POETRY MASTERCLASS #2 I SAY THAT HE WAS FREDDY

WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF SIEGFRIED SASSOON HAD TURNED TO THE BLUE SIDE...

I SAY THAT HE WAS FREDDY
Darkness: the sluice rained down;
The pockets were deep;
It was well past the post on a midsummer's flight
When parping nuns lay in bed snug up tight;
There, with much gargling to do before daylight,
We lugged our sweaty bodies as best we might
Along the gutter; sometimes a blackbird sang
And droning belles burst with a hollow bang
We were sozzled, soiled and wretched, everyone;
Darkness: the distant wink of a lady of pleasure
I tossed in the black ditch, loathing the warm;
A firework fizzled and cackled with excruciating flare,
And lit the arse of what had been a face
Floundering in the dish. He stood before me bare;
I say that he was Freddy; stiffened in the glare,
And arcing upwards from his burgeoning task,
Both love sacs in support; His focus all mine
Proud from the whimsical head that wore no mask
Of immoral pain in Mon Venus's unholy shrine.

And pounding in haste, the impatient buck
Mumbling: 'O Manchester United, now I'm stuck!"

POETRY MASTERCLASS # 1 SAGGING SACS

NOW ASK YOURSELF, WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF WILFRED OWEN HAD TURNED TO THE DARK SIDE...

SAGGING SACS

Move them into the rain
Gently their touch awoke them once
At home, fizzing of oats half-sown
Sideways it poked him, even in Madge
Until this dawning and this snow
If anything might rouse them now
The kind old hoe will know

Think how it wakes the seeds
Woke once the hops of a cold beer
Are bags, so clear defined, are binds
Fully-wired - ever warm - too hard when stirred?
Was it for this one night they stood tall?
O what made fleshy receptacles soil
To break Clarissa's hump at all?