This week, the Poetry Bus is being driven in kaleidoscopic fashion by Marion who has demanded a poem on a colour in return for a ticket. Please check her blog for links to much better poems than my bit of doggerel, which is actually my third attempt at this task and I'm starting to get tired.The colour of love
Black is the colour of my true love’s heart,
Red is the flame of our romance.
Blue is the language when I call her a tart,
Green is the colour of her pants.
And if Seamus Heaney comes around complaining its one of his, he's a liar.
What a lover!
ReplyDeleteI like this!
ReplyDeleteThat's one of mine, so it is!
ReplyDeleteSeamus.
Third times a charm! (Still musing on the green pants.)
ReplyDeleteKat
What i want to know is what kind of pants we're talking about here. pants like trousers or pants like knickers? These things matter...
ReplyDeleteIt's that final line that really sells it to me. So left-field.
ReplyDeleteGreen pants? GREEN pants? Hmmm...if I were a student, I'd think there must be some deep significance in that green! :-)
ReplyDeleteMaybe there were green stains on the pants instead of just green pants? (Although there's nothing wrong with green pants - I'm wearing some right now!) Fun stuff, Peter!
ReplyDeleteI've heard of the wearing of the green, but never knew it applied to pants...
ReplyDeleteI always love your poems. Here is my interpretation of green pants. She’s jealous of her ex-lover, but only about the sex. Therefore, only her pants are green.
ReplyDeleteI love the blue line. It is spicy! Like the poem and the image on the top was good to see too. :)
ReplyDeleteLOL! You're a trip! I love it. I kept singing "Magical Mystery Tour" all day yesterday as I drove the Poetry Bus! Blessings!
ReplyDelete