FOREVER AMBER

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FOREVER AMBER

Green for go, he muttered
Eager to surge forward
Praying the lunatic in front
Wasn’t turning right

Is this what it has come to?
The whole world grinding to a halt
Impatiently waiting for a green light

How would we cope
If every light in the world
Stuck on amber
Or even red?

Like footballers,
Would we be re-programmed
To react to a whistle instead?

AMAZON/KINDLE BEST SELLER

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AMAZON/KINDLE BEST SELLER
I see that I am at number 1,205,646
In the Amazon/Kindle best-seller list
Again
Last week I was at number 650,249
And the previous week 233,184
Or was that the week before?
I don’t think I have got into the top 100
Yet
I like to see the wild fluctuations in the list
Thousands of points variation
Mean lots of sales, innit?
Though I must confess
It puzzles me a little bit
Because according to Amazon’s
Own – very reliable – sales chart
I sold no books at all last week
And only one all last month
So Amazon/Kindle
Here’s my conclusion
You must be one cupid stunt

PRIVACY IS FOR PAEDOS

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PRIVACY IS FOR PAEDOS
We have come to the end of privacy
Our private lives have been winnowed away
To the realms of the shameful and secret.
Someone, somewhere, state, press or corporation
Is watching.
Everybody knows about the Facebook newsfeed
It’s like a sausage – everyone eats it
Though nobody knows how it is made.
We are being manipulated, surveyed, rendered
By intelligence that is artificial as well human
Driven by complex mathematical formulae
That are invisible and arcane
Where corporations feed on the private lives of their users
While governments play fast and loose.
If you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear
Oh yeah?
Sex and shitting were once the only pastimes safe from the Internet
Well, not any more, baby!
As Max M found to his cost
Though defecation was a bit too much
Even for his eclectic taste
Secrets are lies, sharing is caring, privacy is theft
Facebook can quite easily draw a map of your soul;
Tell us what you like and we will tell you what you are;
We can now tell which of your friends are gay
And whether you may be leaning that way
We know how much you have in your bank, your tank
And where you will holiday next time round,
When your wife will get pregnant – and by whom
We know every thought inside your head
Whether inside or outside this room.
If you want to keep a secret
You must hide it from yourself

Privacy? There is no privacy anymore,
Anywhere
Privacy is for paedos.

WIMBLEDON

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WIMBLEDON

I could write a poem about you
It might even say
‘I love you’

There would be hate;
A modicum of debate
About whether you were you

Or was it your dead-ringer I saw
Slurping in the arms of granite-jaw
When the forty-love shot was hailed
And you and lover-boy got nailed

TV doesn’t lie my dear;
Only one thing now is missing;
Who was that bastard you were kissing?

All my books are available on Amazon @ http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tom-OBrien/e/B0034OIGOQ/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1388083522&sr=1-2-ent

FOREVER YOUNG (James Dean)

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FOREVER YOUNG (James Dean)
He was no plaster saint
His granite face
Etched with the pain of his copious talent

A mere slip of a man
He died with no time to be famous.
That came later

JUST LIKE JOHNNY CASH

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JUST LIKE JOHNNY CASH
He stared like a haunted Johnny Cash
He smiled, his mouth a ghoulish gash
His voice bubbled like a bullfrog in a cauldron
And it seemed a mighty effort just to hold on
To the rasping chuckle he had found,
But then his rusty lyrics began to echo round the ground;
I have found my saviour, I have salved my sin
Oh Lord heal my sorrow, Sweet Jesus let me in
Sweet Jesus let me in. Yeah.
Cos I’m the man in black
And I just keep coming back. Yeah.
I been to San Quentin, and I’ve had the Folsom Prison Blues
And I sure have Walked The Line,
On my own, and with a Boy Named Sue
I’ve seen the Ring Of Fire, the Rock Island Line,
And I have messed with Cocaine Blues
But I’ve never been in town When The Man Comes Round
Yeah.
I don’t plan to be in town
When that son-of-a-bitch comes round.

OBSERVATIONS

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OBSERVATIONS
Our lives are not our own
Our cards are marked from womb to tomb
Jealousy is the art of counting
Someone else’s blessings and not your own
You will never grow big by thinking small
The life you leave behind is no big deal at all
Be strong, be brave
But most of all don’t be a slave
To fashions, to politics, or whatever is the craze
Don’t run if you’re not able
And never expect happiness to come
With a glossy buy-me-now label.

RUSSIAN ROULETTE CURES DEPRESSION

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RUSSIAN ROULETTE AS A CURE FOR DEPRESSION

‘The first time I pressed the trigger
I knew I was immortal’
‘I wished the feeling could last forever,
My jubilation was total’

‘I’m a five-timer’, he told the newcomer
Extending his gun-finger and closing it slow
Every lost life seemed etched on his forehead
Five down, one more to go

‘Boredom mostly’ and ‘it passes the time’
Were his excuses for such dramatic play.
‘And it turns the girls on too
In some extraordinary way’

‘The best cure for depression I know’,he said
Handing the game to the next in line
Where the muzzle blew a hole between his eye and his ear
Death, too, passes the time
taken from my recent collection ’67’, now available @ http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/product/67-2/

IN PRAISE OF IRISH THEATRES

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IN PRAISE OF IRISH THEATRES

For more than twenty years
I have emptied pens on virgin pages;
A million words at least
And many more chewed in frustration
Then spat into the dustbin of the ages.
Words are cheap and wordsmiths cheaper still
But we like our efforts to be appreciated
And performed ( better still)
Yet to Irish Theatres great and small,
I do not write plays at all;
You have ignored my work
Yet the English do not shirk
To place my plays centre-stage
And Americans too have premiered a few
Which makes me ask you nicely
Irish Theatres, what the FUCK
Is the matter with you?

BELONGINGS

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BELONGINGS
I do not have a mill with shady willow trees
I have a horse and a whip
I will kill you and go

I do not have a red Ferrari or a pink rose
I have a rifle and a bandolier
I will shoot you and go

I do not to have a wife or a tiny yellow bikini
I have a mother and two goats
I will kiss you and stay