Stuart Miller-Osborne

Hope sat by the open window Reading a book She was wearing a flowing orange gown With blue sailing ships Neatly spaced at intervals A chill breeze swept through the small room But Hope did not close the window Instead she watched the moon As it moved rapidly In and out of the string clouds…

caught the next train to manchester as she was late for a citizens meeting  

and I discussed why the two railway stations were so close to each other we could not agree and so ended our association  

Visited a bookshop Not far from The white railway station She purchased a book Which she left on The brown wooden bench It was called The Sun is Dead  

The angry clouds Hid the green mansions On Spill Pill Hill This caused confusion To many of the residents Of the mossy valley Who loved their neighbours Without qualification  

Miss Pettiffer the Lower Knew more than Miss Pettiffer the Higher She could tell onyx from jesse And gold from spite Once a month She would meet a Mr Turner And they would spend hours Discussing the Margate light Miss Pettiffer the Higher Was of the opinion That Aberystwyth Was the shiniest town in Wales…

Sister Christine was standing in the shower in her hotel in Assisi She was looking at her feet Which were covered by the retained water in the shower tray She loved the feeling of her feet being immersed in the soapy waters of her shower and often stood for a few moments in the declining…

Lived in a sleepy town By the sea It was called Pointers But Potters by you and me   They frequently painted in the plain air On the town’s legendary beach I often tried to visit them But found them out of reach   George Bishop 1911    

I admire and desire The freedom of your light flight Small bird Sliding hiding riding gliding You skim the wave tops Of the low bow trees Your river shine mine lost in time    

I am my own imposter My sister’s brother Was badly hurt In my mother’s car