Come As You Are by Raymond Roy #poetry

Come As You Are by Raymond Roy

Unlocking the gate.

It swings open. Listening over my shoulder. Listening for someone. Anyone. To stop me from locking the gate behind me.

Is that you Jesus?

Maybe I should leave it unlocked, just in case. Not so fast..A wiseman once told me, ”Expectation destroys gratitude.” He also said, “Anger is poison you drink, and expect your enemy to die.”

“Come as you are”

What first does that even mean?

Like many other catch phrases, over used. Just something people say. Like, “love ya, love ya guys..

It’s just something people say..

Come as you are…

So you can be judged whether you belong?

Come as you are,

IF..

• You speak the same language
• You are of the same race
• Have the same sexual preference
• Never question our truth even if you know them to be lies.
• When push comes to shove don’t make waves.
• Accept that if you to leave you will now be the enemy.

“Come as you are, as you were

As I want you to be

As a friend, as a friend

As an known enemy”-Nirvana

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction thank you to our host.

Photo prompt “No trespassing” Copyright Sascha Darlington

A little darker poetry than usual, as my Old Man (Dad, Gerald) would say, “kinda heavy”. This is my first non lyrical poem. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading.

Peace.

Goroyboy.

“I Will Rise” by Raymond Roy #poetry #iwillrise

I will rise….

Distant sunrise, cool morning breeze,

above the clouds, I rise with ease.

Like Ironman flying, I rise above,

Seeing those that have passed, my heart fills with love.

Gone is the weight of daily drama,

Which one is better, Bush, Reagan or Obama?

I will rise, here souls have no gender, doctrine , origin, or race,

no conflict, hatred, color of face.

Time as we know it, does not exist, social media likes, or media twists.

I will rise, becoming stardust, from whence I came, free of life’s burdens, only love, no shame.

I will rise.

Word Count-99

-Peace

-Goroyboy

Written for Flash Fiction Challenge hosted by Charli. Based on the photo prompt, write in 99 words(no more, no less) Thanks Charli.

“You Must Like Butter” By Raymond Roy #writephoto #domesticabuse

“You Must Like Butter” By Raymond Roy #writephoto

The bright yellow flowers were reminiscent of when as a child, we would hold a dandelion under each other’s chin. If your chin reflected yellow, it meant you liked butter.

The fringes on the brand new fat rubber tires created a whirring sound as the whipped against the bicycle frame. A campfire effect of the warm sun on my back with a cool headwind brought a clammy sweat to the hair on the back of my neck.

Turning off the road onto a cleared soil path carved in the canola field, the ground was like a grainy dampened beach. The soil almost pebble-like yet firm enough to keep me moving forward. The canola plants were in full bloom.

The musky sweet scent sang a sirens song to the nectar drunken, pollen-laden sleepy bees as they made their way to work.

I found it difficult to keep my mouth full closed as my upper lip continued to swell. The iron rich salty blood crusted on my lower lip, the crimson vital fluid I had swallowed, sat in my stomach like a dagger.

At the base of the ridge I coasted under the bridge to the coal shadowed stream. As I ducked under the bridge. A small cloud formed from my warm breath as it floated out from the shade into the sunlight.

Pulling my hoodie sleeves up, I plunged my swollen hands into the icy stream. Cupping water up to my puffy lip, it was difficult to drink as if I just came back from the dentist. I took off my hoodie. Washing my face and the back of my neck felt good, I felt alert.

A few river rocks rolled down toward me. I sat down, on the moss laden bank, knowing they had come for me. “Melissa Taylor!! “ a voice yelled from atop the bridge. “Melissa Taylor!!, We have a warrant for your arrest!”

“What took ya so long?” , I yelled back. As I sat in the back of the squad car I remembered they left my new bike back there. They one he forbade me to buy(with my own money), hopefully a needy child will find it and make good use of it.

“Why did you kill him Melissa?”

“Just keeping a promise.”drool stringing down as I struggled to be articulate, “I promised he would die the next time he laid a hand on me.”

The full sun had come out, I could see my reflection looking from the backseat into the side mirror of the car. My whole face had a yellow glow from the golden fields.

