Friday, 10 November 2017

Evidence for Trees

What will we do for supper
when do I get time off
climbing trees
and not experiencing
the kind I need
which only you think you know how to give.

We’re coming to get you
is everything ok?
the truth is, you’re in danger
while snow falls
like leaves fall
A monk’s station
I never saw it.

I don’t feel discovered
I still have my mind
I understand a basic Truth
woods of words
our bodies don’t matter
you can build a world
(a forest)
but imagine if your
greatest regret could be wiped away -
do you know what it is?
Could you make a frottage?

What would it have been like,
if I had not signed up for loss?

Would it be a simple life?

The two knowing ones wheeled the trolley
realizing what was amiss - you cant just replace people
with perfect
physical geometry
and organized wild fig jungles.

figure this out
you don’t think I’m real?
Look! my knots
feel my branches -
this always happens
messing with our minds,
when will we trust
when will you KNOW me?
Its my fault I served a shadow
instead of you
don’t make it all about you.
let me see your wrist
is there a machine beneath?

suspension in tears
a lost grip on reality.
There is no time for objective experience
It’s more efficient than you think.

Have we been replaced
consciousness is separate from fear
we will never have to fear losing each other again
I’m securing our future in an arboreal world
when the mind left
the sparks flew
even though she was tied to a trunk.

please stop fighting I cant take the noise
here in my lonely words
which you make fly
all over unsung pages
recycled saplings
this is for your own good
we didn’t want to hurt you
don’t resist us
you will be fine
and when I heard that

I knew I was not.

Thursday, 17 August 2017


There’s a secret
                        at the bottom of my garden

                                    a secret
                        at the bottom of my garden.

And what might its nature be?

We’re not supposed to be here
and he met her again
(you cannot plan for everything)
but to come face to face
with your past
that’s a fearsome thing.

The greens are new
         The nature of a crime scene
         Demands it must be rewound
         an hour at least
            but nothing will ever explain
            the gaping hole in her chest
            where a heart once beat.

Tell me more about the secret
at the bottom of your garden
the wall at the end of the world
the place where he says what
he doesn’t mean
and she remains in the dark
her gaping hole an invisible mark.

The place where breasts are unveiled
         and hearts raced
                        and he knew he had someone else
            but for a moment
            didn’t care
            the beauty of a new garden
            was better fare.

            (the nature of the beast)

Its called duplicity
that garden named Clandestine
Covered so deep
ripe with worm infested soil:
tilled with sorrows of partial disclosure
and lime of lies
even the gardener turned away
from shivering leaves
laden with secrets.

Come my dear,
It’s time
you need to fight back
there’s a better way
[where peace awaits
the years of travel]

I cannot intervene but
books can teach your heart
a history of the world
your history
a key to freedom.

The years still rolled
it’s their nature.
the letters and lessons still came
do you think I have forgotten about you?

Never once did he reveal
those that undermined
the supreme art of war:
to defeat the enemy without fighting
a red covered book
Its truly yours truly
because you waited
and steel bars were never a cage.

my heart breaks
and waters the ground with my sorrow
ready to drown.

So tell me the secret
behind the secret
at the bottom of your garden?

you may be sorry
it’s a human emotional bonfire
she’s setting the world alight
not counting on any to disrupt her.

I couldn’t wait
that energy
what’s happening?
staring at this before my eyes:

the true nature of his treasure.

It’s the truth
and no one likes it.

the channels flow
and things melt when
you TAKE
what you want
do you love me?
who is the We?
what do you say?
the static touch
and there we were again
behind the illusions
trying to break free
and again
the same story
a different ending:
always a different ending.

Aleatory Poetry by Cheryl Penn, written for a collaboration on

February 2017.

Set of 8 unique artists books and 4 unique chapbooks. Spine: The Authentic Massacre of the Innocent Image series, painting # 105.  Mixed media on Mtheni Board.