Mike O’Brien
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zoomburst.substack.com
Mike O’Brien
@zoomburst.substack.com
1.2K followers 970 following 1.1K 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
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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
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#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
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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
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#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
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here's a frame from the Classic or Codswallop game we played at the #SixtyOdd Poetry and Palaver event last Sunday. Are you familiar with the music of the Inkspots? with the #poetry of Longfellow? Can you tell the difference?
October 29, 2025 at 7:42 AM
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#PoemsAbout
#BurnForTheCamera
possibly #NSFW
Shoot Look straight into the lens, love Head back a little, please Hold your lips slightly open There are worse ways to make a living That’s lovely! Now run your fingers through your hair for me And make those eyes smoulder I’ve always had it It’s nice to be able to make it pay Can you push your chest out a bit more? Arch your back? Fantastic! I don’t really care what people do with the pictures That’s their business Mine is just to be here, posing for them Drop your pants for me now I get a bit tired of the drugs, but they do help me to give them more of what they want Ohh, well done! Now just cup your balls in one hand, love And grab hold of your cock with the other
October 24, 2025 at 9:23 AM
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Here's a little #poetry game - Classic or Codswallop - We'll be playing it on Sunday afternoon in the Fox Gallery in Mexborough if you can make it, at #SixtyOddPoets, Poetry and Palaver.
A picture of the poet John Betjeman Laughing - Betjeman or Bollocks One of these verses is genuine Betjeman, the other is bollocks - which is which? Gracious Lord, oh Bomb the Germans Spare their women for thy Sake And if that is not too easy We will Pardon thy mistake May bombs rain down on Milton Keynes And blow the place to smithereens Let all the buildings there be cursed But let the people get out first
October 20, 2025 at 8:44 AM
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#PoemsAbout #breakthemould
1 And it is written that the creator of all things did spawn man and woman by pouring the waters of the river of life into an immaculate mould and freezing them into perfect forms 2 And Lo, the first men and women were shaken from the mould by the almighty hand and placed in climates suitable for them to grow and multiply. 3 And being from the same mould the first men and women were identical in every respect, apart from the markings of their gender. 4 And they did live in harmony together as no disagreements came between them, so perfectly matched were they. 5 But it came to pass that an agent of chaos stole the mould from the creator of all things and did stomp it underfoot with viciousness and vehemence before returning it from whence he had gotten it. 6 From that day forth all iterations of man and women were different and separate, having come from a broken mould 7 And misunderstanding, discord and strife came to pass over the face of the Earth. 8 And yet from this state of affairs came individuality, imagination and creativity as the ill moulded people strove for the harmony that they had once enjoyed. 9 And as the extremes of woe and misery were let loose on the earth, so were the extremes of joy and delight. 10 And the creator of all things saw that this had come to pass but was wise enough to let things be, for the agent of chaos was also a part of creation
October 17, 2025 at 8:36 AM
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It's less than a fortnight until Poetry and Palaver 3 (The madness of Poetry and Palaver). If you can make it by plane, train, automobile, e-bike, or shanks's pony, do come along.
A seated King George III, with Mike O'Brien peeping over his arm, with a snail, a fish a giraffe a pair of spectacles and the sixty odd flower publicising an event in Mexborough, Town of Culture.
October 15, 2025 at 6:18 AM
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#PoemsAbout #imperfectme
Consultation We looked just like a cartoon cliche from the pages of Punch or the New Yorker Me, laid out on the leather couch, emptying my soul Him, in the winged armchair, taking notes Whoever said that you had to be perfect? he asked. Rather than reply at once I considered the implications of his words Staring up at the plaster ceiling rose the paint flaking from its surface The greasy dust sticking to the twisted cable from which the dim bulb was suspended As always, my nose and the frames of my spectacles occupied a good portion of my peripheral vision Breathing in… Breathing out… I let the idea sink in all the way to the tiny, perfect ember of God’s creation The divine spark The willing spirit Surrounded by my weak, corrupted flesh
October 10, 2025 at 9:26 AM
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I'm on the countdown to Saturday night in the basement at Ziggy Green, Mayfair London. (as everyone knows, Ziggy Green was Ziggy Stardust's real name.) #poetry #Bowie More info in Alt text. See you there?
Poster for Up North, Down South - an event where a bunch of yorkshire poets - myself included, will be reading at the colony room green, accompanied by music from Sister Chain and Brother John - and Clifford Slapper, of David Bowie piano fame. The whole event being in close proximity to where the album cover photo of The Rise and fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars was taken.
October 7, 2025 at 7:05 AM
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There is some fine poetry in this week's #PoemsAbout challenge #Mannequin.I have loved the creepy horror tinged ones, and the conformist figures ones, and the cheap life ones - and the rest. I can't write anything to compare. So I have just torn a page out of an old Radio Times.
A page from an old Radio Times featuring synopses of six episodes of the detective series "Mannequin"
October 3, 2025 at 9:44 AM
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One down, two to go...
"Ourselves Reflected Back" an anthology of Rotherham poetry is launched @ the Rotherham Civic Theatre on Thursday 2nd Oct at 7pm
And "Up North, Down South" a blend of Northern Poetry at music from the capital is At Colony Room Green on Sat 11 Oct at 8pm in Soho
See you there?
