In a recent interview in Greggs, down town Merthyr Tudful, Wayne-O Pijin declared his intention to stand as a candidate for the Cooo-operative Party.
   Referring to it as the General 'Erection', Pijin explained that they were erecting walls, fences, roads and more in the Borough much to the detriment of his kind.
   Between corned beef pasty and jam doughnut, Pijin commented that the No-Wings (humans) were rapidly destroying his environment, especially with their plans to move the bus-station.
   He welcomed the growth of fast food outlets, but predicted the demise of the local chippy, though it wouldn't alter the dietary requirements of his ilk.
  He said that while there were increased opportunities for study with the opening of the new access-for-all Greggs, Merthyr still needed at least five additional ones to accomodate the growing pigeon population and its hunger.
   When I asked him what he thought of the present M.P., he was scathing -
' I ave on'y ever seen im in a flak jacket on telly through people's windows.  If we ad a full-scale Civil War in Merthyr between us an the No-Wings, I imajin ee'd turn up......arfter the conflict!'
   I then asked him how he responded when many people called him and others like him 'scroungers'.
   ' It's wha I do do for a livin mun. It's my daily job; that an bonkin.....an yew don' yer the media criticise us f'r that, do yew?'
   His election strategy was being managed by his Head of Campaigns Al-Wings Jones, a Zen Buddhist pigeon who spends a lot of time meditating on tree-tops.
   'I trust Al-Wings. Ee might seem a bit static at times, but ee int stuffed! Ee'll sort an ewge election drop, no prob.'

   His 'Birdifesto' makes interesting reading :-

1. Votes for all 'pijins' of all ages.
2. Greggsology and Pijin Welsh to be part of the Core Curiculum in all schools.
3. Retention and expansion of the 'Food Tubes' ( i.e. the bus-station). 
4. Increase in fast food outlets at the rate of one per week.
5. Julien Macdonald to be made into a saint because he favours the use of furry animals (predators to pigeons) in his clothing range and, as far as Pijin's aware, has never used pigeon feathers.
6. In place of every statue of a boxer the erection (he now deployed the word positively) of sculptures of pies and pasties, which would provide perfect perches.
7. Removal of all offensive spikes above signs.
8. No vomit to be cleaned from the streets after Friday and Saturday nights, because although it's somewhat sour, it does introduce his kin to a taste of world cuisine.
9. Introduction of a Cooo-operative Society at every level of  : pavements, rooftops and ubiquitous roof trees.
10. World heritage Status for all Merthyr's footbridges - secret treasures of the Valleys - to bring tourist 'pijins' to the area and enjoy those vantage points.
11. The immediate abolition of opencast mining.

   On the last point Wayne-O elucidated - ' It's no joke! With all the black dust in the air yew carn tell a pigeon from a crow. The mating implications are most unfortunate.'
  Finally, Pijin would like to see a massive Festival of Droppings every year in Cyfarthfa Park, with a formation fly-past and summary revenge on the No-Wings below for their historical mistreatment and abuse of pigeons.


                            VOTE  PIJIN!


I'm standin f'r-a Coo Coo Cooo-operative Party,
s Vote f   Me!


Speakin Pijin Welsh t ev'ryone
c....c....c.....colomennod!


Think o what we d' do
when yew call us 'rats with wings'.


We're great at re-cyclin,
eat ev'rythin, even yewer spew.


Bits a chips an pasties yew fling :
more like oovers with wings.


Member, if yew get dive-bombed,
int it lucky t be shat on?


So, vote f'r me, 
not jest pijins but No-Wings!

