Geiriau’n Iacháu

Mike Church Anita  Graham

Mae Geiriau’n Iacháu yn brosiect ar y cyd rhwng GARTH (Gwent Arts in Health, elusen sy’n hyrwyddo gweithgareddau celfyddydau ac iechyd ar gyfer cleifion a’r cyhoedd mewn sefyllfaoedd gofal iechyd a chymunedol yn ardal Ymddiriedolaeth GIG Gofal Iechyd Gwent), yr Academi, Head4Arts ac Arts Alive. Y grwpiau targed yw defnyddwyr gwasanaethau sydd â thrafferthion iechyd meddwl.

Nod y prosiect hwn yw cynnal gweithdai barddoniaeth cyfranogol creadigol a gweithgareddau celfyddydau cysylltiedig sy’n hwyluso cyd-ysgrifennu, gydag oedolion a phobl ifanc o gymunedau Blaenau Gwent. Yn sgil y prosiect cynhyrchir cyfres o gerddi poster a fydd yn sail i arddangosfeydd lleol mewn llyfrgelloedd, yn lleoliadau gofal iechyd Blaenau Gwent ac mewn unrhyw fannau priodol eraill yn yr ardal.

Mae’n cydweithio â thri sefydliad sy’n darparu gwasanaethau iechyd meddwl yn y fwrdeistref gan gynnwys Ysbyty’r Tri Chwm, HAFAL a Mentro Allan. Mae’r grwpiau’n gweithio gyda’r beirdd Mike Church, Anita Flowers a Graham Hartill i greu barddoniaeth a ddefnyddir i ysbrydoli delweddau ar y cyd â’r artistiaid Tim Rossiter, Tessa Waite a Kate Raggett.

Bydd y prosiect yn cynnwys digwyddiad ddydd Iau 8 Hydref 2009 – Diwrnod Cenedlaethol Barddoniaeth. Caiff ei gynnal yn Neuadd Cleifion Allanol Ysbyty Nevill Hall, y Fenni, yr ysbyty cyffredinol sy’n gwasanaethu Blaenau Gwent. Gwahoddir cyfranogwyr, eu teuluoedd, cyrff sy’n bartneriaid a staff i weld y celfwaith a chlywed darlleniadau o’r cerddi ac unrhyw gerddoriaeth a gynhyrchir yn ystod y prosiect. Caiff y cerddi poster eu harddangos yno ac yn lleol ym Mlaenau Gwent am gyfnod ar ôl y digwyddiad.

Cerddi a grëwyd gyda Mike Church yn Ysbyty’r Tri Chwm:

The Suitcase

There it sits on the floor


Go on open it

Who knows what’s inside?

