Ivor Daniel



the poet

Ivor Daniel’s work has appeared in wildfire words (the ezine of Cheltenham Poetry Festival), Steel Jackdaw Magazine, and Writeresque. He lives in Gloucestershire, where he works as an

English tutor.

the poems

Perfect Bed

00:00 / 01:44

I dream I am at Bembom Brothers

Dreamland funfair park

with Tracey Emin.

Hard by Margate sands.

I know I shouldn’t drink that Vodka

on the Helter Skelter.

Apart from that,

a Day as Perfect as the Lou Reed song.

We Kiss with Fish and Chips Lips,

Join Hips. A Turner Sunset

Going Down.

I guess it is the Golden Hour.

Blair’s Babes

and even some of his men MP’s

are busy Changing a whole heap of things

for the Better.

Back in your room

we remember that

we even Changed the Bed this morning.

The linen soft and cool next to our Optimistic skin.

Questions & Starlings

00:00 / 01:44

Wow! Can the sun set blue azure and flame at the same time?

How do starlings twist and turn as one?

Who decided this is called a murmuration?

And who was that, going behind that awesome tree?

No...It couldn’t be..



swooping......soon arriving

from all directions.

swelling then melting then swelling.


safe in such numbers.

pirouetting protection from predators.





your genie is out of the bottle.

shape - shifting

unsolid sculpture of starling.

you spinning top you sundown twister.

a magic carpet has slipped it’s cave.

. ...a cloud of iron filings .. ...

dancing from...

..and to ..

. . ..an ecstatic magnet.

if we could cast the ashes........

of our loved ones

as elegantly as your silken swirl

then that would be the perfect way to go.

intuiting when to turn

in complex shifting patterns

through a liminal space

between remarkable and miracle.

flying like no-one is watching

or maybe

like God could be watching.

oblivious of compass points and rocket science

yet also knowing more than this.

murmuration motion poetry in motion

your swarm is the truth.

black mustard seed beauty.

then in the last of daylight

at the secret signal

a final funneling

collective swoop

down an



to land on your roosting grounds.

I labour with my leaden words,

and muse on whether starlings know

how spellbinding they are?

And God.

Is that you behind that awesome tree?

Is this the last, the only, evidence that you exist?

Was this your hobby all along?

The choreography of sunset starlings.

And is that just the slightest hint of disappointment on your face?

At how the human cohort of Creation has performed.

Tread Lightly

00:00 / 01:44

I navigate

the micro fathom ocean charts

of flat portal

ice puddles

on a January farm track

With their trapped air bubbles

whorling patterns





Trapped other worldly whirls

Secret as fingerprints

coiled like intestines

mysterious as a foetal scan

marbled as the white fat in Spanish ham

Iced lava lamps

but underfoot

Liquid light shows behind psychedelic bands

but monochrome

The frozen surface flat as frosted glass

The patterns captive Zany

This is the cat ice

So named because it can only

bear the weight of a cat

Cold-pawed agile

Although I am yet to meet the cat

who would leave the warmth of the hearth

to test ice puddles with its paws

or fret on other scientific laws

as hydrostatic pressure

capillary action

et cetera

I make a resolution to tread lightly

Publishing credits

S h a r e