September 30, 2025 at 6:29 AM
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Here's a piece that I am too cowardly to post on my own Facebook page. I feel a bit more free on Bluesky. #PoemsAbout #NeverAgain
The Veneration of the Dead Invisible, making no sound Our ancestors are all around Once, just like us, they laughed and cried They struggled, loved, and lived and died The brave, our British soldier men They smile when we remember them They see us sleeping in our beds They read our thoughts and shake their heads Does what we did mean nought to you? Do you respect what we went through? If you do, tear down those flags Those scraps of cloth, those foolish rags They are not worth your love and pride There are no flags where we reside.
September 26, 2025 at 10:05 AM
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Three upcoming #poetry events
"Soixante Neuf" is launched @ the Fox Gallery in Mexborough, South Yorkshire on 28 Sep at 3pm
"Ourselves Reflected Back" is launched @ the Rotherham Civic Theatre on 2nd Oct at 7pm
And "Up North, Down South" is on Sat 11 Oct at 8pm @ Soho, London
See you there?
The covers of Sixty Odd Poets - Soixante Neuf, and Ourselves Reflected Back, two Poetry Anthologies with imminent launches, along with a Poster for a forthcoming evening of poetry and Music at Colony Room Green, Soho.
September 23, 2025 at 8:29 AM
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The ninth edition of #SixtyOdd Poets is out today. You can get it from Amazon, but even better, you can get it from me and meet the people who wrote the #poetry at the launch in Mexborough next Sunday afternoon (you do know where Mexborough is don't you?)
The cover of Sixty Odd Poets Soixante Neuf - the ninth in the sixty odd poets series, all available internationally on Amazon.
September 20, 2025 at 7:39 AM
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#PoemsAbout #SilentPlanets
Afterwards Me and Ruby just drifted through space Until, when the drive tubes got so low That we had to set the ship down somewhere Before the life support packed in We were lucky to have ended up here. Breathable air, Friendly natives Amazing art and culture But no song No music Other than that played through a wooden instrument Pushed up hard against your bone There’s something in the atmosphere Which prevents the transmission of sound
September 19, 2025 at 11:57 AM
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#PoemsAbout #Candlelight
Three Day Week All the adults are talking about Wilson and Heath Are they like Abbott and Costello? A double act Like bread and dripping Served up for tea by grandma Crumbs falling onto the puckered tablecloth Sterilised milk tastes funny Not like the milk we have at home But it keeps longer, Stored in a bowl of cold water In the absence of a fridge The house, like grandma, is impossibly old Musty, Victorian, Wallpaper and linoleum A ticking wooden clock amongst the ornaments on the sideboard And then the lights go out It’s suddenly colder and darker Dad looks at Grandma like Ollie at Stan What do they mean three day week? Everyone knows that there’s seven I puzzle it out in the flickering light of candles from the box under the stairs
September 12, 2025 at 8:42 AM
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CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS
I’m looking for #poetry for the Sixty Odd Poets Page on Sunday September 28th. I am happy to read pieces from any angle, spiritual, secular, philosophical or just plain daft. I think its a fascinating subject. More information about submitting at
bit.ly/60_Odd_Submi...
Four traditional views of heaven: (1) Blokes on clouds with harps (2) The Jehovas witness version with people of all races enjoying the company of animals both fierce and docile, with no harm to anyone (3) The pearly gates at the top of the stairway (4) St Peter checking the guest list.
September 3, 2025 at 7:30 AM
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#PoemsAbout #Chandeliers

Hola desde Cataluña
I was never a chandelier sort of person I shunned ostentation Preferring my light to be clear, focused and unrefracted The anglepoise met all of my needs Until Lucille breezed into my life We were a couple before the week was out My life, my flat, my sense of who I was, all gone in a blink of an outrageously long lashed eye It lasted for three weeks and two days She left as suddenly as she arrived leaving me with a kitchen cabinet full of feminine toiletries and a plastic chandelier hanging from the ceiling
August 22, 2025 at 8:46 AM
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Holiday Reading - very good. @nickclay.bsky.social
Love and Let Die. A book about the Beatles and James Bond.
August 20, 2025 at 10:21 AM
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CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS
On August 31st I am looking to put a special on old back to school chestnut "what I did in my summer holidays" on sixtyoddpoets.substack.com.
Surprise me with your unique #poetry on the theme. Send what you've got as soon as you can. I'm looking forward to reading your stuff.
a seaside postcard with two children eating ice creams. the caption is "This is the Way to keep Cool, we like it much better than school!
August 20, 2025 at 6:19 AM
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I haven't got time for #PoemsAbout #ceasefire today. It's my daughter's wedding day. Ohh - Hang on a moment. I could just adapt the speech and add a paragraph at the bottom of it.
A Wedding Hope Today is my daughter’s wedding day A cause for celebration I am proud of all that she is All that she has become I’m happy that she’s marrying a fantastic bloke A great match for her He’s very like her Creative, Imaginative, Full of good humour, Adventurous, and with a real sense of wonder at the world around him The fact that he has chosen to put Rosie in that world Is a real source of pride and joy for me My ex-wife will be at the wedding It didn’t work out for us in the way that I hope it does for them I hope that we can maintain a ceasefire At least for the duration of the celebrations.
August 15, 2025 at 7:23 AM
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Here you go Ray Newman. That will sort out the elderly from the recently born. @raynewman.bsky.social‬
A meme featuring Isambard Kingdom Brunel in front of some heavy chains with the caption "Fit a lever-flush to your toilet. You have nothing to lose but your chains.
August 13, 2025 at 6:40 AM
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My afternoon will be an interesting one. I'm hanging around in a gallery, gathering stories and hopefully inspiring some people to create some Mexborough based #Poetry.
August 9, 2025 at 6:48 AM