   Ces i fy ngheni yn Aberystwyth ond mae teulu fy nhad yn dod o'r dde : teulu Jenkins ( fy nhadcu) o Gilfynydd ger Pontypridd a theulu Thomas ( fy mamgu) o Wenfo. Mae'r ddau ohonyn nhw yn dod o deuluodd Cymro Cymraeg.
   Roedd teulu fy mam yn dod o Wlad yr Haf yn Lloegr pan roedd hi'n ferch ifanc (tua 10 oed) , ond doedd fy mam ddim yn teimlo fel Gymraes fel arfer.
   Fodd bynnag, dw i'n gallu cofio tipyn bach o Gymraeg adref ym Mhenparcau, pentref ger Aberystwyth : ymraddion fel 'Caewch y drws!' a 'Cysgwch yn dawel!'
   Er oedd fy mam yn fenyw dalentog iawn, doedd he ddim yn lico'r iaith Cymraeg o gwbl a byddai hi'n enw yr Urdd 'The Welsh Hitler Youth'!
   Roedd fy nhad yn casau y Gymraeg gyda'r un agwedd, oherwydd yn ei waith fel swyddog yn y Gweinidogaeth Amaethyddiaeth cwrddai fe llawer o ffermwyr oedd yn siarad Cymraeg yn unig. Dw i'n meddwl oedd fy nhad yn teimlo istaddol iawn.
   Pan symudodd fy nhadcu Will o Gilfynydd i Barri  i chwilio am waith, collodd e ei Gymraeg.
   Ar hyn o bryd, dw i'n moyn adennill yr iaith y cymoedd, lle oedd y teulu Jenkins yn byw yn y bedwaredd ganrif ar bymtheg.




  
Geiriau Yn Fy Mhen

 

 

Mae geiriau yn fy mhen

fel adar sy’n hedfan :

rhai prin, rhai cyffredin

 

 

adar du yn yr awyr gwyn

ond pob un gyda phluen

yn lliwgar fel y paun

 

 

dw i’n dal rhai

yn fy nwylo weithiau;

yn sydyn , mae nhw  wedi mynd

 

 

dw i’n ceisio darganfod

ble mae nhw’n byw :

dinas neu pentre? mynydd neu goed?

 

 

mae geiriau yn fy mhen

yn canu o chwedlau a hanes ;

caneuon trist, caneuon hapus.










y cyfieithiad : -






WORDS IN MY HEAD


Words in my head
like birds circling :
some rare, some common


black words on white air,
each one with feathers
colourful as peacocks


I hold some of them
in my hands at times ;
suddenly, they take off


I try to find
where they are living :
city or village? woods or mountain?


words in my head
sing of myths and history ;
some sad, some happy.

