2 poems by Julian Stannard

August

Rome’s broiling. Roma Termini officially part

of Dante’s Inferno.

Smell of fried food and forty degrees.

The ticket machines not working. Wi-Fi buggered.

On the slow train to the steel town of Terni

the air con broken.

The cold beer at the station bar all gone, all gone.

A hot wind in the piazza.

Buddhist monks walking the streets.

Rain is coming, is coming, is coming.

Teenagers kissing. Documenti! the policeman hollers.

You are my peach tree in the rain.

I am weeping with joy.

Ferragosto

Ancaiano, August 15th, 2024

Cicada Rap. Heat. Wind-whistle.

Tommy our long-suffering dog of fleas.

Death hiding in the mountains.

Cicada screech. Heat. Bebop wind-rumble.

Young kestrels. More blood on the trees.

Hermit. Wolf. Howling. Gone.

Survive and hope and pray.

Close the shutters. Have a ravishing day!

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Julian Stannard is a British poet, critic, and academic. He won the International Troubadour Prize (2010) and the Lerici Shelley Prize (2024). His latest book is New and Selected Poems (Salt, 2025)