Happy Birthday to my Mum. Thanks for being a wonderful human being.

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Five foot two

Quilt stitched coat of blue

Native pride

Spiritual strength inside

Lower Nicola band

Shuswap Clan

Tony and Jerry

Each man you did marry

Chur pops Mum

Day had begun

Nineteen Seventy-two

I had no clue

When the music played

You faced it unafraid

Get up to eat

Cream of wheat

Wrestling meet

Always in your seat

Tab and Tuna Chili

Weighing food wasn’t silly

Green bean stuff

Could never eat enough

Pecan tarts are nice

Pork Hocks and rice

Open ear

20 plus without a beer

Elvis the king

Let’s karaoke to sing

Elton John

It was Your Song

Bloodshot eyes

You were not surprised

Boot camp daily

You sent maily

Red Rose Tea

Sister of Grandma Susie

Picking berries

Still friends with Mary

Coronation street

Light on your feet

Trust is wealth

Binhave yourself

Wounds from long ago

Continues to help us grow

Whom do I…

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Lynden by Raymond Roy

Photo credit Gail Bonsen


Lynden by Raymond Roy

It is the the smell of fresh cut hay, calloused hands of a dairyman after a long hard day

It is the sounds of Lions football on a rainy Friday night and putting on jeans, on a cool summer evening, so mosquitoes won’t bite. 

It is red stained hands from summer work in the berry fields, The heat of the summer fair and the giant Ferris wheel. 

It is the the Dutch bakery with all your favorite treats, the farmer’s day parade, overflowing on Front street. 

It is the Ronde Voo for cruisin’ and a double Dutch deluxe, a large fry with tartar sauce and clam digging for geoducks. 

It is where we played outside regardless of the rain, it is where I grew up, I cherish it, again and again. 

 It is Lynden

Raymond Roy LHS Class of ’81

Society’s Tourniquet By Raymond Roy #FFFAW

Rattle Rattle, “spare change?” , “help a brother out”? 
Pan handling, it’s not so bad. You never have to worry about making eye contact with anybody. Although the concrete IS hot in the summer and sucks the life’s blood out of you in the winter. My knees ache, and butt gets numb at times. Don’t have to worry about feet getting cold since I left those back in Afghanistan. 

Hard concrete flashback: snapping in honing our marksmanship skills in the Marine Corps. The circle was asphalt, the rifle sling was tourniquet tight. We knelt facing a target, not firing, just developing muscle memory. Bam!! I saw stars as the DI slapped the rifle against my face, “tighten it up maggot”.

 Bam!! Back to reality, a car backfires. 

A long legged fur coat wearing high society type approaches the entrance to the high rise apartments with her fru-fru K9. She stops momentarily, takes out a tissue and wipes the dog’s arse. 

What’s wrong with this picture? 
Rattle Rattle, “spare change?” , “help a brother out”? 

Word count-174

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 

Semper Fidelis to all my Marine brethren. 

Chaman’s Garden by Raymond Roy #FFFAW

As Chaman sat on the patio, I would hear him talking to his petalled friends, encouraging them to grow, thanking them for their beauty. As a new tenant, with the patio immediately outside my front door, it was hard not to hear Chaman my landlord’s peculiar activity through my single paned sliding window. 

Leaving for work the next morning, the proprietor was already at his “post”. Awkwardly, I blurted out “Good morning Chaman, what is your secret to such a beautiful floral display”? “Oh how very kind of you, but I cannot take all the credit, the other tenants contribute as well”. “You might contribute as well if you are ever late on rent.” Stunned I headed out. 
That evening in the laundry room, I met one of my neighbors. “Pleased to meet you” she said. Shaking hands, I noticed she was missing two fingers. I jerked back. “I am sorry, that was rude of me”. Dear girl, what….” before I could complete my question, tearfully she cried, “Two months late”. 

Wordcount: 171

Note: Chaman (means flowering garden in Bengali (East Indian))

Deep somewhere in my grey matter, a Bing Crosby movie  Dr. Cook’s Garden deserves credit for a similar gardening tip. 

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. #FFFAW