Best Lucre Poems

On Radio 4 this morning, plastic fivers...

So, money doesn’t grow on trees no more
For some of us it never really did
The rich grow ever richer, and the poor
Still grovel for a poxy flippin’ quid
The launderers shall rub their hands with glee
‘Tis easy now to wipe...

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Bleeding Sons of Lucre



Happy Mother’s beam is the Bank;
We lean on cash, our Father’s flank.

In search of it others eschew grime
For easy “one” by committing crime.

(This is Poetry; this is not a Sermon
I’ll not recur on cursing mammon!)

Oily hands stretched for reception
To that you give...

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