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This website is under construction. I’ve made a start on posting content but it will probably take a couple of weeks to get things sorted out properly. This is intended as a fun website, rather than a commercial venture, so don’t take anything you read here too seriously.

Security Announcement

This is a security announcement . Please do not leaveBags unattendedBags left unattendedMay be removedWithout warningOr destroyedOr damagedBy the security services. .Bags left unattendedMay be sequesteredAnd kept in a dark roomWithout the permissionOr knowledgeOf friends or family.In the public interestBags left unattendedMay be opened andThe contents investigated.Bags may be movedTo another locationWithout the permissionOr knowledgeOf the owner orHis/her representative.Bags left unattendedMay be destroyedIf they cannot be opened.ManagementReserves the rightTo take such measuresAs requiredIn the interests of the public. .Bags may be destroyedBy controlled explosionOr surgicallyBy sophisticated equipmentSuch as precision drones.Or we may nail them to the tailOf a startled dogAnd explode themIn the presenceOf the perpetratorsOf the leaving of the bagUnattendedOr in the presenceOf those with intent,Presumed or otherwise,So to do. . Bags left unattended mayIf necessary andin the public interestBe damaged by battering themWith hammers orAttacking them withEdged instrumentsThat will leave welts and cutsIn their plush leatherOr slit the tartan printOf a Gucci handbag. . In the interests of the publicThe security servicesMay beat the bagsWith baseball batsUntil they fall apartLike a piñataAnd the contents spill outAnd the liquids in them run.Do not believe but thatWe will exterminateAnd crush themLike watermelonsTill their pips squeak. . This is a security announcement..  © Peter...

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Grape Harvest

It’s the season for picking grapes. Mist in the morning softens the cold And sunshine warms their skins As the shadows lengthen. Now Is a time for creation or undoing. Bulging bags of dark mystery Have swollen from spring-tight berries Once prickly with sour goodness. Ripe now with sugar, but teetering Between perfection and wind-burn, Between the mellow fruitfulness of Keats And Eliot’s dull head among windy spaces. Heavy on the branches They feel the promise of their...

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Softer than your skin is airThat breathes the night on meThe sky a web as soft as hairI stroke — to touch, to be. Darkness bigger than this acheWhich dark in me is freePin-points of light that takeMine in their wide asymmetry. © Peter Stewart

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Digging Up The Past

The dig was just as she'd said it would be: a hole in the ground. Down the edge of the hill, time slipped like a river, or hung heavily in puddles like an old coat that has been shrugged off. He was uneasy. Somehow, he'd expected more than this. After the excavation, he knew, there would be more to it — monuments on which the eye could fix, markers to orient the eye towards what had been. But there was nothing yet, just the sore on the lush hillside, and the vague scratchings the archaeologists had made, esoteric scribbles on the landscape. "They're all dope-heads, anyway," Linda had said, as if in explanation. She was sitting on a small hill a couple of hundred yards from the site, with that weary and isolating look of pregnancy.  "Or alcoholics." She was due in about a month. Something was growing in her which only she could understand. Her words were esoteric scribbles, hinting at that something. She had that look of being habitually misunderstood. She was talking about human sacrifices, how certain civilisations burnt babies, she forgot who did this but it all seemed pretty pointless to have a baby, then to sacrifice it to gods who you'd invented anyway. "Pregnancy is so awful I just wish it were all over," she said, it would have been angrily if she'd had the energy. Her husband had gone to banter with the dope-heads. They were discussing post-holes, the site-layout, some bits of pottery that had been found weeks ago. It was hard to fathom quite how interested they were in these relics,...

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Driving Lessons

Go slowly at first. You are far more preciousThan the car you are driving. Don’t be rushed.Even in a traffic jam, everything has its pace,And you are just starting. Be as calm as you can beAnd learn to laugh at other people’s ways --Eventually you’ll laugh with compassion. Go smoothly up the gears but be awareSometimes you’ll drop the clutchAnd gears will grind and clunk –Don’t be embarrassed, that’s just life.The important thing here is to disengageBecause there is always time. Put your foot downOn the clutch, not the accelerator andIf you stall again, take that as part of life as well. Don’t worry if someone behind you hoots –Above all, don’t let their rage become yours.Stop somewhere safeAnd share a smile with the sky. (C) Peter Stewart ...

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About Polyscriptum

Welcome to my Polyscriptum. This website explores different aspects of language, metaphor and writing. I also include examples of my own creative efforts. I run a number of other websites including Coachcreates and Easywheeling. These can be found under the Links section on the footer...

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