Mike O’Brien
LightNews LightNews
banner
zoomburst.substack.com
Mike O’Brien
@zoomburst.substack.com
1.2K followers 1K following 1.3K posts
Sixty odd years old. Running the Sixty Odd Press and a proud member of the Promote Indie Lit network

zoomburst.substack.com sixtyoddpoets.substack.com promoteindielit.com
Posts Replies Media Videos
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #Timeslips
Ohh - go on then. I was far too tired yesterday - had such a good time at a Thursday night poetry gig.
Timeslips Sometimes the timeslips are negligible Like I am in the kitchen but I can’t quite remember what I came here for Sometimes they are a little more than that Like I am in the kitchen unpacking the shopping but I can’t remember having gone shopping for any of these groceries Sometimes they are even bigger Like I just got out of bed on a Thursday morning and here I am, downstairs unpacking the shopping but I only go shopping on Saturdays Sometimes its overwhelming Like the shopping is all packed away and I sit down and relax with a cup of tea and I am in a large wing backed chair in a room with a dozen or so other people all of us in our late eighties and none of us allowed anywhere near the kitchen
January 17, 2026 at 11:50 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #Static
Holidays When I was small, we took our holidays in a static caravan at the coast I would fall asleep listening to imagined voices in the radio silence As outside, creatures of the night prowled in a field of static The darkness illuminated by the white noise of the North Sea At dawn, a metal gas canister wheezed as my dad turned on the stove to boil a kettle which hissed and whistled to a gradual climax Tea made with boiled egg water is good for bones and teeth And blackened toast, thinly spread with margarine, fortifies the blood
January 9, 2026 at 9:11 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Who actually are these people?
Its a skircle. It shows my avatar in the middle, surrounded by the avatars of those who I interact with the most on bluesky. If you are featured I obviously love you. If you are not featured, I probably still love you and will try harder in the future. But it's only social media, just a bit of a laugh really.
December 29, 2025 at 10:47 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
Merry Christmas to one and all - And thanks for the pomes Jack Caradoc @dreich.bsky.social
December 24, 2025 at 11:05 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
What do you make of this? Did I waste too much time on it? I was kinda excited for a few minutes there...
An email exchange between myself and an internet entrepreneur.
December 23, 2025 at 8:47 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
I feel that in order for this to be read at its full effect the final nom nom of each stanza should be read using a Terry Thomas voice. (perhaps like he used to say ding dong)
December 22, 2025 at 7:35 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
@silicasun.bsky.social
A ridiculous and probably slightly inappropriate poem in response to noticing that an attractive lady is a best of the net nom. Completely harmless and fuelled by nothing more than a faint sense of jealousy… Gosh - is that the time???
December 21, 2025 at 10:43 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #Money
Your Money or Your Life He’s standing before me, Face much too close to mine And although he hasn’t actually uttered the words That’s the implication That’s the stark choice I pause to weigh it up Do I face his arrogant demands? Or do I face the consequences of defying him? I look him in the eye My decision is inevitable really I choose life He can stuff his stupid job I walk out of the office without a backward glance
December 19, 2025 at 8:39 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #YouShouldntHave
OMG! Oh my God! For me? You shouldn’t have You really shouldn’t! Are you sure? You made it all yourself? For me? I shall treasure it The gift that keeps on giving I shall never tire of it Thank you! Of course I shall share it with others With everyone And every time I look at it I shall think of you Of course I shall look after it For as long as I live I shall leave it for my children When I am gone As fresh and new as it is today I know that they will love it Just as much as I do I hope that they will remember me But more than that I hope that they will remember you Above all Oh My God!
December 12, 2025 at 8:05 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
#SubmissionCall for #poetry (& #Art) about Christmas Villainy for the Sixty Odd Poets Christmas Special on December the 21st. Much more information in the Alt Text of this charming picture of a naughty child getting a couple of thick ears from Krampus. sixtyoddpoets.substack.com/p/submissions
I had originally asked for poems about Wicked Women of Pantomime. We all make mistakes. Perhaps the brief was too narrow, too easily interpreted as misogynistic, too difficult, too uninspiring. Who knows? I changed the subject a little. Christmas Villainy. (I’m not interested in Hallmark Cards stuff.) So - Sinister Santas, Crimes against Christmas, and Humbug Hollering Haters are free to join the Ugly Sisters and Wicked Stepmothers. If you don’t submit, I shall have to make up a selection of poems myself and pretend that other people did. (There’s an idea! I might smuggle a couple in anyway and invite people to recognise them). But please, send some stuff for me to hide it in. All those published on the site will instantly become associate members of the Fellowship of the Sixty odd poets and be considered for full membership should they submit a further six poems on any theme at a later date.
December 11, 2025 at 8:12 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
here are some upcoming submission calls to think about during any quiet moments over the next few weeks. More info at - sixtyoddpoets.substack.com/p/submissions
Three calls for submissions, on themes of Christmas, new Year, and Burns night. Further details at https://sixtyoddpoets.substack.com/p/submissions
December 5, 2025 at 1:16 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #Imps A true story...