I guess that means I like really like butter.

Peace

Goroyboy

Domestic Violence.

If you are a victim or know a victim of domestic violence, you are not alone. You are not what someone else says you are. You are who YOU say you are. Domestic Violence Help Line

Written for Sue Vincent’s # writephoto photo prompt. Thanks Sue for hosting.

Burning Love By Raymond Roy #poetry #flashfiction

Burning Love By Raymond Roy

The Blackfoot enemy took from me

My soulmate warrior

I am a Cree.

As a young Cree maiden

I fear no man

Blackfoot, Sioux or Shoshoni clan.

With cougar stealth I drew near

Within enemy earshot

No time for fear.

Through elk skin teepee catching wind of

Agonizing torture

Of my hearts own true love.

Setting forest aflame

The cowards fled

And there he was

Left for dead.

Lifting him up

With my strong Cree back

Weighted footprints

Soil burnt black.

Today the creator

Rewards my deed

For in my footsteps grows sacred fireweed.

Word Count- 99 words

Written for Flash Fiction Challenge thanks to Charli for hosting.

My poem is based on a mention of a Native Legend with the exception of giving tribal names. A few interesting facts are that the fireweed blooms from the bottom up and that once the top flower blossoms, winter is six weeks away.

Peace

– Goroyboy

Residential Farm by Raymond Roy #sundayphotofiction

“Residential” Farm By Raymond Roy

As the priest drove away, painted smiles on my new guardians, transformed into distorted scowls akin to grotesque masks in a Twilight zone episode.

The Mister, seethed,“Well Mrs., looks like we have that summer labor we’ve been prayin fer.” Mister was a scrawny crotchety person. Shoulders bare, void faded blue straps of baggy overalls.

The Mrs., although equal in height to Mister, was at least three times his girth.Belching loudly,she walked, protruding rib fat caused her arms to orbit around her body, similar to Randy from “A Christmas Story”never actually being able put them down.

The Mister, spewed an ebony stream of tobacco-laden spit, landing squarely on a saw legged grasshopper, What’s your name“Injun,? It wasn’t the word Injun, but how it was said. The tone inferred dominance. A wave of Familiar Rage sets in.

Grasshopper recovered, burst forth, ricocheting off a scrap sheet of tin roofing. The ping carried. Grinning internally, I too would have my escape, after dark.

“My given name, Binesi. It means…”

“Enough chatter Injun!”

(…”Thunderbird” I thought to myself)

“Get to work! Start by hauling that wheelbarrow to the compost pile. Earn your keep? You can sleep in the loft with the chickens.”

Word Count-200

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction a 200 word limit fictional story based on the provided photo prompt. Thanks Dawn Miller for this weeks photo.

Fictional yes but many beyond the boundaries of Canada are not aware of North America’s Residential school system which was a a cultural genocide of our continent’s indigenous people. A great novel which I enjoyed was When the Legends Die addresses the destruction of a little Indian Boys heritage while bonding with an unlikely father figure.

Peace to you all.

-Goroyboy

“Black and White” by Raymond Roy #flashfiction

Black and White By Raymond Roy

Tun Tavern 1775

Espirit de Corps they call it , a willingness to die. Not a jury’s verdict, but boot camp on P.I.

Devil dogs before them, earned title that they seek,

Transformation from fatherless, phony tough, crazy and meek.

Stand on yellow footprints , wee hours of the morn, step between polished doors through which an oath is sworn.

Recruits white, black, brown,many color of a hand,

Dreads, bushy and straight hair, on barbers floor will land.

Drill instructors don’t discriminate, by race, color or creed, all are equally worthless until becoming the Marine Corps breed.

Word Count-99

Although this was a flash fiction challenge, the only fiction in this poem is that I went to US Marine Corps boot camp in San Diego rather than the P.I. (Parris Island) I thank God every day for the kick in the pants the USMC gave me back in 1981.

Semper Fidelis

-Goroyboy

USMC Plt. 2045 1981

Written for Flash Fiction writing challenge in which based on the photo prompt (pictured above) write exactly 99 words(no more, no less) to join the challenge and read other stories based on this prompt, click Here