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

Update:When I wrote this back in 2018, I had no idea what was to come. Mass grave of 215 residential school children We learn from history, lest we repeat it.

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. Truth and reconciliation of Canada 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

Straw-man by Raymond Roy #FFfaw #fiction

He is a Liar!! A liar, a fornicator and I can’t stand it any longer! Mitzie had conviction in her voice as she addressed the Church board. Squeezing out a few tears completed the effect. The accused, Pastor Rigby, stunned, waiting for the church board to react. Rigby had perhaps squeezed a little out of his Church personal expenses, but what in the hell was she talking about?

Earlier that day, as the Church-administrator, Mitzie was denied vacation time by Rigby. By God he was going to pay. It started with texts to the church district office. Next lunch with the assistant pastor.

“Look Jeffery, you want that top spot don’t you? ” Jeffrey was puzzled until he saw the devious look in Mitzie’s eye. Give us a kiss Jeff, and leave the rest to me.

There was no wrong doing by Rigby but like any good strawman fallacy, her lies lit the straw-man on fire, Rigby couldn’t put it out.

Margarita glasses, “clink”in Cabo. Cheers Señor! Or should I say Senior Pastor Jeff!

Word Count-175

As a former Church Board member, Nothing could be truer than the idea of “truth being stranger than fiction”. Just as the Strawman mentioned in this story, the repeating of rumors,(even in denial of the rumors) only cultivate them toward being believed.

Written for Flash fiction for Aspiring Writers thanks to our gracious host Priceless Joy and thanks to Ellespeth for the photo prompt. To read other stories based on the photo prompt click here

Peace.

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.

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. Truth and reconciliation of Canada 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

An Open letter to my former Gracepointe family

. Years back, when I was a glass manager, day to day “problems” came with the job. Over my desk I remember I had posted the famous Einstein quote ‘The significant problems we face, cannot be solved with the same level of thinking that created them”.

It was a great reminder to cultivate creative“out of the box” mindsets.

How soon I forgot that this could apply to my personal life as well. More specifically, my spiritual life. A few years back, my family and I went through a very difficult time when we ultimately “left” a church we attended for 13 years. This is not a letter of blame, shame but rather one of responsibility. Taking responsibility for my own actions and accepting the ramifications of those actions. At a few of the Men’s retreats I recall a few times where we would have a “ritual” of writing down conflicts, burdens that we carried on a piece of paper and then burning them to symbolize the destruction them in both a spiritual and physical sense. This is my attempt at doing something similar.

Like the ending of any relationship, it effects those involved in different ways. I can only speak from my perspective. I Loved that meeting place. Even more so, I loved the people. As tends to come with age, we can all relate to the “Glory Days” of high school, etc… The same can be applied to my Glory Days at Gracepointe. The look on the AWANA kids smiling faces. Serving at the downtown mission, celebrate recovery, the graduations, the Chili cook off, David and Celeste’s and Amy’s amazing talents bringing along the up and coming younger members of the Worship team. I could go on and on.

I could also talk about the destruction of those times but that’s been done and is not the purpose of this letter. The purpose of this letter is to apply the Einstein suggestion. The “significant problem” being I put allot of trust and faith in the church which resulted disappointment and hurt. To continue to trust or seek a reconciliation that will never come, is a self-created purgatory.

I guess for me personally I never really got to say goodbye and say thank you for all the cherished memories. Peace.

“Media Sheep” by Raymond Roy

Hush don’t bark, quiet please, we sheep are watching “news”. Listening for that one report, that will give us precious clues.
Clues to Bias “Insight” that will, assure us of who we are, helpless sheep following talking heads and pundits near and far.

Sheep of the left or sheep of the right, blinders firmly in place while news sponsors, muse with delight.

What’s “true” is perspective, listen only to reply, puppet news media, drama factories, oh so sly.
History teaches if we choose to learn, that wisdom comes to the brave willing to discern.

The virtual chasm that divides us, surely cant be the American Dream, step one might be turning the channel of the “news”, the “news”  on the extreme.

Is this what Ted Turner envisioned when he started the 24 hour news channel? An endless loop of the top 3 “gotchas” of the day, with opposing networks pressing bias opinions rather than a neutral point of view. It reminds me of the death of radio disc jockeys being replaced by prerecorded music hits. There is an intimacy that has been lost. Until we come together to cross the gray area casym with our fellow man, we are like a ship adrift with the only chance of rescue is being tethered to a tugboat of one extreme or the other. 

Peace. Goroyboy 

Fear No Evil by Raymond Roy. #writephoto

Shackled to a 4×4 beam.  Shoulders ached. 12 hours earlier, The Pharisees had returned a verdict of guilty. Guilty of not following doctrine. For daring to question ritualistic antiquited practices. Immediately, they strapped the timber behind my neck and across my shoulders sent me off into the desert. Feet raw, and head throbbing, I approached what seemed a porthole, I could see a green valley on the other side. You could hear the bubbling sound of a stream. Just to the left of the entryway, a prominent hieroglyph was etched. “With burdens of the world, no man shall pass and enter
There was no way the large timber would pass through the porthole. Digging deep, I proceeded to bang the beam against the granite walls. Skin rubbed raw, freshly burst blisters stinging from salty sweat and blood. One final thrust and I was free. Finding my balance, I reapproached the portal and dusted away the remaining portion of the hieroglyph.  “With burdens of the world, no man shall pass and enter into the valley of the shadow of death. “


Written for Sue Vincent’s  Photo prompt  #writephoto Special thanks to Sue for Hosting!