Today’s choice
Previous poems
Peter Daniels
Changes
No, no one is who they think they are,
nor what we think they are, either:
the demon inside is thinking it
and you can’t tell him.
Being lion or crab, how did you imagine
how your life started , what it became,
reinterpreted as a pig,
recast as a snail?
Old man flattered into desire for what
he was, his own self half his age,
look at the change in him, look
at what he wants again.
Make me a new set of cells, give me
a new Russian identity, send me off
with a mission to understand
myself again, my facts.
You want a new self, too. You have
reasons to get into my inside,
and me into yours. You
animal. You angel.
Peter Daniels has published four poetry collections, the latest Old Men (Salt, 2024). He has a Creative Writing PhD from Goldsmiths, has translated Vladislav Khodasévich from Russian (Angel Classics, 2013), and as queer writer in residence at the London Archives wrote the obscene Ballad of Captain Rigby. Website: www.peterdaniels.org.uk
Anya Reeve
Stubborn, we closed our fists
To better ward away the brume
John Grey
it’s more
of a gathering
than a town
Antony Dunn
Have you heard the one about
how I’m hoping to bow out –
playing guitar for the Cure
Alex Scarborough
I measure distance in Spotify playlists
so I can’t be trusted with maps.
Myra Schneider
Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads . . .
Sef
The body is not solid. The body is almost perfect.
Jon Miller
The upper floor of the old byre
a darkness made of owl-stare—
its blink drinks you in.
Salvatore Difalco
No green swell this evening
will detach me from my hat.
Annah Atane
That night,
the stars had slept. The wind
silent as something dying.