The Pompous Hippocampus

No Thinking Has It Applied

Recently, The Broken Binnacle hosted its first in-person event with great success. The evening consisted of some drinks and refreshments, a lively discussion on “The public good: knowledge as the foundation for a democratic society” and concluded with a recitation of a poem or song, as each preferred.

I had a few poems that I considered reciting, but I was also wondering what an extended period of Tennyson, Joyce, and Keats might do to a man’s spirit. I decided to instead provide perhaps a bit of merriment amid more serious poems. I wrote this in my head on the way to the event and shared it with the attendees. I hope you enjoy this light poem on your Saturday, and that it provides some merriment to you as well.

The pompous hippocampus,
it is what I have inside, 
no brain does it encompass,
no thinking it has applied.

Ask for input on subjects,
without a doubt he'll opine.
To these rhymes you may object,
this cranium's in decline.

It will ramble on four lines, 
so unintelligibly.
The meter represents crimes,
oh so ineloquently!

This pompous hippocampus,
yes, you'll have to tolerate.
Lacking hypothalamus -
is this any good? Debate!