Stuart Miller-Osborne

If I am shameless Then I shall fade I do not exploit the darkness Nobody can   Poets are shameless with their experiences :They exploit them Nietzsche   1977

You lay there Gravel raised With the cold lips Of your dead smile Awaiting a saline breath Whilst your eyes Wonder at the map Of the heavens As you are entombed On this distant shore.     A poem written in Torcross ,South Devon about a dead fish found high on the beach.     […]

As a man in the clean clouds searches for his gold The lost in their hell clothes deliver his perfumed rope.       A man hid and lost his gold and whilst searching for the metal found a rope which he later used to hang himself.      (Att Plato)     SMO 1983

At night when my thoughts are in recession I hear the bright music of your forecourts and sense the quiet terrors of your history

The Thief   In the sweetness of your palm You have grasped the bitterness Of your folly. The Idiot Girl My idiot child You shall never desire Your future nights. The Good Man Why did you embrace death With no refusal What kingdoms were promised ? The Moth  Oh slight creature You will fly into the […]

They all look the same These suburban stops With the criss cross crowds Huddled in the cuckolded shelters.   Be they far near Or in this home grown town They all speak the language of despair As they await their final journey.     SMO 1988

I will hold thee In my green grasp As lovers do I will yield thee As I am strong Return to life You did no wrong.     In 2009 the remains of a suicide were discovered in a tree in Germany. The death was only noted when the tree started shedding the bones. It […]

Love, I am tired of love I imagine an alphabet without love A B C D  FG H I J K  M N P  Q R S T U  W X Y Z A nonsense should be substituted in its place Death Plunge Day Dust Memories I have no memories sailors lay no claim to […]

In the tree shaded lane June passed without note As May had on the wind A new month arrived With its mysterious scents As a drunken wren Considered the mathematics Of a sycamore tree

Sebastian postponed twilight yesterday as he wanted to read his poems to the flowers before they closed