“Heartbeat” A love poem by Raymond Roy #lovepoem #heartbeat

Before we say anything else…..

Listen to my heart beat…..

Before you say another word slow down and listen to my heart beat….

The fact you are so close means I trust you.

The fact that my heart is beating means, I am willing to share the precious gift of life with you

Holding you near….Listening to your heartbeat reminds me that, we are merely human and make mistakes including, saying things that might be hurtful.

Our heartbeats beating means there is still time…..

Time enough to make amends…

Time enough to forgive…

Time enough to be still…

Still enough to hear our hearts beating as one

Happy Valentines Day❤️

-Goroyboy

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Professor on drums” (A Tribute) #Fridayfictioneers

1979: Protest folk music was dying down and Disco had reached its peak.

“Begin the day with a friendly voice, a companion unobtrusive” blasted through the vibrating buzz alarm of the 1960s turquoise clock radio. (Time for school)
“Spirit of Radio”by Progressive Rock band Rush
Lyrics by Peart
Neil Peart that is, aKa The Professor

Photo Source Pinterest

“If you choose not to decide, you still have me a choice”
“And the meek shall inherit the earth”
“Conform or be cast out”
Prophetic words to pubescent outcast teens, proclaiming Peart understood.
It’s been a year since Neil’s passing,
RIP Professor Sept1952-Jan 2020

100 Words

Photo credit Rolling Stone magazine

Thank you Professor🤘🏼-Goroyboy

This was written for the photo prompt for Rochelle Wiscoff’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word story challenge . Although not a traditional short story. Given the photo prompt of an empty drum set along with the appreciation I have for the artist/poet/lyricist, Neil Peart I found a tribute was in order. additional stories based on the photo prompt can be found here

The Garden A poem By Raymond Roy

Down the step and through the gate,

My sanctuary, my escape, my garden awaits.

Brushing against mint, a fragrant clean, sunlight on basil illuminates a warm wrinkled sheen.

Earthy sage, for a cleansing smudge, bright tart strawberries best served with ice cream or dipped in hot fudge.

If you are quiet you can hear, Pumpkin leaves and Cucumber vine grow, hiding the walkway, disrupting the row.

The majestic Russian Mammoth Sunflower pays them no mind with round, welcoming face, she’s hosting the honeybees brunch time. .

Beefsteak and Roma leaves droop in the midday heat like waxy umbrellas. A slight breeze carries a geranium-like fragrance.

The warmth on my back, melts away the weight of the world.

Cicadas buzzing as if they were nature’s tea kettle boiling and whistling from the summer heat

-Goroyboy

“I will rise (2020)”, a poem by Raymond Roy

Photo Credit: Candy Staton Gammoh

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, Trump, Biden or Obama?

Photo Credit: Denise Fullner Kittleson

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….

Revamped from an earlier version which I felt was timely. The peaceful pictures generously shared by friends reminded me that we will return to the stardust from whence we came.

Stay Well. https://dversepoets.com/

-Goroyboy

The Elder

The Elder

Sitting quietly grinning, taking a well earned rest

The Elder watches the little ones, putting their youth to the test.

Not so long ago, she wore buckskin and tended pastoral sheep,

Cared for her babies, singing them softly off to sleep,

Off to war in a far off land protecting freedom, she never dreamed that she would find,

A barrel chested Austrian, handsome, brave, and kind.

They raised their kids Viktor, Linda and Cherry,

around the world and in Sydney BC where they often took the ferry.

Laughing was a common sound whenever her family was nearby,

Our Elder leaves a legacy and her passing brings a sigh.

Thank you Aunt Nellie, for your devotion, patience, love and carrying forward an example of a life well lived. Amen.

I was around 11 or so when I went to stay 2 weeks with Aunt Nellie, Uncle Vik and Cherry on Vancouver Island. The bellowing laugh of Uncle Vik, the kind sweet spirit of Aunt Nellie and Cherry’s welcoming smile, is forever embossed in my heart. ❤️

“When The Morning Comes” A poem by Raymond Roy #poetry

A deafening stillness…

A scattering of stubborn stars shimmer, resembling sequins on a cocktail dress that should have been home, hours before.

