A poem by: Ben Dunk December 12, 1978.




Up the nearby stairs to the bared ready lady, and, the hospital

of dermatology sits like a Praying Mantis, awaiting

her visitor.


Whilst down under on the street, the Church

struggles in song and music to fill their tin charity cans. Only

peace and pence nurtured in their souls and receptacles.


Toiling into their happiness, youths with zest cleaving into the

waiting theatre people’s pains for fractions of seconds as they pass

‘cooly’ by


To the believer lovely to love and embrace the night and

lights, flashing along, around and up to the pure mist.


Others shied and sheered from THEIR love unto the love of

bodies. Preferring sidling by to pleasures unthinkable

and un-enjoyable for the players and songsters.