Poetry Blog by Greg Freeman

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Greg Freeman on Andy Capp (5 days ago)

Stephen Gospage on Andy Capp (6 days ago)

Graham Sherwood on Andy Capp (6 days ago)

Tony Hill on Andy Capp (6 days ago)

Greg Freeman on Andy Capp (6 days ago)

Tony Hill on Andy Capp (6 days ago)

Philipos on Andy Capp (6 days ago)

Greg Freeman on Vauxhall (6 days ago)

Greg Freeman on Easing (7 days ago)

Graham Sherwood on Easing (7 days ago)

Andy Capp

Don’t blame Andy for Labour

losing Hartlepool. He never

voted in his life. Or worked.


More to the point, whatever

they try to tell you, he died

last year from Covid. Florrie

never got to say goodbye.

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People in the pub garden;

a warmth you’d almost forgotten.

Narrow boats on the cut,


the odd twee little cabin cruiser,

canoes, paddle boards.

People out and about,


ike a nineteenth-century

French painting. Seems like

a bank holiday, even if it isn’t.


Friends and acquaintances

emerge, blinking,

rubbing their eyes. 

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Dreich day late April, wind

keening from the Thames,

outside drinkers huddling

under frail, flapping,

dripping awnings.


Vauxhall interchange, maybe

one of the most inhospitable

places on God’s earth, now

intimidated by gathering gangs

of threatening towers


that look almost exactly the same.

Is this the way a capital ends,

not with the bangs of bombers,


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Keats in Rome

Travelled for his health to the half-buried

city of ruins, halfway between

the living and the dead.

Fragments of columns,

toppled arches, broken aqueducts.

Took rooms in a second-floor apartment

at the Piazza di Spagna,

close by the sound of Bernini’s fountain.

Locks of hair exchanged

with Fanny Brawne

before he left for Italy.

Save it for me, sweet love!



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The jab

Signs tied to lampposts point

the way from the free car park,

past ambulance waiting discreetly,

help you to find the place easily.

Legions of people in hi-vis jackets

with nice, kind smiles bustle

about, wipe tables and chairs,

give you a number, tell you

where to sit. You discover

you’re getting the ‘right’ one,

much to your relief. And at some


moment when y...

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Chagrin Falls

A town in Ohio, suburb of Cleveland,

takes its name from the river

that runs through its heart.


The town and its waterfalls

are referenced in a song

by Canadian rock band

The Tragically Hip.


I’ve never been there,

and I guess I never will.

Which is a matter of some regret. 


Give half a chance

I’m sure I would have loitered

in the Fireside Book Sho...

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Death of a Snowman

I began to be sorry when his carrot nose

seemed more like a last cigarette.

That jolly smile held a hint of concern,

his scarf far too big for his neck


Tomato eyes glowed in the shrinking face.

The fur hat was suddenly de trop.

He started to lean over, apologetically,

as if someone had struck him a blow


As the pale sun shone he looked quizzical,

more diminished...

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… in its attempt to raise funds to secure its future. Our current appeal https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/wolpoetry has five days to run – until 31 January – and so far we have raised just over £2,000 of the £10,000 total – to be matched by another £10,000 - that we originally set our heart on. This money is needed to develop the site, to pay new people to take us forward into a sustainable future. O...

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Write Out Loud Crowndfunder appeal


Let it glow a little longer; don’t take

the tree out to the garden just yet.

This year is different. The winter

is darker, has an extra chill.

Forget newer sayings, return

to the old ways. Stay in bed late.

Leave the lights on till Candlemas.



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The spears of spring

I daren’t mention them by name.

A word proscribed by those

that see themselves

as arbiters of poetic taste. 

A sight to cure all ills?

No, a cliché to be shunned. 


Darkness arrives a little later

on these January afternoons.

Just noticing that

can lift the heart.


And here they are. I see them

peeping from the undergrowth

and hasten to cut it back,


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