Stuart Miller-Osborne

When I was just seventeen I was approached by a homosexual In a sunken toilet opposite the tube station Nothing happened apart from my distress But I waited for him at the street level entrance He smiled at me as he ascended the steep stairs That was a big mistake as I punched him in…

My younger sister is going out With the son of the local aristocrat He is a nice lad although rather spoilt Who has just completed his degree Recently he published a short story The Cancer of Rich Men’s Minds

Julie Miranda and Eye Were sailing around Various Caribbean islands On our summer voyage We were joined by Alison Who was writing a book About the slave trade Se was a minor American academic Who had devoted her life to the subject As part of our trip we visited various sites Connected to this historical…

I am no longer playing cards With these floating white devils The corruption of their blank games Has done little to illuminate The brittle poetry between the lines The fifth sun has now completed its journey Its terrible reign will not be mourned

It is nearly dark now This the most beautiful Of all my remembered suns Is nearing its extinction There will not be a sixth sun

I met Malcolm Peters at the FGX and then he was gone Twenty years previously he had exposed corruption Within the highest levels of government Three politicians were assassinated by three radicals I poisoned the Prime Minister it was a quiet assassination Not violent and showy like the rest but just as deadly Sham the…

As the winter slowly faded I wrote these words In my heavily flowered diary Spring Starts at Six My ambition was meaningless It was a tired empty thought Which now as the April arrives Seems as vacant as this journey

Every Summer we drive South South-West To our pink and white Monila-Chess Caravan We try to follow the sun And understand the sea winds As we are situated beach side Amongst the rolling sand dunes It is a gentle idyllic location Which is much loved by my friends Robert Monica Kristof & Pal

Every day when I wake up I receive At least twelve photographs from my sister Of trains and mountains Of birds and bees Of giant valleys And verdant trees Sometimes I lose track of L’Wren She is lost in her mad voy-age

My sister is in Sri Lanka at present With her friends Su and Phill Yesterday they visited A tea plantation L’Wren sent me two photo graphs