Patrick Barrington[11th Viscount Barrington of Ardglass] (1908-1990 / Great Britain)
I Had A Hippopotamus
- by Patrick Barrington73
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 Barrington35
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.
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.