Patrick Barrington poems

Patrick Barrington[11th Viscount Barrington of Ardglass] (1908-1990 / Great Britain)
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I Had A Hippopotamus

- by Patrick Barrington 73

I had a Hippopotamus, I kept him in a shed
And fed him upon vitamins and vegetable bread
I made him my companion on many cheery walks
And had his portrait done by a celebrity in chalk

His charming eccentricities were known on every side
The creatures' popularity was wonderfully wide
He frolocked with the Rector in a dozen friendly tussles
Who could not but remark on his hippopotamuscles

If he should be affected by depression or the dumps
By hippopotameasles or the hippopotamumps
I never knew a particle of peace 'till it was plain
He was hippopotamasticating properly again

I had a Hippopotamus, I loved him as a friend
But beautiful relationships are bound to have an end
Time takes alas! our joys from us and rids us of our blisses
My hippopotamus turned out to be a hippopotamisses

My house keeper regarded him with jaundice in her eye
She did not want a colony of hippotami
She borrowed a machine gun from from her soldier nephew, Percy
And showed my hippopotamus no hippopotamercy

My house now lacks that glamour that the charming creature gave
The garage where I kept him is now as silent as the grave
No longer he displays among the motor tyres and spanners
His hippopomastery of hippopotamanners

No longer now he gambols in the orchards in the spring
No longer do I lead him through the village on a string
No longer in the morning does the neighbourhood rejoice
To his hippopotamusically-modulated voice.

I had a hippopotamus but nothing upon earth
Is constant in its happines or lasting in its mirth
No joy that life can give me can be strong enough to smother
My sorrow for that might-have-been-a-hippopota-mother

My Love is Theosophist

- by Patrick Barrington 35

My love is a Theosophist
And reads the Ramayana;
Her luncheon is a pot of tea,
Her breakfast a banana.
She says that matter tends to clog
The spirit-force behind it.
My love is a Theosophist,
And very tough I find it.

My love is a Theosophist
And wears no combinations;
She says they get her thought-urge weak
And lower her vibrations.
She tells me flannel next the skin
Impedes the astral motions.
My love is a Theosophist,
And has the strangest notions.

My love is a Theosophist,
And few things I deplore as
Sincerely as the thoughtless way
She crabs her neighbours' auras.
She sensed Miss Hope's as bilious green,
And got some quack to vet it.
My love is a Theosophist,
And many folk regret it.

My love is a Theosophist,
And though distinctly stouter
She moves on a more mental plane
Than do the folks about her.
She moved into a potted plant
Last week at Mrs Reece's.
My love is a Theosophist,
So I picked up the pieces.

My love is a Theosophist,
And has an intimation
That she was Florence Nightingale
In her last incarnation.
She senses me as Titus Oates,
More Ape-man than Apollo,
My love is a Theosophist,
And difficult to follow.

My love is a Theosophist,
And does not seem to worry
If they forget to send the fish
Or fail to cook the curry.
As my potatoes grow more burnt
Her temper grows the sweeter.
My love is a Theosophist,
And lives on Veeta Weeta.

My love is a Theosophist--
Or, rather, is no longer;
For, though her Ego-urge was strong,
The Cosmic Will as stronger.
While moving on the Higher Plane
She moved into a lorry.
My love was a Theosophist,
And really I'm not sorry.

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Poems by Patrick Barrington, Patrick Barrington's poems collection. Patrick Barrington is a classical and famous poet [11th Viscount Barrington of Ardglass] (1908-1990 / Great Britain). Share all poems of Patrick Barrington.

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