Stuart Miller-Osborne

Consciousness is an end in itself We torture ourselves getting somewhere And when we get there it is nowhere For there is nowhere to get to   Who said that Anna  Birkin  It is very deep  I agree  Shall we invite him for tea  I think that he would find it rather jolly  Is he […]

There is a terracotta owl Sitting in the back seat Of my deux chevaux It just stares at me Morning noon and night Which is a little worrying As I do not drive I have offered it food But it does not answer me Nor does it want a drink Maybe I should change my […]

Recently whilst clearing my loft I found a faded watercolour That I had painted some years ago It was a rough view of three oast houses Along with a barn and a few outbuildings   Jane and I were strawberry picking At a farm some miles from Maidstone in rural Kent I can remember its […]

In my dream I had moved back to Shepherds Bush Where I had lived as a child I had not been too happy about moving back As I thought that the area would be inner city and violent But I found nothing but nice people and a gentle community We were running a newsagents shop […]

Is Mule your real name No Why are you called Mule That is my nickname What is your real name I cannot remember That is an unusual name But why Mule Because I am the offspring of a Jack and a Mare My sister is called Hinny A nickname Yes as she is the offspring […]

Rugby is a game for real men  I know  Unlike football  Do you agree Jim  Yes  What do you like about rugby  It is a mans sport  But girls like the game too  I am aware of that as at the game yesterday I saw a girl with a mane of golden hair  She was […]

Those who serve England Must expect nothing from her We debase ourselves If we regard our country As merely a place to eat and sleep   She is a mother and a wife a sister too   Who is shy and retiring yet full of grace I adore her sweet breezes and feminine face Her […]

A Stone Age man was looking into his fire When he witnessed the future He watched with astonishment As a high speed train screamed Through an empty station Under a dying sun He was concerned That the world As he knew it Was about to end  

The bumble bees are far away I cannot hear their hazy sounds In the silent bushes sparse today   The decadent flowers Are just the blush dreams Of the silk soft summer months     28/01/22

You are sleeping quietly Almost hidden between the sheets Raw Red and Pure White A January Crescent Moon overlooks you But does not share your quiet dreams In the pale skies the Travelling Gulls Are returning to their home shores And are celebrating in the vacancy of the dawn