Green and greenerer...

Photo taken just up the road here, whilst out dogwalking last week. This was the photo I used for the pastel pic that I put on facebook this weekend (for those of you who saw it). That was class number 6. This week watercolours!

Last week I did something I haven't done for ages - I read a poem of mine aloud at the local folk club. It was a new poem (very new) inspired by the documentary about Donald Trump and his Scottish golf project (that I wrote about at some length here). Obviously all the Occupy protests are probably rolling about in there somewhere too. And lots of other things.

Now I know Trump will be quaking in his... what would it be... overpriced loafers to hear that British poets are writing about him... but still, protest comes in many forms... and from tiny acorns and all that. (N.B. Some changes to this poem since first posting... minor ones).


 

Money for green

So often money talks.

It says 'move over',

'what's yours is mine'

and 'boy, I like it here

this place is fine'.

Money can curl,

can twist the path around,

flash off its golden grin,

buy up the open road,

then kick the bloody door right in.

So often money burns

smoke in your eyes.

It takes the cleanest day,

stamps on its face,

thinks that's OK.

And money may not show

it's busy all the time,

it may not even call,

and then who knows for sure, for sure,

if it's really there at all.

RF 2011