often feels the heat When we are on the beach…