Stuart Miller-Osborne

Lay ye in the Cuckoo-Buds Once more Sweet Eglantine Then clothe thyself In my Lady-Smock And we will dine at the Violet tables   A short poem by a George Dymock (1810-1846) found amongst his papers  

Uno When awaiting trains never wear a scarf whose colour matches that of the waiting shelters Dos During the chillier months collect red leaves and dry them Tres Question why Honeysuckle is not found near busy highways on the shorter days Cuatro Never travel across bridges with less than six arches Cinco When danger threatens […]

the last bus fades into the exhibition of light it is empty as no travellers care for its direction of travel You have seen the moonrise through my tinted windows I have noted your liquid grey eyes We sit at a street table and share a cup of coffee I sip from your saucer the […]

I ran through your brittle leaves and looked at the angel trails in the mourning sky Why do you burn these leaves and not scatter them as the season’s gift to me?   After Autumn Leaves by J E Millais  

A life size white horse dating from the 1960/70s can be seen in the yard of an antique establishment in Hungerford, West Berkshire. It has been there for some months, quietly weathering but this process of decay has raised some fundamental questions. 1 Now that you are gone will I only see the rough grasses […]

Secular crocodiles Do not visit The Catholic Church  

Piers On the wall Opposite my bed There is a letter box And through this letter box I can see all the piers in Montenegro   Trains Felix Lane Waited for a train Which never came Each day was the same Nobody took the blame In Montenegro   Horses As the step mists Crept towards […]

as the wind leaves danced on the icy road Captain Hawke discussed the construction of the winter months with a passing piano

the thin braided trees were shadowed by the pink blush of a brittle dawn in the reclining darkness a foundation boy removed a blue ribbon tied to a bush written in weathered ink was the name Virginia Stride the name of his sisters sister this was her dowry

Grange Farm    (Mrs Tomkins) Alfred, Alfred, Alfred ! Bring me the dusky day So I may place it With the other jams Grange Farm    (Thomas Little – Farmhand) I am frying an egg On the tin barn roof The chickens enjoy the view Grange Farm    (Alfred Tomkins – Owner of the Farm) We are often […]