Stuart Miller-Osborne

Pale Blue and Purple were walking into town Where they were due to meet I am an Acrobat at midday Under the church clock Mister Basil from the Pot of Basil shop Was watching trains from his bed room window He had caught the flu bug When it fell from a multi-storied car park into…

You will not experience Christmas this year as little of you now remains For many years you would have witnessed the cars and coaches Travelling to the Cathedral City But this theatre has now ceased Your loss was unexpected I was told that it was necessary You will be missed But time will heal your…

A Black Angel exploded over Bedwyn today I saw it happen A flash as bright as an atomic bomb Filled the sky for an instant And then it was gone Nothing else happened And the winter dusk continued its pointless journey Towards the ice night I knew the angel that died She was a lovely…

Things are changing He is about to return This is a warning from Mother Teresa Prepare yourselves   Mother Teresa is now sitting in her comfy chair She is nearly asleep I am on the veranda of her official residence Staring at the lonely night sky   The heat is at its most oppressive In…

Experts have proved that The White Madonna That now hangs in the Tate Is in fact a forgery   The Madonna was of indigenous descent And died with Custer At the Battle of Little Big Horn in 1876

You were standing in the light of a festive roundabout Your eyes were saturated by its neon stars   Blue Red Green Blue Red Yellow Blue Red Mauve   A ghost philosopher congratulated you on your beauty But you did not hear him as your mind was elsewhere Ghost Philosophers do not pass you very…

Whilst waiting for a train at a lonely station I noticed that the thin winter sun Had created quite distinctive shadows Under the freezing platform canopy I knew that this theatre would not last long As these were the short shallow days On a distant planet a neon juke box Was playing slow songs in…

I always feel better when I return from my ride To my home on the northern shore And as the seasons mellow I begin to cultivate my sea facing gardens

To alleviate the pain I sometimes ride my wild horse towards the Silver Pool Since my childhood years I have cast stones into this smooth memory I am often troubled though as I can no longer see the beauty of the sheltering sky But when I look upwards from the turmoil of the broken waters…

Actor    Act Act We all act Our stage is our theatre But what do we do When the lights are extinguished