Beautiful photographic studies of the outdoors in black and white.
She was not like unwitting prey,
That had never sighted the lion;
She fled from him, knowing
As she did what it meant…
sunshine snacked on
I receive a call from my mother. It is to tell me a recipe for tortang talong, which she learnt last night in a dream.
A drunk girl came up to me in a club last week and told me, yet again, that I look exactly, no, exACtly–Sarah! Come over here! Doesn’t she look exACtly like our Hannah?
and as soon as I touched the freezer’s handle,
the tar wall behind it rippled.
I’m ready for the ritual
where I get crowned a
Born in the heart of the Black Country, Claudia Knight is predominantly a writer who is exploring the capabilities of her creativity after moving to London and discovering the freedom in taking more risks in life. Having discovered the endless possibilities when creating digital art, her bold yet simple pieces explore her relationship with herself, her body…
The moon will not go down again,
street lights will be on forever and drive
electricity bills into walls with no seatbelts
when a father is a control bar
made of wood
and the strings snap
the puppets fall
Their heads out, curved eyes on us,
reciprocating the salty, convex cabin.
Look, there, beautiful wooden bowling balls, said my mum.
My grandfather who was not gay was born in 1930 in Seville, Andalusia. He worked as an itinerant labourer for the señoritos, the rich landlords, tending their olive trees and their domesticated animals.