As dawn arrives, like ice crystals, the stars relent, slowly melting away for a days rest.

A Cardinal’s silhouette appears in the sherbet orange daybreak.

Boldly he bounds to the treetop and gives his first trill of the day, announcing the gift of a new day.

I heard the first Spring Cardinal the other day. After a bleak winter, it reminded me of vibrant colors and fragrances to come. Peace.

-Goroyboy

Standing Alone, A poem By Raymond Roy. #Poetry

Image: Raymond Roy

Standing alone, I wonder why. No one is there to hear when I laugh, breathe, or sigh.

What have I done? Have I been cast aside? Is this my Ego’s fault, heavy laden with ugly pride?

I have a choice of self pity or self-reflect. A challenge to my psyche, knowing not what to expect.

Self Pity is an easy-out, casting blame with expectations never realized. On those that would dare disagree with me, whilst I judged and unfairly criticized.

Self-reflection leads to most precious of gifts, wisdom, balance, and peace of mind. Received through humility, love, and the courage of being kind.

Peace.

The image above was taken not far from my home on the day of our first frost. Seeing this tree reminded me of times in my life I have had to deal with being alone. I hope you enjoyed the poem. Peace.

“Heartbeat” A love poem by Raymond Roy #lovepoem #heartbeat

Before we say anything else…..

Listen to my heart beat…..

Before you say another word slow down and listen to my heart beat….

The fact you are so close means I trust you.

The fact that my heart is beating means, I am willing to share the precious gift of life with you

Holding you near….Listening to your heartbeat reminds me that, we are merely human and make mistakes including, saying things that might be hurtful.

Our heartbeats beating means there is still time…..

Time enough to make amends…

Time enough to forgive…

Time enough to be still…

Still enough to hear our hearts beating as one

Peace

-Goroyboy

“Vision-quest” By Raymond Roy. #poetry #flashfiction

So distant, is a stand of trees, a secret place, my mind at ease.

Forest’s edge, winter apples grow, increase my pace, zephyrs show impending snow.

Curled up ferns, visual pleasure, pine needle carpet, walk of leisure.

I’m not alone, chipmunk squawks, takeoff my shoes and itchy socks.

Frosty air, hot springs steam, ease in my feet and begin to dream.

Native boy on vision-quest, by the pool to have a rest.

Sacred forest clean and pure, my quest is it’s protection , I must secure.

Leaving my refuge keenly aware, it’s not only I but, trees need care.

Word Count-99

Written for 99-Word Flash Fiction hosted by Charli at the Carrot Ranch Thanks Charli!

Peace .

Counting “sheep” by Raymond Roy #poetry #Fffaw #lambsofTartary

Grandfather, “where does cotton come from?”

My son,

In the land of the Mongols half way ’round the world, grows a plant, of fluffy pearls.

Balancing on bellybuttons, tiny lambs are propped, growing as a shrub-like plant, where-ever sheep scat is dropped.

Image credit: Wiki

Enter the fields on a breezy day, Lamb of Tartar plants, tend to sway.

Zephyr forces bend lambs boll stalk petite, toward nearby grass, for them to eat.

After rains have gone and grass is dead, the elfin lambs die, leaving cotton for thread.

On the mighty Steppe, lamb plants grow, providing cotton, to weave and sew.

Word Count- 99

Written for Flash fiction for Aspiring Writers graciously hosted by Priceless Joy. To read additional stories based on the photo prompt click Here.

A little history behind the content, in the 14th century there was believed to be a plant called the vegetable lamb of Tartary(Mongolia). The plant consisted of tiny lambs held in the air at the umbilical which was the plants stalk. When the stalks bent down toward nearby grass, it permitted the lambs to eat. Once the grasses dried up, the plant and tiny lambs died, leaving a cotton boll.

Peace.

Copyright Raymond Roy 2018