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The Vision of Enjoyment

by Danny "Don Juan" Henrey

Gentle as the airs of warm, caressing June,
Calm as coral beds, when seas above run wild,
Still as a midnight vale, silvered by the moon,
Soft as a mother's kiss to her sleeping child,
Night's black mantle, by starlight undefiled,
Shrouds with tender passion and lover's care
Fair Oxford's Gothic form, her antic smile,
And her fondest son, who, in his college lair,
Awaits Oblivion's touch, an end to his despair.

The youth, a work of beauty and of charm,
Possessed of wit and grace, and scarce unlettered,
Had sought the touch of love, and met with harm:
Deathlike lay he, in his chamber cloistered,
His heart burned dry, his native warmth sequestered,
Immured against all falseness, greed and lies,
Vanity's stinking weeds, things that festered
In Oxon's once-sweet air: at length did he rise,
Resolving this place to flee, wreathed in shudd'ring sighs.

Ere he could reach the door, a low moan rose,
A fiendish noise, with blubb'ring intertwined,
And a dull roar, as if a giant nose
Were being blown - sounds to unhinge the mind:
With solemn pace the portal creaked and whined,
And into the room did a fearful figure dart;-
Its face was with gravy and snot beslimed,
But our young lord did not so much as start
As, blushing, Malcolm said: "Baked beans don't half make you fart!"

As if in proof, Malc. loosed a peal of thunder,
Louder and smellier than all to date:
Shouting: "Flee this place I must, or chunder",
Lord Griffin (so was he hight), cursing fate,
Sped into the night; nor did he speculate
Upon the way to take, but ran on blind
Through lane and wood, o'er ditch and field and gate;
He stumbled on, far, far from human kind,
Voyaging ceaselessly into the landscape of the mind.

The mist at last cleared, the night it did lighten,
The sun seemed to glow, the shadows to fade,
A soft voice whispered, "My love, don't be frightened."
Young Griffin awoke in sun-dappled shade:
Gentle hands held him, and a golden cascade
Of fine, scented hair, like a blithe banner,
So cool, reached down from the face of the maid
Of beauty sublime; quoth she: "Know then, my partner,
That I am what all men desire - a Chilly Pilsner."

"Know too, that this Byron's paradise is,
And these his disciples, his followers true;
Don't look so doubtful - I'm not taking the piss",
So saying, she left him to rejoin the crew,
And give to each man a sensual back-rub:
Such conduct sufficed to make Lord G. weep;
He pondered what action now to pursue,
And noticed Chris Oakley, dressed as Bo-Peep,
Standing close by, smirking, and tupping a sheep.

All kinds of kinkiness fell to his gaze,
Some of it modest, but most of it brash;
Nothing did more our aristo amaze
Than Anthony Mellors bathed in Goulash,
Ministered to by Miss Pammie Nadash.
Johnny Vl'hop and Master Leffall
Were daubing each other in crimson gouache,
And proceeded - when this started to pall -
To do dubious things with lacrosse stick and ball.

In a glade athwart a rice pudding lake
Sat young Trougher Harington, feeding upon
A bowl of braised grouse, baked beans and sponge cake,
All doused in cream, and oil by the gallon:
Robbo cried out, "more cheddar, and more scones,
More pheasant, more chutney; bring some more fish";
A buxom wench hurried: "I don't want melons!"
Retorted he, vexed; for it was his wish
To nook with a slim girl before licking that dish.

Over came Chris, his groin all a-fleecy,
A smile on his face, a "Baaa" on his lips,
Seeking a bath tub, for he was quite greasy;
With cries of joy and light-hearted quips
Mellors, Gilly and George brightly trip
To this same spot, as if by consensus:
A ditty sprang from Graybags, as he dipped,
Singing: "We have bathed where none have seen us,
Nay, no-one has glimpsed my enormous loofah!"

Byronic law looked to one Richard Todd,
A man of powers at which not to scoff:
This was his creed, this self-proclaimed god:
"Screw the innocent, get the guilty let off."
All these immortals drank deep in the trough
Of debauchery, none more than Mad Jack,
In the skills of seduction, a Prof.,
Who considered all life a constant attack,
A perpetual war to get "chicks" in the sack.

In cruised Schulzie, with one tyre balding,
(For Dave, as we know, is kinky 'bout rubber),
His Aston aflame, his speed quite appalling,
His toes on the wheel, his hands on a scrubber,
Yelling, "This one's fine - plenty of blubber."
The wench look'd unhappy, she started to whine,
As M.J. drew close, starting to nibbl' 'er;
Richard was vexed - "In sooth," did he opine,
"I never had problems tempting she-goats and swine."

Off in a clearing, away from the din,
Stevey de Hoey perched on a mattress,
Dining on caviare, stuffing it in,
And swilling it down with '45 Petrus;
Clad in a dress: long and diaph'nous,
Munching on garlic, mixed with fresh chervil,
Quoth he: "I fear I feel something monstrous
This way comes"; partial to charms to ward off evil,
He glimpsed with eyes bulging the sire of the Devil!

A cloud of Gauloises smoke rolled over the throng,
The skies they did darken, thunder did growl,
The breath of the undead - God, what a pong! -
Was felt in the land; the screech of the owl
Pierced to the soul, the mastiff bitch howled
In terror and pain, and all souls did ponder
The creature in black, hideous and foul,
Which had ridden from hell to rend asunder
Their dream of delights, their vision of wonder.

"To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind":
So, in "Childe Harold", said noble Lord B.,
And Griffin, in fleeing, did happiness find,
Until, with unkind, misanthropic glee,
This dark monster caused contentment to flee:
Lord Griffin awoke, sweet morning had come;
He reflected a while: this did he see;
A crowd in fair Oxford, pledged to laughter and fun,
A Byronic bunch, with delight overrun:
The rest, friends dear, is history, and my tale is done.