Stuart Miller-Osborne

Under a sky innocent of the night the naked fields play host to the crystal dust for these are the landscapes of rebellion     SMO 1985

Many dream trains Had passed me in my sleep In reality there were fewer My cousin Rose who did not dream Had been up since dawn counting trains She had counted thirteen Six travelling east and six travelling west Only the salt train had remained stationary  

Why do vertigo snails climb trees Do they not consider The hygiene of the mind As they hide In the fetish reeds Hoping to observe The graves of eagles Who took poison For no particular reason After attending a feast In the white meadows For it is only the water flies Who know That it […]

desired to learn languages during her slender years in order to converse with her future child without nuisance

The Lady Lloyd was the name of a wall that separated the railway from the footpath to the beach. It was of Sharpoint design and was about eighty metres long I was on the beach painting the White Tygers. I had no colour in my palette so my representation was dour At thirteen minutes past […]

collects church spires with her withered arm she has three to date such are the mysteries of the triangle unlike others she has no interest in games of spheres on natural slopes this is not her passion in the trees next to the warehouse a camera lies hidden in the branches she cleans the lens […]

The warm skies have covered the complexion of this day and have celebrated its wilderness. The high grass will send unseen messages to our fathers in the shadows. For only they have clothed the innocent .     This poem was written after witnessing the release of ashes on the Westbury White Horse on a […]

The Gathering The brimstone comma dipped its orange tipped pen into the holly blue ink and wrote to the painted lady. Outside a peacock wailed as it welcomed the red admiral in his carriage. As it passed a tree a stray branch removed one of the small copper handles which fell silently into the dust. […]

If you look at the new moons through the winter of trees they shatter Do count the fragments before they fade

The Monitor Stone At high tide a black flag hid the monitor stone This brought distress to my family but not to me Education of a Fly Stay still my glamorous scholars learning is a slow art A Long Romance  I shall write you divided letters as the shingle dictates my pace I will describe […]