Old Holborn My Dad had a dead imp In an old tobacco tin He kept it under lock and key In the shed out back My mother wouldn’t allow it in the house He seldom let us see it If we found him working in the shed And pleaded with him for long enough He would prize the lid off the tin Revealing the little wizened creature within Its ribs visible under shrivelled leather skin Yellow teeth peeping between grimaced lips Was it a mouse? No tail Was it a bat? No wings Where did he get it? His grandfather found it Under a sourapple tree No more questions He snapped the lid tight closed Clearing out the shed after he died I found that old tobacco tin I took it home and opened it up To examine the shut fast sunken eyes The clawed fingers The tiny strands of coppery hair Here’s the tin, see I left it open that night On the kitchen table I climbed the stairs to bed, alone And never saw that imp again But sometimes when the house falls silent I hear a scratching and a shuffling And, every now and then A tiny rattling laughter
December 5, 2025 at 9:32 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Mexborough last Sunday afternoon. Ted Hughes' old school hall is packed with poets. There's his Iron man on the wall at the back. There's all ten volumes of sixty odd poets and various other collections on the table at the front. It is a hotbed of #poetry. But anywhere it is encouraged it will grow.
Ted Hughes' old school hall in Mexborough full of poets enjoying poetry. With locally produced poetry collections on sale. Ted Hughes's old school hall in Mexborough full of poets enjoying poetry under the gaze of the Iron Man
December 3, 2025 at 8:54 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Since retirement, I have been so busy with poetry that I have hardly had time to write any poetry. #PoemsAbout is a great way to keep your hand in. Even if it's a tiny hand, and it's frozen. #NoFuture
A poem about the ever presesnt present, which is on a big font on a white background and even easier to read than alt text. (or is it actually possible to read alt text - If it is and thats what you depend on, then my humble apologies to you. Reach out and I'll send you an Mp3 of me reading it.
November 28, 2025 at 7:59 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
It was suggested that unless I posted something "random" I would have an awful December. Normally I wouldn’t go in for such nonsense but on this occasion, I found the idea strangely compelling.
November 27, 2025 at 10:29 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
Thats a fine window. Yes ... I'm not in a monogamous relationship with Peterborough, but I probably know it better than any other. Catherine of Aragon is buried there. Spanish people bring her oranges. And the gravedigger who buried her (and Mary Queen of Scots) has his portrait on the wall.
Old Scarlett, the Gravedigger of peterborough Cathedral who buried both Catherine of Aragon and Mary Queen of Scots
November 26, 2025 at 10:20 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
It brought Southey's After Blenheim to mind, but yours is a better, briefer read.
www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/after-...
Two kiddies asking their Grandad about a skull they have found in his garden. An illustration of "After Blenheim" the poem by Robert Southey
November 24, 2025 at 10:02 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Here are the two groups I mentioned...
Information on the Read to write poetry groups in Mexborough and Doncaster
November 15, 2025 at 7:48 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Lewis Carroll makes his excuses to a policeman after a motoring mishap.
November 14, 2025 at 6:05 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #Desire
Desire When the fever is upon me there’s nothing I can do. It’s worse than addiction. I can feel it from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers I can feel it in the beating of my heart In the blood rushing through my veins I can hear it, smell it, taste it Even with my eyes closed, I can see it The compass of my being only points in one direction Everything else is irrelevant Morality, Reason, Inhibition, all forgotten All I want is to succumb to the desire And when I am sated, spent, and exhausted Only then do I wish that I wasn’t such a pervert
November 14, 2025 at 4:46 PM
zoomburst.substack.com
Coming in late November... The tenth volume of Sixty Odd Poets - The Last Half Dozen... and the promise of a rebirth for the #SixtyOdd Press next year. #Poetry for all!
The cover of the forthcoming tenth volume of Sixty Odd Poets - the Last half Dozen Featuring Susan Darlington, Jim Murdoch, Neil Roystone, Eleanor Cantor, James Lee Jobe and Steve Williams.
November 12, 2025 at 7:37 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Some #poetry to read on #remembrance day.
bit.ly/3LyVyJ1
An old photograph of Agatha Christie in her First World War nurse's uniform.
November 11, 2025 at 7:28 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
#poemsabout #lockeddoors
I seem to write a lot about teachers... ahh well.
Miss When she stood at the blackboard in front of 4B She was a locked door An old style, dark green door A decorative stained glass panel above, Giving only a hint of the light that shone within She knew her stuff That much we knew But you had to be keen to pick any of it up She made no allowance for our age We could sink or swim for all she seemed to care I met her at a conference, years later The door ajar, the light escaping Recognising me instantly She asked how I had done since the days of 4B And of my classmates, who she knew by name How we would have marvelled to have seen her like this
November 7, 2025 at 9:09 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
Thanks for the recommendation @matthewepaul.bsky.social
A copy of Gilbert White’s Natural History of Selborne, which I picked up for three quid in a charity shop in Holmfirth.
November 2, 2025 at 10:18 AM
zoomburst.substack.com
#PoemsAbout #Blood
Butterworth They said that he had music in his blood. He felt the rhythm of it pulsing with his heartbeat and heard each note as it rushed past his inner ear on its way to feed the chambers of his brain, in which it would be magically orchestrated, with parts for woodwind, brass and strings arranged in a perfection of harmony. His every thought and action was accompanied by melody which burst forth from his heart, infused with pure goodness distilled from the atmosphere he breathed. When that fateful bullet struck him on the Somme, his eyes closed in rapture, his hands and arms caressing the air like those of a conductor at the Albert Hall as the crimson tide flooded from his soul and sunk, congealing into the earth with a deep, symphonic crescendo. There was a long, stunned silence before the applause finally rang out.
October 31, 2025 at 7:43 AM