It wasn’t that her parents wouldn’t attendbecause the wedding clashed with Remembrance Dayand poppies exerted a powerful hold;nor that my Best Man was newly diagnosedas a schizophrenic cum manic depressive –though we were both in two minds about that.Neither that my sister’s husband turned upin a T-shirt bearing the legend                    BULLSHIToverdid the bevvies and insulted my mother,obliging me to step in and sufferthe traditional wedding day glasssmashed over my forehead,a visit to Casualty and several stitches.And in retrospect I can see it was funnyto be trapped in a lift for 2 or more hourswith a freshly bought packet of fags and no matches.But the worst of all was when Path of Peace,a horse I’d followed with more faiththan reason, triumphed at 25-1in the last big race of the season.What with one thing and anotherI never got to put the bet on.40 years later and I’m still chasing losses. Ray Miller is a Socialist, Aston Villa supporter, and faithful husband. Life’s been a disappointment. You can find more of Ray’s work here on Ink Pantry.

Love, I Must Leave Love, I must leave, we’re covered in lichen,the kind found fogging a graveyard addressthat draws you close to decipher the writing of praises for people we never knew.Love, I must leave, I’ve trodden on tombstonesand questioned … Continue reading →

Man Out Of Time Here’s where I get it, stood in the playgroundnext to parents who attended schoolwith my eldest, or when the new teacherenquires if I’m her granddad. Here’s where I get it, taking the youngestto the cinema, bumping … Continue reading →

Maverick    She’s stubbed out her last cigarette,we marvel that she managed it;a sixty-a-day inveterate,a Marlboro-mad smoking stickwho craved not only nicotineand the repertoire of motions,from hand to mouth and back againessential to devotions,but had augmented the habitto flatten flames that … Continue reading →

Stuffed They were no less than stately homes;visitors welcome, within reason.Lovingly sculptured gardenswreathed the facades of baroque bedlamsjust far away enough. The learned pages of medical journalswere stuffed with architectural theoriesexplaining how external grandeurwould raise the oppressedspirits of the mad. … Continue reading →

Up there a helicopter herds cows to safetywhile the hills are dowsed by tiny firefighters;down here I pour boiling water on an ants’ nestand scan the rivulets to slaughter survivors. Ray Miller is a Socialist, Aston Villa supporter, and faithful husband. … Continue reading →

This marching, these banners, remind me of Tot,gently spoken, dreadlocked, who once offeredto construct a house for our kids in the treeat the end of our garden. He’d protested atthe Newbury bypass, built and inhabitedhis own tree-house, so we figured … Continue reading →

The silence of the night,in the wake of many bullet-rent years,is torn by the remonstrance of three stray dogswho find no food in the garbage container,having been emptied by junk-collectorswho would not now hesitate to consumeany available leftovers. In the … Continue reading →

Roll the Film, Gotham The source of nightfinally enters the city.Unwedded to sense,it conjures up a storm.An effort to become wholethrough union with anotheris thwarted by a stab of lightning,a roll of thunder.An imaginary picture in the mindis set aflame.So … Continue reading →

The Cost of Living in Daydreams My adaptations of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Villette, and The Waveshave been adopted by three Hollywood directors for the big screen,with Hans Zimmer as the main candidate to write the music themes.My first collection of … Continue reading →