Riddlewoman

Biography

Riddlewoman is Cheri Gillings Based in the West Midlands (Dudley) contact details 07743 061891 cgillings@btinternet.com I have been writing for a long time, and decided at the beginning of the year that 2007 would be the year that I hit the performance poetry scene. I have done just that. I set up a “Myspace” page in January and got on with writing and found it difficult to find anything happening in the West midlands…then amazingly in May I met Kat Francois at Seven Times Me at the Drum and following that discussion I got my first “proper” slot… Open mic- YLAF – 05 October Open Mic – YLAF 06 October (Both of these were spur of the moment opportunistic forays into spoken word) 2007 Spokefest – (paid feature)London – Stratford theatre royal bar -June 07 Farrago’s Poetry slam (Open Slam)– The drill hall theatre -June 07 Shangwe Poetry Night (Open Mic) – The poetry Café -July 07 Farrago’s Summer Slam(open slam) – Rada Foyer Bar - July 07 Artistic Poetic Soul –(open mic) – Zinc Bar- Birmingham- July 07 Farrgos Slam – London – Rada Foyer Bar – Aug 16th 07 Blackdrop –Open Mic section – Liverpool -18th August 07 Artistic Poetic Soul – Zinc Bar – Birmingham – 19th August- 07 The feedback is positive so far and the best evidence of the progress I am making is that John Paul, the Farrago’s organiser has invited me to do a feature slot October 4th 2007. Creative Statement… I write poetry now, I perform and compete and I enjoy this now. I intend to enter the UK slam next year as a serious contender. Going forwards, I see myself blending spoken word with other media, with other art forms, song, dance, video, visual art. I am in a developmental phase and I feel as if I couldn’t stop it even if I tried. There is energy and potency here.

Samples

Dance.... Dance/Jazz Skin taught over tense muscle, Strong within soft curves, Physical expressions in lyrical succession In the body... words. Words hung low, Flicked from the hip, Words dipped in motion, Fly from fingertips, Outstretched, In kinesthetic prose, A tale posed, With cat like stealth. Adventures on the breath, Enchanting, A sojourn into rhythm, Intonation seen, On a 3-D canvas. Emotion expressed in an unfolding leg, A turn of the head and a back arched, Chest high, Soft knees and easy slide.. More of a glide to a stop at an edge, Steep. Controlled and roaming, Ebbing and flowing and deep. mm-mmm Something is captured... By a body using time, And space to define, In the uncurling of the spine, Elongated lines connecting earth to sky, Passion and balance teasing imbalance, And flight. Skin taught over tense muscle, Tall stories embedded in a tiny shuffle, Hidden in tapping, Feet are unwrapping the verse... mm-mm Suspended rhyming, Juggled timing. Improvising, freestyling embodied verbs, Sharp, Smooth, Effervescent, Jazz Formed in the flesh, Melodies manifest, Dance. Riddlewoman07 --------------------------------------------------- 3 minute madness 3 minutes damn, I better begin it and Talk fast as I can, and still convey, But I’m ten seconds down, And I haven’t found... The words.. verbalising them is getting in the way, If I could just recite in my mind, Be silent at the mic, Moving mouth without sound, So you'd see my concentration, The angst, The frustration Just use my face to express, with a smile at the end, to show I’ve finished.. but damn, times ticking on, half a minutes gone I've been talking yet Nothing has been said. 3 minutes of madness, And I’m here avoiding slackness, But a  3 minute man, is sure to raise a laugh, and a cough at the back, And a giggle from the gurl, Who knows there’s nothing worse.. tick tock tick stop...sleep, tick tock tick what? cheap! 3 minutes, To share and bare, If I dare, And I'm wondering what’s gettin in my way, I have always been distracted, So 3 minutes is attractive, if I could only keep my mind on the game, But my thoughts keep on drifting, Mind's eye 's creating pictures, Stolen oil and Faces in mass graves. Another starving child, A shooting in moss side, And a sistah in Darfur screamin rape, To deaf ears of those who will not hear, And My map like mind is stained, Guantanamo orange inflames Jumpsuits the misnomer irritates, Just how does one jump when in chains? Chains... Change over time, In a 3minute rhyme, 3minutes explaining, Minute degrees of separation, Economic precipitation, The west sneezes and the world catches cold, Or some kind of virus, Elevate into pattern, Columbus, and Caribbean Souls.. Money made by wronging, To satisfy a longing.. A greed that hasn’t gone away. The eastern tiger rises stronger, Africa’s responding, Open arms welcome Chinese men, And ignore the cost of human violations, To play a role in globalisation, Denied by colonisation, On top regeneration, Beneath the surface exploitation, And a fight for domination... Tick tock time bomb death... Tick tock tick what? Depth A minute left to weave, And i'm stuck I cant believe, I forgot what I came here to say, A three minute warning, Is that a trumpet calling? Damn, I got a second left to pray!   Riddlewoman20-07-2007 ---------------------------------------------------------- SOULS CRY The bicentennial celebrations, Whitewashed history, As a mistake and offer apology, As reparation... It's about time we reigned on the parade and, Exposed the "nitty-gritty" and the shame, damn! Kidnapped by the Euro-collective, Or... Traded by enemies with a Euro directive, An irrelevant argument, Spurrious distraction, As if who stole who is really what matters. As if that is what ails and refutes and denies, Abuses, denigrates, shames and despises. Held in a fort at the edge of the ocean, Chained and bound to the dying and spent, Through a hole in the wall, Glimpsing the moon that rises, Darkness and stench overwhelming the senses, Praying for death and doubting the hearing, Amidst the crying, The weeping, How can death be so near, And still leave one burdened... Branded and burning? Nights turn into days, Disorientated, Under the weight of iron collars, That are lighter than the loss, Of losing "I belong" Too close this skin on skin, That holds no promise of new life in, Too close breathing breath, Rattling umbillicals too closely connect, Fear fuelling fright, Deep in the dirty hot belly... Defecating menstruating. Seeking death with intense yearning, Yet life for some remains ever evident in the churning, That consumes, And the truth that suffocates the enslaved. Souls cry up from the ocean, Buried dead and alive at sea, Howling cries from the ocean, Abolished what? Abolished not, We are not free. Bicentennial celebrations... Perennial misinformation, Unholy expert testimony, Divided the Americas between the Spanish and Portugeuse. Cant abolish history or the role of Christianity Incidentally... Will the Vatican return it's wealth, That funded exploration, In the name of exploitation, That funded pseudo-science, That became justification, For the horrific violation of Human life.. That created RACE, Defining humanness by paleness of face, Shackles not yet dismantled. For those that survived long enough to be sold, People owned... Greed grown, Seeds sown, Human life commodified, Industries revolutionised, On the back of the original Black Gold, African souls. Souls cry up from the ocean, Buried dead and alive at sea, Howling cries from the ocean, Abolished what? Abolished not, We are not free. The components of the west's dependency remain, Blood stained wealth contained, In cocoa plantations, diamond mines, Coffee and Coca on mountain sides. Progress persistently denied. Old colonial masters still calling tunes, And bidding "JUMP" with IMF loans. Unemployment, Imprisonment, Crack cocaine and guns... An infrastructure we cannot possibly fund, Yet our communities are being over-run. A clever deflection redefining class,. By what can be bought, By what can be had... The truth refracted and people distracted, From the fact... That the same 4% own the resources, Despite most of them being in African soil. Souls cry up from the ocean, Buried dead and alive at sea, Howling cries from the ocean, Abolished what? Abolished not, We are not free.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.