Maybe there’s a pile of holiday clothes

Or a dictionary of words

Some words for today

Maybe there’s a ventriloquist’s dummy – a chirpy old man

There might be the loneliest bank book in the world

Or a half eaten cheese and tomato sandwich

There might be some yoghurt in a thermos flask

Or a ticking device…ticking

There might be a mobile phone for emergencies

Or a comfortable pair of shoes

With socks and pants stuffed inside

Go on open that suitcase

There might be some handcuffs…all pink and furry

Or a real parrot that can hold its breath for long journeys

Or maybe there is a mystery ring

There might be some dark glasses for anonymity

Or a fully operational brain

There might be an umbrella for those rainy days

Or a bucket and spade in case there’s sand

There might be a small bottle of whisky

To ease the nerves and for medicinal purposes

And there might be a pinch of Dutch courage

Or an atlas of the world

And a tin opener to let you in where you want to go

Go on open that suitcase

There’s a world of possibilities

And you won’t know about any of them

Unless you open it and find out

So go on

Open that suitcase…please

Lost and Found

They found an old teacher’s jacket

In the stock room of the school

And in the pocket they found

A cane for the good old days

And a ruler as back up

They found a board rubber

In case the cane or the ruler hadn’t got them

Failing that they found sharpened chalk

And a red pen to criticise and humiliate

Any young and new ideas

They found a sheet for doing 3000 lines

And a confiscated dead mouse

Along with a cow’s eye

Best not to ask why

They found a forgotten child from 1947

And an abandoned childcatching van

There were 223 unclaimed catapults

And a book of names to reduce children to tears

And there was a whistle to keep all in line

All inside an old teacher’s jacket

In the stock room of the school

Brief Thoughts on a Brick

A brick can be used to build

And used as a weapon

There is good and evil in every brick

A brick is a brick

and so much more

It can be a step up

Or the leveller down

It can be a doorstop

Or an elephant’s foot

You can use it in a rockery

Or as a work of art

You can write your memories on it

Or even the occasional poem

There are Tredegar bricks

And bricks from Katmandu

A brick is a brick and so much more

It can be a provider

As a handy home for hamsters or insects

It can be ballast

Or the start of a barbecue

It can save water in a cistern

Or save embarrassment

With a spare key underneath

It can be a hosepipe holder

Or a mousetrap

Or a camping seat

You can get different coloured bricks

Half bricks and whole bricks

A brick might be your only friend

And doesn’t do yelling or criticism

You can warm a brick

As in times gone by

Or you can cook on it

Put candles on it

Or use it as an egg cup

You can grow herbs on it

Or decorate it

Or you could make stilts from it

Or hold a tent down with it

You could even create your own Olympics

With 26 brick events

So all in all it’s not just another brick in the wall

A brick is it’s own brick

And so much more

Crime and Punishment

Mrs Hiscox was a stickler

Reminded me of Hitler

When she wanted quiet

Her face went red

She wanted hands on head

But one day instead

I had to wipe my nose

And there she goes

With one flick of the wrist

She never missed

It was the cane there and then

You wouldn’t want that again

The Door

Go and open the door

And you might find

A man with an axe

Or a cup of tea with a ham sandwich

You might see Frankie Vaughan at the piano

Or there might be yet another green door

Or a dog biting a postman’s arm

There might be a priest with a angel chopping his head off

Or a rack of hanging coats

There might be three hungry children wanting dinner

Or a rusty old tandem bike

Go on open the door

There might be curtains hiding a baseball bat

Or the edge of the world

There might be a picture of a girl and a dog playing on the grass

Or a magic carpet

Or there might be Santa disappearing up a fireplace

Or a man with a suitcase waiting in the hall

Go on open the door

There might be a cat chewing a daffodil

Or a consultant with six other unopened doors

It’s a mystery

For me and for you

Isn’t it great

The world has so many doors

Take my advice

Never give anyone advice

If you were to give anyone advice

Don’t go on first appearances

And remember

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush

Be content with what you’ve got

Be tolerant

And remember

A belly-aching calf will soon forget its mother

Never judge a book by its cover

And talk, talk, talk

Turn the television and computers off

And never put things off

Don’t be a procrastinator and

If you love someone, tell them every day

Because tomorrow’s not promised to anyone

And remember to

Give and take

And warrateg – fair play

It takes two to quarrel so walk out of rooms

And remember

Things said in haste shouldn’t be said

It’s important to love and be loved

Judge not and you’ll not be judged

And remember

Never ever give anyone advice

A thousand and one unanswered questions

Why do we exist just to live and die?

What is at the end of the tunnel?

Do we have a guardian angel?

Why does garlic smell the way it does?

Who on earth invented money

And what happened to good old fashioned bartering?

Why do bananas grow banana shaped?

Who made God?

And why do we all look so different?

Why do we look like we do when we’re undressed and naked?

Why do naked men look so comical when they’re running?

How would the Olympics look if all the events were naked?

Why have we suddenly become obsessed with all things naked?

Mirror,mirror on the wall who really is the fairest of them all?

Why do we buy things that fit catalogue models but never fir the rest of us?

Why are there pockets in shrouds?

Why are people who’ve got everything never content?

Why are there so many unanswered questions?

If you’re the marrying kind

If you’re the marrying kind

Don’t marry someone you think you can change

Or who is obsessed with changing you.

Don’t marry someone who spends all day on the computer

Or someone who wants you

To have a tattoo you don’t really want

Beware someone who is continually plumping your cushions

And don’t marry someone who wants you

To enjoy watching them locking the door

Don’t marry someone who is obsessed with time

Or has more piercings than a pin cushion

Or someone who wants a doormat you can’t wipe your feet on

If you are the marrying kind

Then don’t marry a man who doesn’t put the toilet seat back up

Or a woman who has less money than you

Don’t marry someone who doesn’t take a blind bit of notice

Or who’s more interested in the workplace than the home

Don’t marry someone unless you know the truth behind the smile

Or unless you know the stag nights and hen nights are finally over

Don’t marry a man whose homecoming words are ‘What’s for dinner?’

If you are the marrying kind

Watch out for those with short arms and deep pockets

Never go to bed on a row

And always kiss goodnight

If you are the marrying kind

Make the most of these words

And then make it last.

The Good Old Days

They don’t have fun like the old days

Now it’s all computer games, joysticks and playstations

In the good old days

The outdoor days

We were happy stamping in puddles

Kicking up autumn leaves

Making mud pies

And losing our socks in our wellies

We’d come down hills on cardboard in summer

Or on the back of a shovel all year round

We’d do roly polys down the bank

Slide down branches

Or play hopscotch with chalk

In the good old days

We’d play shadows by candlelight for hours in bed

Or make a tent with a blanket

So under the table became a ship or submarine

We’d play ring-a-ring-a-roses

Then eat slab cake and lump sugar

And play shop

And scrump apples

And knock doors

We’d put penny bangers up drainpipes

In the good old days

Now it’s all computer games, joysticks and playstations

But we remember the good old days

When we were happy stamping in puddles

When a bit of dirt never hurt


The Brick


We’ve talked about you, laughed about you

Stared at you, cared about you

Weighed you and handled you

Nearly dropped you but you are still a brick

Now I understand why people say when someone

Is in trouble, a person who helps is said to be a brick

Maybe it is not such a bad thing to be

Hurrah for the good old brick