lee miller

before him a photograph
two genial faces
lovers no doubt
a holiday snap?
backdrop Rouen?
Cathedral Notre-Dame?
has he seen it in a brochure?
must go there one day

pointedly she says
that that is ‘us’
‘us’ when we had no secrets
love struck ‘us’
still love struck ‘us’
her greatest hope
her mantra
her dilemma

he has no recollection
of the event
indeed of whom she might be
of history, science, politics, art
he has knowledge in abundance
yet did he exist before this day?
an irksome point to ponder
when fully formed
without the palisade of time

she, whomsoever she is
says he did…did exist
says once he took her hand
led her on the path to
paradise found

she runs her fingers through his hair
says when his memory returns
she will cry tears of ecstasy

he recognises the
taste of porridge for what it is
not though the face in the mirror
nor the portrait of
the one she says is his father
a man he has no memory of

desperate now
hands upon his temples
imperceptibly pulls him toward her
the modesty of a lingering kiss
hopes it will do the trick
hopes he will remember
her taste

he pulls away
shakes his head disturbed
she just stares
stares and frowns
frowns and stares

she decides to get some air
takes her bicycle
rides the shoreline
the bike now a folly
within a dune
she treads the sand barefoot

he thumbs a broadsheet
headlines just a
maze of yarns?
screws it up
tosses it away
spills his teacup

he has lost all that has gone before

blue eyed cat front cover

Herewith the ‘Blurb’ for my new book, a fictional story entitled ‘The Blue-Eyed Cat’;
‘A book of mind boggling time-travel, feverish sex, syrupy romance, ho hum history, a dark future, The Moon, Constantinople, Paris and Berlin, human consciousness, infinity, a tongue in cheek take on all things carnal, art for art’s sake and three thoroughly mad yet oh so delightful gals’
Should it take your fancy it can be found at;
I am not entirely sure of other Amazon global links and thus I apologize for not revealing them here. However, were you interest in this book a search on local Amazon using my name should suffice.



    1. Thank you, Sir. My old mother had to deal with my ancient father as his mind said ‘no’. Loss of humanness…where there such a word…a curse of an ever aging populous who should, ideally, have waved goodbye before the storm. Life is the oddist thing, all things told.

      1. My son’s mother-in-law is suffering from dementia. She forgets every day that her husband is dead and becomes inconsolable any time she’s reminded of it. Tragic.

  1. It seems many of us will “May not remember” one day. This is a melancholy piece, that is very well done, very moving!
    AND, in spite of Kirsty MacColl’s song, all I can hear is; 🎼Hello, darkness, my old friend🎵
    I’ve come to talk with you again🎵
    Because a vision softly creeping🎵
    Left its seeds while I was sleeping🎶
    And the vision that was planted in my brain🎵
    Still remains🎶
    Within the sound of silence 🎶

    My N has returned, and reading resumed!

    1. My thanks, Resa. Sometimes I write about subjects serious. ‘Tis good to hear Mr N is back. The Blue-Eyed Cat, lovely gal that she is, just got a fine review on Amazon that rather made my day. Moreover, my old secretary from days of yore has been spending these last few nights in bed with her husband, Mr B, reading him said book. It seems you and Mr N have given rise to a whole new reading habit across the globe. Long may it last.

  2. My father and grandfather suffer from Alzheimer’s disease, and so, I know this reality. Jonathan Franzen wrote an essay about his father’s struggle with the illness. Your poem made me remember his sad but beautiful essay. This is poignant and so well written.

    1. Hey Mike,

      I’ve made my blog private. Please request access if you wish to continue reading my work.


    1. Thanks again, Geetha. Having seen that onset with my own two eyes is the hardest thing of all ‘things’. Heartbreaking to watch from afar the journey of the lost mind to an empty cave.

    1. Good to hear from you, Sir. Our house guest, an old chum, from France carried with him a ‘head cold’ and has…thus far…only passed it on to one of us. Atop that I have a stress caused dose of audible gut churning IBS…Brexit racist scum the cause. My severed quad muscles limp worsens by the day and dare not leave the house for fear on infecting or getting infected. Other than that the lounge is my oyster. At least I remain capable of laughing at myself. How art thee?

  3. As of this writing, all is well with me. The L.A. skies are grey & cloudy, the city is in lock-down, I’m in pajamas, I’ve got some old timey music playing, a cup of coffee, a bit of this & that, and my only enemy is the sodium rich food I have stocked in the cabinet. What is there to do but write, write, write? Stay in touch, mate. Geo.

    1. The sad story of my old dad, Ms Lee. The death of a still breathing human lung, nought else. Should such an evil thing trap me I like to think that along the way there is an optimum moment, a corridor perhaps, within which there is an open window I can leap out of and end it all prior to complete dehumanisation. A sad thought? Possibly, although I see it as an opportunity. My apologies should this read overly bleak. Regards, and you and yours, stay safe in this rotten to the core world…after all you are of the new generation, The Old Fool

      1. No no, not sad, Friend. You actually sound quite like Bo–his family’s got a history of heart troubles that take the father early. Of course I pray this doesn’t happen, but considering Bo’s mother was taken after four years of cancer, I know he prefers heart failure to that. So we make the best of our living hours and keep faith for What Comes Next 🙂 xxxxxxx You keep making every moment count with your loved ones, Sir!

      2. Cheers, Ms Lee. I have to say this lock down has reduced my stress levels beyond measure. 7th day in a row indoors, day to day choices no longer exist. No more niggling ‘what shall I wear today?’ ‘what cafe to attend today?’ minor things that when added up they fill a shopping bag now irrelevant. We live in dressing gowns…a certain lack of panache, I know… and do whatever the house or garden allows. Bliss, and less laundry than ever before! I shall be handing the doc his pills back any day now, as the viral war without bombs has perversly been on my side so far…gasp, cough, cough again…thud! Regards, The Old Fool

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.