   Merthyr Tudful is rapidly changing and developing.
   A brandnew college with an annexe in Greggs, where students spend most of their time.
   A parabolic bridge 'with a twist' to show how progressive we are and even a large expanse of fencing where UKIP can happily display election posters.
   Yes, that's how advanced we are.....we saw UKIP coming.
   No matter that the area of rubbled, levelled land, once a brick-works, has been left vacant for years by the UKIP-supporting owner of Trago Mills, who are always on the verge of coming here.
   A one-way system to rival Ponty , an urban maze that could be turned into an interesting board game , which allows all traffic to pass the 6th form college where drivers can admire students returning, laden with pasties.
   Most convenient of all, we have two funeral parlours ( one the former Great Escape pub....most appropriate! ) located right near two Care Homes for the elderly. Georgetown reinvented!
   We've also got lots more empty space at either end of the High Street, at Dic Penderyn Square (named after the Wetherspoon's pub, of course) and around the Lucy Thomas Fountain.
   This enables our beloved Council to hold festivals with a particular Welsh dimension, such as chilli-eating and dressing up as dubious historical characters.
   Then there's the Old Town Hall, imaginatively called Redhouse because....well, it's red! Here there's a traditional Welsh cafe, the Mad Hatters Emporium ( more than one Mad Hatter naturally), in which there are likenesses of many famous Merthyr people and lots of dead Labour politicians you won't recognise.
   These are good times for the town, with its productive huge opencast called Ffos-y-fran and , as a result, the generosity of the company Miller Argent can be seen everywhere, with their bribes (er...I mean donations!).
   Like the ironmasters of old, they are truly philanthropic and I wouldn't be surprised if they actually funded an asthma clinic, with the strange increase in cases in the town in recent years.
   As many boast, we have 'One of the biggest black 'oles in Ewrop!'
   The development doesn't stop at bridges, squares and pasties however.
   There are plans to relocate the bus-station to the site of the present police-station, when the latter moves closer to the Assembly office....enabling officers to exit town quickly towards their houses elsewhere.
   It's a clever idea moving the bus-station.
   It's all designed to disorientate the alkies and druggies who hang around the place most days.
   They 'll hardly want to sit around on a building-site as men in hard hats demolish the bus bays known to local pigeons as 'food tubes'.
   Climbing up scaffolding may appear a challenge, but they'll surely come to grief and land on passing students brandishing sausage rolls.
   The other great development in Merthyr - town of the martyr - is the real possibility of a local currency.
   As all items in every shop will soon cost £1, then the idea is to spend a 'martyr' rather than sterling.
   A 'martyr' would be a beer-can shaped piece of metal and would encourage those shops not charging a quid per item to do so.
   Even things which are normally less, such as the local paper (useful for chip-wrapping and lighting fires) will have to change its price.
   Poundland, Poundworld, Poundstretcher and Poundlings....so much choice, yet these shops are performing an act of sheer humanitarianism for giving those on benefits jobs for free i.e. paying them nothing.
   In an age when such people are seen as the lepers of our society, it's wonderful to see such businesses give them a sense of purpose by labelling items with the cost for instance. 
   Tesco - which used to dominate the town - is attempting to hit back, but will eventually lose out as the 'martyr' takes hold.
   Even their efforts to honour the local billionaire pie merchant Sir Stanley Thomas OBE by erecting displays of his goods on every aisle will not woo folk away from the subtle science of Greggsology.
   Finally, perhaps the most innovatory proposal is the one which could see Merthyr-boy-made-good Julien Macdonald OBE design a series of outfits for some of our more pointless foot-bridges.
   The concept of 'pimping' a bridge is a truly exciting one, and will surely bring even more tourists to the town.
   Imagine the 'A'  bridge as you turn off the A470 towards Rhydycar in a Macdonald creation : topped with fur from rare animals, with a luminous lacy draping. It is certainly skinny enough to warrant his attention.




                             A  PIJIN  IN  GREGGS




This pijin woz struttin is stuff down town,
ee wuz in Greggs lunchtime -
think ee wuz arfta the offer
of 5 ring donuts f'r a pound.


So I sayz to im, I sayz -
'Ow d'yew get in yer pijin but?'
'Well', ee replies,' I flew down
from my perch on-a Lucy Thomas Fountain,


then I come up the Igh Street
pas where Anne's Pantree ewsed t be,
pas the New Crown Inn, like Labour,
the Crown t yew an me......


pas where Woolies ewsed t be
tidee sweets in the ol dayz ;
pas where Smith's ewsed t be
an-a Body Shop, great f Christmas smellies.


Pas where Dew'urst's ewsed t be,
pickin at-a back, bits o bodies ;
pas where a Co ewsed t be,
like-a sound 'Co', bit like me.


I come yer f'r a pastie
coz I wanna do a college course
t learn ow t be a seagull
an yeard this is where yew enroll.'  


