Those Were the Days..#1LinerWed

Why the cliche’ title? Because now I am finally old enough to feel this way. I have always cherished memories, but sweet and bittersweet; but the train has finally pulled into the station marked ‘Memory Lane’ for me. So many places, so many friends, so much sweetness. I don’t think of the sorrows for they obstruct my view of the present. As the train rolls down the tracks, these moments slip past the windows in a blur. I long to revisit them but know memories are sweetest when viewed in the rearview mirror of time. I am thankful I’m a ‘photo hoarder’ as I have been called. And I think a few others are as well. They can curse me when I’m gone.. and weep. 📸🎥📼💻

And as much as my mother and sister didn’t like this song, it is the one playing non stop in my head right now. 

Walking my Daddy through eye surgery

My favorite dog.. ever. Cheyenne

This gang. Can you spot my favorite guy here? 

What happens in Costa Rica should stay in Costa Rica!

We met more wild than mild..

Family..

And friends from everywhere we lived..

Foster families from school days

Those shades, bro..

There were warm oatmeal cookies in that bag I have death grip on. I thought they were all mine. Boy, was I mistaken..

Monkey love..

Stepping out of my comfort zone to do a poetry slam

My sis! 

These guys… trying get the attention of the gulls…🤦‍♀️

It’s such a beautiful life…

The Barba Roja gang! 

The moon turns red..

Our buddy Mike, the main reason we chose Costa Rica back then

And this guy. Miss you, Daddy ❤️

Sam..

I am in love with camping and rivers and.. oh yeah, my kids. 

And butterflies!

That time we got tattooed together. You guys da best! 

My butterfly soul screaming to emerge.. at least on Halloween

So many Mardi Gras days..

Wait! Wait.. I only have one banana! 

Birthday buddy for life! 

Dudes, you make me smile.

Never too old to make new friends

The only wedding dress I ever wore. Didn’t like it. It pricked my skin. 

The hair, oh Lord, the hair!

Snack love..

The minuscule magnificence..

Friends who held me up

And shared treasured moments with me

New beginnings are the sweetest..

❤️❤️❤️

A mission trip

Best friends forever

I’m Cheryl. Fly me…🤦‍♀️

Being grandparents

Family gatherings in the time of Covid

All the little bunnies..

Professional friends that support you

Was I ever really six?? That cake was tinted mint green. 

And it was chocolate.😊

Too many treasures, great and small

for me to show you or count them all

I shall go on collecting them though

to leave sweet memories behind

When I go..

Hasta la juego, mi amigos! 

This post courtesy of Linda Hill’s #1LinerWednesday prompt

I do miss my WP slide show option…

Suspended

Mind has gone numb

as the world slows to

a blur.

The bustle of life-

symphony of sound,

a whir

Where to turn now,

  and what does the truth

become?

Fact, fiction, fantasy,

or waking nightmare

for some..

so many

can any

one 

speed it

up? 

No backward

motion,

silly notion

of return

to what was-

it was what brought

us here-

the fear

palpable

visceral

as we 

wait

pray

play

and stay

inside-

hide

from the unseen

enemy

Suspended. 

CKP 2020

And saying farewell to a beloved musician whose popular hit is most relevant today.

We will miss you Bill Withers. 

Tell It All

That is all for today folks. 

Turn, Turn, Turn..

At the heart of every success

is the desire to be-

to bee

or

not to bee

is not the question

for we have no choice;

if life is to be lived

fully, robustly-

carving our

path on

the face of

Existence.

To shine,

to glow,

create and grow

without giving pause

to the studied cause

of every other soul

that makes the sum of

a whole world.

The world that spins

in spite of the sins

that steal its breath,

infecting the breadth

of its expanse.

Expanding, shrinking,

the universe sinking 

in on herself

as the bees

buzz on blindly,

ignoring her kindly

advising them to

Cease! 

Their intoxication

brings elation,

numbing the brain

as softly the rain

starts to fall-

pounding

the parched land.

They understand

But far too too late

 to change their fate

and flapping wildly,

their buzzing

cries turn

to gurgling sounds

and truth abounds

in the waves crashing,

their futile thrashing

changes nothing.

Nothing

but 

everything else

remains-

so still..

and still

begins the distant sound

of the soft whirring-

Existence stirring

the bees to life

once more, 

but nothing like 

the bees before.

How many bees,

how many floods,

how much sorrow,

and spilling of blood

must she suffer

before they learn? 

Turn, turn, turn.

CherylKP copyright 2020

My Soul is a Tomb

My Soul Is a Tomb

My soul is a tomb-

moldy bones of contention

litter the dusty floors 

and congregate in the

murky shadows to avoid

the shards of filtered light

that steal through the gilded

windows, their arches softly

contrasting the hard lines of

mortar and cold stone. 

The faint strains of a waltz

hang on the stale air like

a fog drifting across the

stormy sea of destiny.

My soul is a prison

where cave dwellers make fire

to roast the flesh of dragons

slain by knights on ivory steeds

deep within the forest of lands

ruled by fairies with 

pixie slaves that live among

the thorns of the rose garden

where children in crips linen

dresses and brown britches

play hide and seek with 

gray wolf cubs that venture

into the daylight while their

parents sleep off the night's 

successful run with the red

blood of the farmer's dog  

staining their tongues as they

dream of being eagles.

My soul is a highway

paved with yellow brick,

lined with bright poppies in

shades of crimson, lavender, magenta

to soothe the senses of weary travelers

on their journey from rough hewn

cradle to the quiet shadows of

their final rest.  

They amble and trot, skip, jump,

race, fall, dance, trip and crawl

towards the promised land where

hand in hand they stand to face

the final judgment.

My soul is a legend 

of hunters, servants, kings

and jokers, dancers, builders,

bakers, forsakers and breakers

of hearts, of saints and sinners,

losers and winners, creating each

life with new vigor, new hope, new

understanding and a vow to make 

the next journey more complete 

than the last-without error,

leaving terror of the past behind

liked shreds of colored paper

to litter the road of memory 

with bright distraction-such

attraction impossible to deny

and so begin again..

and again...

For the prison can be breached

and the highway paved with gold

while the legend will be told in the 

etching on the walls within the 

tomb.

CKP Words and Images Copyright

2020