The nets are hung in the fishermen’s huts
at the old end of town, where the road runs out;
the houses cling to east and west hills.
The wind fills his eyes with tears

The seaside was somewhere you escaped to;
candy floss, fairground rides, shrimps
in fresh pools; crunchy egg and eggshell sarnies,
sodden fish and chips, pier closed for repairs

“Don’t run too fast,&r...

Thursday 16th December 2010 11:48 pm

Tags: seaside,family,old age,nets

Flotsam

by Greg Freeman

Bobbing in moonlight, pleasured by waves;
journeying through swell, under stars;
buffeted by wildness, first murmur, then roar;
smacked against rocks, the foam and the crack

Coasting on rollers, taken for a ride;
immersion, hope, exhilaration, surprise;
borne along on billows, swept up by joy;
directed where the tide decides

Chill dawn emerging, waking in brightness;
thrown upon gri...

Thursday 19th August 2010 9:44 am

Tags: dreams,sea

Something for Everyone

by Greg Freeman

Seeds, sheets, plugs, paint; something of everything
if not much range. Pots, pencils, saucers, plates;
pocket-money treasures, find a present
for your gran. Towels, wrapping paper, pins.
Sometimes you came away with a bargain.
If only they didn’t keep moving the plants,
picture frames, toys, socks and sockets, sweets.
Times changed; you only called in now and then

How did they...

Saturday 3rd July 2010 10:58 am

Tags: shopping

World Cup haiku

by Greg Freeman

A vuvuzela
up Mark Lawrenson's backside;
it's what he deserves

Monday 14th June 2010 5:52 pm

Tags: football,Mark Lawrenson,vuvuzela

What a Wonderful Game

by Greg Freeman

(This one's for Ray, and all the others out there)

Brazil in Mexico;
Bonetti’s blunder and Gazza’s tears;
Pele, Eusebio, Cruyff;
North Korea, when they were plucky, not dangerous and mad;
The often-absent Tartan army;
Beckenbauer’s grace and Zidane’s rage;
Argentina! Rattin’s dismissal, Maradona’s revenge;
Can Drogba carry Africa’s flag?
W...

Friday 11th June 2010 9:08 am

Tags: Football,World Cup

A time that glowed

by Greg Freeman

Once it was a time that glowed:
turned-up collar, hurrying through glistening, early 60s streets.
A kind of muddling, room at Odsal Top,
or summat like that;
steam train always whistling in the distance

Dashing for the bus; overcoats,
shopping bags, windows steamed up,
conductor breathless.
Running the last yards from the corner,
hammering at the door, yelling, no reason,
just glad t...

Thursday 29th April 2010 7:32 pm

Tags: north,youth,old age,south

Eating in Private

by Greg Freeman

It wasn’t long before food replaced sex
in their fantasies. Conjuring carvings
of roast beef became a nightly reflex.
Rice cakes dished up by Scots Guards suggested
imaginings of meat. So they told tales:
Lancashire hotpot, black pudding. Starving
men lusting for shepherd’s pie, digested
air-raid (all-clear) stew, in their jungle jail

Cafes and corner houses, bangers, ma...

Wednesday 17th March 2010 12:02 pm

Tags: captivity,war,prisoners of war

The Reluctant Volunteer

by Greg Freeman

My dad, no hero, didn't look
for punch-ups. When the call came
he signed for the pay corps.
But the look on his face
sometimes got him into bother.

He couldn't quite stomach the drilling,
or hide what he thought
of the shouts, the how's your father,
the moustache and tiny eyes,
the whole bloody rigmarole of the sergeant major.

One night in Aldershot, he'd had enoug...