Stuart Miller-Osborne

As Rachel tended to her flock She looked at the nearby city houses One building half hidden Had thirteen chimney pots Rising high into the sky Rachel thought of the final supper That had taken place In her father’s house    

The hills green grey green Await the rain But they lie to the fallow trees About the sculling cloud   Nothing stirs in the low meadow Except for the blank winds Which seduce the shy grasses With their damp dour rhythms    

Amaryllis why do you collect Leaves in your apron When I have started a fire The season has ended You should let it rest    

As a new born she was laid On her mother’s cold apron Her life milk was the gift Of her three sisters    

The jeweller carried a diamond in the heel of his boot as he fled the country of his birth It would be his future he thought He travelled for many hundreds of miles and found himself in a darkened town If you give me sanctuary I will give you light He shouted in a deserted […]

You died young without seeing the pity of war Which I suppose was correct In the greater shape of things As war is better viewed from Heaven    

You are paddling in the sea in your indigo bikini An Ibex throws a multi-coloured beach ball towards you It sails over your head and lands in the sea You ignore the spray and look at the planets in the wise sky In time they will be aligned The Ibex retrieves the beach ball and […]

Christine and Christopher were taking their morning walk along the cliff path that led to East Bay when they came across a crack in the chalk which stretched for over five hundred feet Christopher was alarmed and held his sisters hand urging her not to proceed His sister smiled and ran forward occasionally hopping across […]

The lye marks that made Tristan De Coomna betray his country were asymmetrical pearl like and wafer thin he kept a thousand of these tokens hidden in a tobacco tin in the corner of the room the nine day winds had swept his landscapes clean and in this special light he saw Lady Lido moving […]

Marcia lay asleep Next to my African mask Her white shoulders were exposed And contrasted favourably with the darkness of the wood But I liked her soft crimson lips Which even in repose Were seductive   Marcia – (Ink on the Wheel) Marcia had finished her task And I was ready to print Her poems […]