By Andrew Ray

"Friends in South Africa?" the postcard in the window enquired.

Yes, Jewish humanist sister Helen In Jo’burg. Ben Office trapped in G.U.G.U.L.E.T.O township

Shakes Mongozi my piano playing daddy drinking his Life away

Athol whose passport has been confiscated.

Joseph who’ been hiding in a house for Six months because he has no pass.

Daniel who waits on the railway siding to Be shipped home. Oh yes, I’ve millions of relations in South Africa. But how can I write to them?

By Andrew Ray

the storm lashed devil’s peak

the blood-red water streamed

down the twelve apostles as

the earth ran away to sea.

I was stupid enough to ask "What is that?" "that" came the reply "is Africa."

By Andrew Ray

The farmyard’s looking empty Everything’s inside. Sheep and cows and chickens Have been taken for a ride.

Green fields aren’t needed A plastic shield is best. With a thing called a force feeder To replace a mother’s breast.

We’ve always slaughtered Nature’s Young But now they’re dying younger. And we’re not breeding milk fed veal To stave off pangs of hunger.

For Noah’s Ark they once queued up To enter two by two, We ship them by the thousands now Cash bonus for the crew.

The lamb that’s born in Springtime Brought a teardrop to our eye Now we’re forcing plastic down it’s throat It’s its mother’s turn to cry.

We can’t tell fairy stories Of furred and feathered friend, We’ve forgotten what they look like We are the living end.

So divorced are we from Nature I’m sure she’s had her fill Of this two legged creature Who can torture before the kill

She’ll never marry us again We’ve murdered her you see, And the battery farm special’s In the top ten on TV.

Artificial insemination Now takes the place of Dad. And science tells us glibly, "They won’t miss what they&aposlve not had".

Genetic engineering Will hold the key to life, Nature can be locked away, The sperm bank is your wife.

I gaze into the future, The fields are empty now, And somewhere in the factory They’ve bred a plastic cow.

It cannot moo, it cannot see, It never had a mum, It’s a tasteless piece of rumpsteak For you to feast upon.

Everything is covered, There’s no such word as sky, Man’s the only creature left He’s too afraid to die.

He finds a book left somewhere And keeps on browsing through. It’s about a place called Eden Where a thing called "Light" shone through.

This was written in the 1970s, but published in 1995 in The Siege of Shoreham - Reflections from the Front Line, Impression Print and Design, Brighton.