Stuart Miller-Osborne

When streets are sensuous dances are held lit by the recollections of his day The waters at Coate reflected the last light of the day but searched in vain for the spring stars I had travelled from Bath and when passing Liddington Hill I was much impressed by the swept snow that covered the summit. […]

I am aware of your masks Do not play games You will not fool me With your short colour   If I refuse your communion Then address me By my rest name I will not lie with you   1983

I could write that the rapid red butterflies were still on wing bringing colour to this autumn lane. But this is untrue The wind is getting colder and these insects and their splendid colours have vanished without trace It is time for a heavier coat I fear   You were working on my self portrait […]

in gleaming harmony   of its new journey   and spread the seeds     of a warm mother It returned to the womb           It was reported that a meteorite landed in the sea off of Whitstable in the final weeks of October 2011  

Down Drown Down Bed of Gown Let us be rid of this useless town You write this on your exercise book (next to your name) and pass it to me in secret under the desk. Jonty Giles notices and writes another verse (which he sells to me). Maroon in colour, unkempt, I leaf through the […]

Castaway on a lonely raft far from a lost land he sensed the communion of seasons and imagined the cells of angels hidden behind the comet sun as he had seen their reflections in the fine feathered sea     1981 

The trees had lied I knew of their fictions The cheerful plains Course in their whispers Had told me so

In a shaft of light the dust fairies hover and I am illuminated once more through these coloured windows   Her fine fabric air now flirts playfully as she hints at the perfume of her hidden form     2000

The sunlight shone through the upper deck Of the morning bus And illuminated The river from within

I live by the great sun occasionally surfacing to observe the triple martyrs as they bathe their wounds in the springs of their sleep   White are the passing carriages that house the famine poor on their journeys of melt   By arrangement I will meet them as they sup at the pole tables I […]