     

   A week of contrasts which began with the song 'Mama Says' lodged in my head.
  Thankfully, I couldn't get rid of it.
   The voices of Ibeyi haunted and possessed my imagination, the lead singer like Billie Holiday, so full of intense emotion, telling the sad tale of a mother left devastated because her man has either left her or died and the daughter can offer no consolation.
   Despite the twins of Ibeyi (it means 'twins' in Yoruba) being Cuban, they sing in English and Yoruba, the language of the Nigerian slaves who were taken there.
   I often wonder if everyone has such songs : ones which follow them every waking hour and , most likely, even speak to them in dreams.
   And then , from the heights of a single song - precarious ridge looking down - I was soon brought falling by the sheer idiocy of local politicians.
   The magazine 'Contact' is produced by Merthyr's Labour Council, circulated to every household and explains all the great things they are doing.
   Its cover is obscene!
   It depicts a scene on Penderyn Day, which took place in Penderyn Square in front of the Old Town Hall/ Redhouse over the summer. 
   Four men are dressed in the uniform of a British army regiment which played a major role in the events of the !831 Rising.
   They are clutching their muskets with pride, as a little girl sits below them , gazing up cheerfully.
   Just as a sanitized Keir Hardie impersonator was used to open Redhouse , so our Labour leaders have seen fit to glorify the very military who were directly responsible for the slaughter of at least 20 Merthyr citizens on that day in that very area of town.
   Not one soldier was killed in that working-class uprising, despite reports that the people had seized weaponry ; people fighting against oppression seen as 'rioters'.
   Needless to say, there was no enactment of those brutal events on Penderyn Day.
   Indeed, there is no plaque or memorial to those who were killed there , in a bloody replay of what happened years before at Peterloo in Manchester.
   Just as the memory of socialist republican Keir Hardie was insulted by the invitation to Carlo to open Redhouse, so the citizens of this town have been sold ( or given, should I say ) a lie in this cynical re-writing of history worthy of '1984'.
   And so, I was looking forward to Red Poets anti-opencast event in support of UVAG at the Blast Furnace pub in Pontlottyn to lift the week.
   It all started disastrously when the landlady told us there'd been complaints about swearing in poems a year before and would we refrain from 'bard language' in the readings!
   I told her I didn't want censorship and she'd have to tell the poets herself.
   Despite these strictures, the evening was packed with quips about swearing, with Barry Taylor asking if it only applied to English and I did a poem which consisted entirely of swear-words i.e. a minute of silence!
   Jim Davies was the funniest, when he read a poem by Helen Burke including the 'bastards ' and 'bloody'. Afterwards he told me - 'Mike, I did leave out the 'fucking' .....I replace it with 'flipping'!'
   Pity Tim Richards didn't launch into his signature poem 'Fuck Em'!
   Later I learnt that two Englishmen at the bar had left in disgust, ostensibly because of Barry's Welsh republican song; though later it was suggested they were UKIPers generally appalled at our stuff.
  I wonder what the likes of Andrew Bartz and Jazz would've made of the evening. 
  I can imagine Andrew's defiant swearing as heckles , or Jazz challenging the UKIPers to a duel outside.
   It was still a really good evening, with plenty of great readings and songs.
   As Jamie Bevan commented on Facebook, asking the Red Poets not to swear is a bit like asking the Pope not to talk about religion....or Farage not to mention the EC for that matter..... or Norman Tebbit to talk sense etc etc.
   Next up for Red Poets  is the Castle Hotel in Tredegar on November 26th and, as always, there'll be a big welcome there.


                             THE  NAMELESS  ONES




We are the nameless ones, history's forgotten.


We are here not for revenge
or to detract from that martyr
in this our town of martyrs ;
but for you to remember.


Here because you dress up those days
and make them into a pantomime ;
those townsfolk with their mock guns
posing with smiling children.


A plaque, a pub and a square,
magazine with soldiers looking stern ;
you have voted for these and we....
we died for the choice you've made.


'Caws a bara!' and 'I lawr a'r Brenin!'
under the red banner, a small insurrection ;
wages lopped like trunks and debt
a disease killing us like trees.


We're not claiming all innocence :
weapons and road-blocks, did what we could
to make this town ours not the ironmasters
or regiments sent to put us down.


Our blood - like that of the lamb
which stained the flag on the Waun -
is the sap, despite the downtrodden
frail leaf-like figures scattered around. 


We are the forgotten ones.....give us names!