After the storm the mist forms over Mussenden.
A cargo ship appears to sit still in the bay.
Lit up like a landing beacon at night.
Hardy souls on board.
White sea horses rumble over kelp strewn shores.

Wagtails dart over basalt towers
The strand with it's white sand round the corner.
Donegal, hidden by dreich looks like a far away land.
All is quiet.. nothing to report...calm returns.

Notifications come in..
'Your iCloud account is full'
'Your Google account is full'
Full of what.. I wonder?
Bits and bytes of memories
Some of which matter, most of which don't
Data cooking on servers, data cooking the world with heat

Handle won't move
Drawers full
Wardrobes full
Full of what.. I wonder?
Clothes that haven't been worn once this year
Shoes that lie dormant in little door mice boxes
Decent covers for others that need them to stay warm

Fridge door is stuck
Shelves are full
Cupboards are full
Full of what.. I wonder?
Good fruit, tinned meat and veg that I sometimes eat
But mostly goes into recycling
Fuel for hungry soles

I stutt..er, words can't come out
Synapses stuck
Brain is full
Full of what.. I wonder?
Media junk from many screens
Mostly *******, occasionally useful
Negative rhetoric filling valuable spaces
Brain fog and digital clouds, clouding the future

Unexpected September sun
Beaming down settling, settling, blinding between leaves
Pigeon sunbathing, motionless head down, comfortable, mulling over something nice
The leaves are almost done
Steam rising from the wet laundry on the line
A change of view... and it's gone

I want to be a nice narcissist
perhaps a mediocre misogynist
being comfortable being uncomfortable
maybe a polite and pleasant *****

In my world I
control everything
my destiny is written 'n
your value has been calculated 'n summed up

I am the author of your future
Trading you for something else is modern day barter
converting you into money, a simple task and honey trapping your friend into a
pyramid scheme just a wave of my hand.

my confidence is soaring
don't threaten me with your matrix media
your questions are not relevant
my questions are your mandate

you have to listen because I love you
I can give you what you want
take you from your broken body and make you my creation

I have become a figure of hate
no wait.....
fk this, fk this, I'm no Andrew Tate

La Coste cap, Gucci glasses, Mr Porter white trainers
Snapchat, Whatsapp, Insta
You've been sending me messages
About who you are
You're the I in 'SelfIe'

Charity shoes, bland jeans, non branded gear,
Talking, smiling, laughing
I'm sending you my response
About what I value but you aren't listening

Earpods in, zoned out
You're not even attempting to listen to me
You'll see I'm comfortable about being uncomfortable
You are connected, I'm disconnected
You want more, I want less

Where does your message thread connect with mine?
Which bit or byte do we sync on?
We are both heating up ends of this silicon
But when will we hope to share an emoticon?

I belong to a wrong wing think tank
I like my toast buttered on no sides
I go in through the exit and..
I'm comfortable being uncomfortable

Morning, so nice to hate you
Get out, we were expecting you
I have have always disliked you
You'll, never be my friend

Come back, I'd like to give you a Glasgow kiss
Rest assured, I have no confidence in you
Once a family, never a family
Don't take what it is yours, I worked hard to provide it for you

We barged hard against the old door and managed to get in
Dark corridors led to a back alley where fantasy met reality
There they were, hundreds a shiny boxed small windows waiting for us
Richard picked up a stone, pulled his home made catapult and released.
Bam, a broken window now more broken
You have a go
I took it and hit a window, amazing sound and joy
The windows were in our sights

Left a bit, right a bit...
Patang, reload, hutchuck, dut, snnuuuck,
Missed
Adjust scope a little to the right
This time a hit, no movement from the crow
A small troop are marching up towards our house
Door bell rings
dad looks concerned
'There's a report of a youngster with a rifle?'
It's the UDR
dad looks very nervous
'Its just my son with an air rifle'
dad brings the rifle to the door and the gun licence he had
Firkin wee Duffie the headmaster has seen me with his binoculars
The wee sneak ..I rumble under my breath
'No problem sir, we're on our way out of here'
Wee Duffie had me in his sights

Returning from England the green walk up the Dungannon road is a fresh change from the hustle and bustle
Passing a bungalow on the right a man stares out at me, hands by his side
I take a left up a hill past Derek's place
We rode his white horse bare back in that field
Suddenly a car pulls up with the man and he winds the window down
'What's the name?' he growls
'What do you mean what's the name, I'm just out for a walk?' I retort
He reaches for the glove box, I stop
'What's the name?' he shouts again
I ignore him and continue walking
He accelerates quickly forwards stops and manages to make a U turn

Walking back home I'm confronted a small troop of soldiers marching the other way
A car pulls up
'What's the name?'
'Turner' I say
"It's the bank manager's son, stand down'
On reflection I processed this situation years later
The big man Stewart had thought I was a 'spotter' from the IRA spotting him an off duty policeman in his home so that a shooter could take him out
He had his hand on his pistol in his glove box with a view to pull the trigger
He had me in his sights