“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 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.

-Goroyboy

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

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