You have a missive published in your local paper every night

Full of vim, vigour and opinion but surely not the merest hint of spite?

Stories of corruption, Government meddling, and the odd empty bus lane

I cannot read them without feeling giddy, lost for words and in some pain

You see the world and Newport has changed and mostly for the better

You choose to ignore this as you sit and home and concoct another letter

But tell me this through your desperate desolate view so backward looking

Are you really the former Mayor of Newport or dear old Uncle Bryn?



Three smiling nymphs, happiness galore,

Dance around in circles, the smile some more

Red roses shoot up around them

From the stony concrete floor...


A woman rushes by

A briefcase in one hand

She hasn't a care in the world

Her head is buried in the sand.


The 8A bus pulls over,

A little nipper runs out,

Does anyone try to stop him,

Bawl and scream and shout?


The pigeons stand tall,

On the chewing gum coated street

For a long time they wander

On an endless sticky sheet.


The nymphs sweetly sing,

And joy do they bring,

How can the world ignore

Such a wonderful thing?


THE STREETS OF GWENT (after Ralph McTell)

Have you seen the Dragon
In the closed-down market
Kicking up the paper,
with his worn out boots?
In his eyes you see no pride
And held loosely at his side
Yesterday's Robin Davey column telling us about yesterday's team

So how can you tell me you're lonely,
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of Gwent
I'll show you something that will totally mess up your mind

Have you seen the theatre-goer
Who walks the streets of Gwent
Still can't find the place on a sat-nav or a map
He's no time for talking,
He just keeps right on walking
Trying to find a squiggle for his shirt.


In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven,
The same halfwit coach is sitting there on his own
Muttering about the valleys
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone


And have you seen the old man
Who saw us beat New Zealand
Memory fading with
The passion in his heart.
In our winter city,
Turner feigns a little pity
But he's too busy destroying us
In a world that doesn't care