Stuart Miller-Osborne

The Bridge I had not visited the bridge for nearly twenty years Its engineer had been dead for that time I had married his wife after seeing her from a rooftop nearby She had given me a child which I wished was his But he never returned I ran my hand over its swollen span […]

There are no tube maps available for Griffins This is a known urban restriction BakerlooBacon CentralConstable CircleCorot DistrictDelacroix Hammersmith&CityHolbein JubileeJuel MetropolianMatisse NorthernNolde PiccadillyPissarro VictoriaVelazquez Waterloo&CityWatteau There is no ART on the UNDERGROUND only UNDERGROUND ART  (All art is travel) Which on the flip side means that all artists are liars All galleries are centres of […]

A beggar was freezing outside of the coffee shop I purchased a cup of coffee for him As I received a commission on all coffee sales

They are employed to stack shelves in supermarkets at night but dream of amethysts in cornflake cans dancing to the harmonies of the tills and painting one orient on all available surfaces in the minutes before the dawn

As the day fades in its politeness the late birds will search the old trees for the memory of their sleep And in the deep village the forgotten elders will close their doors and raise grey fires But nothing is quiet the meadows always exaggerate the night

I purchased a penguin at the railway station today it expressed a wish to travel so I left it on the train

When I tie cracked mirrors to the citrus trees I can see the nights of my cousins I do not laugh at their misfortune as they still share my bed Together we admire the stamps issued in honour of my mother Her name was Marie-Galante She was the proud owner of many oxen I keep […]

When I look into bottles discarded I see my remaining roads As brittle as a trace From now I will not wash my hands socially White is not the chosen colour

1   When young I worked in a shipyard as I felt drawn to cranes 2   Don Juan 3   My eyes are at sea level. I see occasional blue flashes The sea is colour blind 4   VACANT 5   The South Farallon Islands, The Middle Farallon Island and The North Farrallon Islands are invisible from my home […]

What shapeless rhythms do you hear as the wild duck stalk haunted by the doe eyed glances of their limpid pools. I heard nothing, for as I sailed among the latitudes of senseless cloud my fragrant skin was blessed by the dispassionate reason of her obsessive light.     Written c 1977