Stuart Miller-Osborne

Let my amber tears drop into the small fires of the home hearth for its smoke will serenade the last man as he shelters from the promised ash

Dead Pheasants On my journey today I passed some balloons tied to a tree They invited me to a party So I taught them to fly Montreal Adams designed airports to resemble spaceships as she thought planes obsolete A Journey of Advantages on the last day the condemned man and his executioner played dice together […]

Will the tribes share your brave uniform as they listen to the sounds of battle or will the dead celebrate the purity of disease ?     Based on an incident when the artist Jessica Dismorr stripped naked in Oxford Street in London.

I was born on the 24th April 1950. This was the day of my arrival in The Eternal City. I was met at the railway station by Valerie, Helen and Ann who each gave me a guide book. In return I autographed their eyes so that they would never forget me. I painted the Tiburtina […]

The Bridge I had not visited the bridge for nearly twenty years Its engineer had been dead for that time I had married his wife after seeing her from a rooftop nearby She had given me a child which I wished was his But he never returned I ran my hand over its swollen span […]

There are no tube maps available for Griffins This is a known urban restriction BakerlooBacon CentralConstable CircleCorot DistrictDelacroix Hammersmith&CityHolbein JubileeJuel MetropolianMatisse NorthernNolde PiccadillyPissarro VictoriaVelazquez Waterloo&CityWatteau There is no ART on the UNDERGROUND only UNDERGROUND ART  (All art is travel) Which on the flip side means that all artists are liars All galleries are centres of […]

A beggar was freezing outside of the coffee shop I purchased a cup of coffee for him As I received a commission on all coffee sales

They are employed to stack shelves in supermarkets at night but dream of amethysts in cornflake cans dancing to the harmonies of the tills and painting one orient on all available surfaces in the minutes before the dawn

As the day fades in its politeness the late birds will search the old trees for the memory of their sleep And in the deep village the forgotten elders will close their doors and raise grey fires But nothing is quiet the meadows always exaggerate the night

I purchased a penguin at the railway station today it expressed a wish to travel so I left it on the train