“Harnessing the Sun” By Raymond Roy #FFfaw

Alexandre.. Alexandre! Are you still in bed?

“Oui Maman! Yes, I am coming! Walking downstairs from his upstairs loft.

“What is wrong with you? There are pigs to feed”, take out the rubbish to the burn pile. You are nineteen years old Alex. King Louis Philipe himself could walk through that door and you would probably sit there day-dreaming!

Shaking head in appeasement to his mother he went about her bidding.

Alex had been doing more than sleeping in. During this time of year the morning sun tracked perfectly through his thick burlap curtains. The focused energy was awe inspiring. He was fascinated by his secret experiments with what he was calling chemical batteries. Noting yesterday that when exposed to heat, they became quite volatile. Heat was unstable,hard to control. Playing with his prisms (if he could only better understand the less volatile visible light potential, the reaction would HAVE to be more stable).

He was right..

Word Count-158

In 1839 France, Alexandre-Edmond Becquerel, at age 19, would later be credited with creating the first photovoltaic device in his father’s laboratory.

This was written for FFfAW Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Great thanks to our host PricelessJoy! To read additional stories based on the photo prompt, please click here



“We Are Here” by Raymond Roy #sundayphotofiction

“We Are Here” by Raymond Roy

You sat on the other side of the classroom next to the clanging radiator. Heat emanating, distorting the blinding winter sunlight. I would blush beet red when the teacher would call on me, catching me day-dreaming about you. Another sleepless night hugging my pillow. Swearing tomorrow would be the day I summon the courage to talk to you. I make a secret pact with God himself, once I held you in my arms it would be forever.

That day came, and it hasn’t been the words spoken over our many years together that defined our love. It was kissing you, spooning you, warming you with my body on wintry nights. It was knowing that when those that we thought were friends turned on us, no less in the name of God, this only made us remember our love was not dependent on others.

Today I affirm the promise of being with you always.

You are dying.

Once again my body warms yours. You dreamed of warm tropical waters. I whisper “We are here”.

Fish darting at my feet. A warm tropical breeze gently lifts your hair toward heaven. Forever in my arms walking out to sea.

Word Count-200

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction click here to read other stories based on this photo Sunday Photo Fiction © Photo Credit Eric Wicklund

“The Cocoon” by Raymond Roy #poetry #poem

Flexing my legs, I hear a crack, a cool wisp of air on the small of my back.

Expanding my lungs, feet are glued in one place, one more back stretch, and down drops my case.

The sun feels warm as I unfold my wings, like rain dampened linens hanging out in the Spring.

Luminescent wing stretches, fluttering at the tip, like a freshly fitted drum, or sail on clipper ship.

Almost losing its grasp, a slight breeze catches, newly formed wings, as the swallowtail hatches

. Tiger Swallowtail papilioglaucus

Uncoiled proboscis, a ready made straw, sweet nectar from blossoms voraciously I’ll draw.

With photoreceptors so keenly aware, cornucopia of color, I take to the air.

Landing is hard on the swaying coneflower, swooping perfected, in under an hour.

The first sip of nectar so syrupy sweet, after tasting-testing plants with the tips of my feet.

Long gone are the days crawling and munching of leaves, grounded with stinkbug and spidery weaves.

Courtship begins with a shameless array , a nuptial-dance keeping rivals at bay

As days become shorter and blooms disappear, the cold slows my wingbeat, the ending is near

My mind longs for days,remembered so well, when I unfolded my wings, and escaped from my shell.


Amazed by the abundance and diversity of butterflies in my garden during the summer months. A few facts about these lovely creatures, their proboscis is basically a straw with is detached when they emerge from the cocoon(some assembly required) and butterflies can taste with their feet which helps in identifying “home” plants that suit their palette.

I rescued this handsome chap from drowning in a birdbath

Red Admiral Butterfly (vanessa atalanta


“The Grappler” By Raymond Roy #poem

The Grappler By Raymond Roy

Wrestling practice in a bus garage, where the only heat was from your breath and sweat.

To our adversaries, they ain’t seen nothing yet……….

Represented was every weight. Corn-fed Unlimited,

slender 101,

and in the middle, 168……

Up at 530 to run the bleachers,

Our Coach was Ross

aka one of the Algebra teachers……

No Friday night lights, no roaring crowds, no booming bands.

Immediate family were our biggest fans…….

Not to forget our Guardian Angels so secret in disguise,

They loyally dressed up our lockers, and brought plenty a surprise……

Back of the bus, spit in a cup.

Gotta make the weight, or you would wrestle up…….

