Frank Kellaway writes of the things which threaten the equilibrium of man, woman and people kind: napalm, gas chambers, pollution, lovers who go away, lovers who stay, motorcars and cruelty in general.

He can also write of things which have great beauty, but usually as a means of a contrast with the lesser works of the ape that stood up.

There is a poem to the Muse which seems to be obligatory in any collection. It is a rather incestuous habit of poets but one which Kellaway does not indulge to any serious degree. In fact a poem called ‘Moon Madness’ talks of the poet and his craft and is a rather beautiful poem full of some lavish images.