Beri Allen-Miller © 2017

Modern Day Nomad -- 5"5 of Creativity ✆ ☎ ☏ [email protected]

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BS.BM

Brown Skin, Blood Magic

Show me your green thumbs, love we lick each other like we once did and I can hear myself in your pores and cannot enjoy your eyes anymore because they hold more of myself than I can bare and I wish i could tell you how our child would have looked how I sat him on my lap in a little brass crown unlocked the first tooth or two alone your butter dish voice - I miss missing inner lip velvet finger tips zoning. We are never purer than when apart never happier than now I have earned my own heart show me your green thumbs, orchard blooming ribs Deep inside of me there are fractional pixels meditating writing and pregnant - All to a rhythm all chiming in at the same time it isn’t something I can translate my hair unfurls in cloudy curls upon your pillow and I’m glad you are gone my thighs are tinged with pink pink pink and in a cup I hold magic change a chain to the mud - it will sink. Synchronising.

I am ever pure, ever cleansed and ever careful with whom I wear.

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David Smith - Hudson River Landscape, 1951 Welded steel Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Inspo for Sculpture

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RE: Pulse

1. I think about my teenage years, sat on uncomfortable wooden and now fashionable stools, I always wanted something but could locate what it was, I still question it. I close my eyes after a while of thoughts clouding my eyes, clean away the confusion of living and I watch the green footsteps of Hertfordshire pass by I almost choke at the quaintness of the view. I try to lose myself into as many of my own worlds as I can, distracting myself from everyday social situations.  i Imagine my brain a tall tree with treehouse after treehouse… Failing to  have a function. Life feels a blur if I’m speaking honestly - I separate from my body and carry it through, keep my heart beat steady and wipe away any tears and smears.

2. Theres a film on and its filmed in first person, it makes me feel sea sick imagining myself running and having the drive to move my body in a efficient way - The sound track makes me stretch my limbs, this pretend action is really tiring. There’s sun, on the screen and for a moment I remember the feel of sun in my eyes on and on my face - softening me, making me pliable and young.

3 Today has made me want to work nine to 5, I don’t feel I have a skill set so I get dressed as if I have work to do or somewhere to go promptly - I decide I need to write because I dont want to hear that midday silence… I find a deep stretch inspired by yoga and a hot cup of tea are always the best way to recharge a sense of life like an emergency text “pick me up asap” putting on socks is a big deal to me - 1. my feet are always cold 2. I have dogs so I’m bound to step in a puddle of mud on the floor meaning socks come on and off and usually staying off avoids that disgusting damp itch, if you know you know if you don’t you’re lucky.

4 I’ve been a floaty goat today, not quite with it, I slept too much and that always sets me up to fall, not that I fell, I’ve just been distant from myself, thinking a lot - its good to have a reflective day especially after spending a lot time with people, invest in finding the time to have a quiet day. I have been thinking a lot about something I heard somewhere “NOT HAVING TIME MEANS ITS NOT A PRIORITY” perhaps over simplified but very relevant.

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Woodwork (an old piece)

There is only so much a voice can do I dart into myself - a bee a bug with an eye for contagion and keeping my teeth aligned is harder than holding a drill to skin (a bee - direct but fatally scared) (a bug - suspiciously amber in temper and colour) Coffin in amber I can hear the flesh of all of the sewn together men - they don’t fit me well shed them like skins sheer in many aspects I can’t speak or talk Take me park us near the sea - the sea tucks us in rolling up to our shoulders swallowing our dreams… Its a chore to roll over if I don’t have two small pulses to encourage one eye or both you see, a bracing for potency, before I do   You strain to make me larger this splinter is no good it has ruined and toeing at some impossible depths tweezers will not do they have become too foreign at the side of my skin.

I draw my family tree on my stomach, its all images written in flexing marks and I am told I am lost, love is recycled into threads.

[riri-lee]

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The Tiger Recipe

(Part Trois)

The moon in the sky a jackals eye I’ve spent days scribbling reaching for self acceptance while saluting the day as it drips in and while I notice a weight hanging from my naval I fixate on the Patois etchings by jet planes Am I pastry tone or Demerara? Coloured softly like a tea stain. I wanna be your warrior Here in the shade Hands bridged over my heavy greedy womb I am a milk maid to my womanhood Lips burnt by morning Can we measure growth by yearly bunches of worry dolls? Sirens, alarms and interested panes I’m just a wind battered off-shoot I never see love as coming or leaving just changing shades and tones, I try to lie but truth comes out.

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Lending

A pussy cat best cleans her paws by Licking No need to intervene Salty soap suds have no business Here.

My strongest memory of you Is with my blood obscuring your Rounded face - I am still sorry I didn’t punch her sooner sending soft Diwali speckles throughout our eyes.

My body has changed Like a second puberty Tightening my invisible corset Sending skin frothing into neat comical curves!

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Always doing something even if you’re blind to it

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I D E A

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That's Enough, Kids

No matter how I feel about my body, I will always push myself to remember that it is mine and it is my friend who I know so well and the bits I hate I learn to tolerate or confront, change is a two way street for us, I speak to it in my mind and though I speak to my body I hope my mind will soak it it

if I don't feed you what you need you won't feed me with energy to do what I want or need.

I can always treat you better, I won't push you so hard you hurt and I refuse to ignore you - I know I have control of you and, in this, I have control of my life just knowing that is enough.

I may never feel love for you but my respect for you is on an eternal loop and that too is enough.

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Marble Baby

A baby in the marble Such a world between my finger tips A world where sounds are trapped to curl Softly like orange peel The imprisoned “perhaps” To scratch at the division and immobility of - I tried to call, never to get through Am I trapped too? Is that the world gurgling by? But I know I am free I write while the train juggles my body Recharging through eaves dropping Anything to connect To split and to share To hold the weight a little longer A little closer These things are fragile - even time Even time and it’s aggression can be coy and vulnerable Time can kiss at your thighs and roll rhythmically over your new curves and kinks It’ll wash of and you’ll pick the scabs Still I hold up to the light to find something I’d planted - A tiny miracle only to Unlatch the door and let the light chew through.

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