First round of three you shook the hands of an opponent of equal weight,

Whistle blows, butterflies gone, training will tell your fate……..

Take down for two, escape for one

A pin and points, will matter none……

Quarter Nelson, cross face, or a fireman’s carry,

countering the cradle never reach back and be wary………

Your challenger’s breathing is all that you can hear,

and instructions from the ref, through your head adorned gear…….

The small frys are quick, juvenile looking at their best.

The middle weights, are intense, confidently pounding fist on chest……

Like charging bull or loco train, the heavyweights would grapple on the mat.

Raw power in slow motion, like a slothy acrobat……..

While defeat brought deep heartache and victory yielded bliss

Pinning meant a gold pin, and a mat maids innocent kiss.


By no means was I superstar wrestler. Record was 50-50 at best. One of my most cherished items is a peer based inspirational trophy I received my Junior year. It sits on my desk in front of me, as a daily reminder of my roots and my first experience of being part of something greater than myself.

This poem is dedicated to all wrestlers but especially to my coaches, teammates and those that supported us back at Lynden High School. Go Lions!

LHS Class of ’81

“Fences” by Raymond Roy #Sundayphotofiction

Fences by Raymond Roy

The purpose of a wall, fence, or gate, brings to question, what’s so great?

A work of art behind museum doors, bars of a prison for those society abhors.

And then the zoo , lined with it various cages, security in, various stages,

So we can look at hairy ape, or exotic bears with our mouths agape.

But what of fences that guard the rare, endangered species, because we “care”.

If truth be told why all the fuss? Reality is, fences protect “them”, from us.

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction



“All You Can Eat” by Raymond Roy #FridayFictioneers

. Image Copyright victor and Sarah Potter

All you Can Eat” by Raymond Roy

“Click” on the light switch, inside the cellar door.

Giant arachnid suspended , on a web from ceiling to floor

Not waiting long for prey, that hum and fill the air,

In the form flesh-flies, ruby eyed and legs with hair.

Similar to the stench of death, the flies overwhelm the room.

Random victims entangled , slowly face their doom.

Suddenly the door-lock sounds a shocking “click”and “clack”,

instantly flesh flies, are crawling up my back.

One more click, the room is dark, without missing a beat,

I am now the buffet at, a flesh-flies “ all you can eat”

Word Count=100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thanks Rochelle 🙂

The Message By Raymond Roy #writephoto

Photo Credit Sue Vincent

The Message By Raymond Roy

If I could talk what would I say, to the Lummi, the Shuswap, and Ojibwe

I would share my sorrow of broken *Magic Pots, of runs of Salmon, no longer caught.

Empty plains are where the Bison would run,

Wiped from Mother Earth, like a setting sun.

Dignity destroyed by Firewater, making orphans of both son and daughter.

If I could talk, much to my dismay, man would not listen, Yes he, God’s very own creation, from the Mother Earth’s clay.

Blind greed for gold and oil desecrates sacred lands, destroying our Nations, our tribes, and our bands.

To all the nations, empower the child, to embrace Mother Earth, the wind, and the wild.

Be fathers to your children, watch dignity grow, mankind may depend, on this message, from The Crow.



Written for Sue Vincent’s Photo Prompt Thank you to Sue!

*There is an Ojibwe story of Magic pots that encouraged creativity and had special powers. Five little girls broke the pots and intern were turned into crows, and from that day forward the Ojibwe made no pottery.

Lemonade Stand By Raymond Roy #FFfAW

Photo Credit:Fandango

“Gonna be dark soon.” “Get some paper and my Mom’s reading glasses into that last patch of sunlight and get a fire going. I’ll gather some wood”.

“I say we go back before they notice we are gone!”

“There’s no going back Luke. I made sure of that. I left a note on your Dads nightstand . They”ll never accept us being step siblings and boyfriend and girlfriend.” ” Parents! They have all the power, make crappy life choices, and we have to deal with the ramifications. Well we are going to turn these lemons into the worlds largest lemonade stand.”

Word count-100

Written for Priceless Joy’s 100 word Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge click Here to read the rest of the stories.



Indeed I Do by Raymond Roy

Indeed I Do By Raymond Roy

A deed that is done is more than simply an action,For once completed, no retraction.

In the deeds I do, I cannot regret. No future worry, no time to fret.

For it is one life I am given, I pray I do not waste, aspirations toward deeds, that feed egos, arrogance, and the two faced.

To others deeds I should make no mind, of passing judgement, be they evil, malicious or unkind.

At times, my views may seem etched in stone, but they are mine, and I alone, avow my deeds, indeed I do,

Yes indeed I DO, in the deeds, I do.