Stuart Miller-Osborne

I was always told That all years are memorable In their different ways Some are kind Some are sad Some are joyous Some are bad So why in this land of plenty Should I shout Fuck You 2020        

I am dreaming of a French Summer But not in the south of the country I am dreaming of a French Summer On a northern cliff high above the sea It is raining hard tonight The sky is angry and dark I cannot see France from my bedroom This makes me sad as I know…

Elena Elena and myself Have adopted a cat Whose name is The Whetstone of Witte Cats have no conception of mortality Which worries us as The Whetstone of Witte Often sleeps on the railway tracks Behind our apartment This is a dangerous place to rest As trains from the west are often diverted  

For the last six years I have lived in Paris With two gay girls Both are Spanish Their names are Elena and Elena Our cohabitation has worked successfully Even though I am not queer They look after my every need From the outside this seems an odd arrangement But truthfully we do not give a…

Many years ago I found myself on a railway station In a small West Country town It was as I was making my exit that I spotted an elderly nun Standing by the station footbridge with a large suitcase Excuse me Sister may I be of assistance  The nun was very small and was beginning…

Emily I think we have run out of milk Would you send the maid to Clarke’s  She’s dead  Oh Dear  How  Julia  What about Julia  She popped over to Dimbola  To have her likeness captured  And there she caught a chill  You know how damp the studios are  They always make me ill    Pause…

I watched Rodgers carriage arrive And then I watched it leave He is my mystery lover I suppose Or so he leads me to believe   Don Juan Flowers Gaiety Travel And Love That Is All I Require Of The World   Don Juan I asked him whether he would fight a duel over me…

Espace L’infini des belles femmes Néant L’Univers Chante Pour moi Les géants sont des nains Dans l’espace, personne ne peut t’entendre crier Je regarde trop de films       Agnes 2020      

The sea was where I had left it when I chose to sleep You were still hidden by our white cotton sheets During the summer months we sleep on the balcony So that we can wake up to the gentle sea breezes and perfumed air   I am reading a book of soft pastoral poetry…

On the last day of August I was stung by a wasp It was a painful raw sting And I destroyed the assassin in an instant However about a month later I became ill I am getting better now which is a blessing The wasp is dead and its remains are dust But its memory…