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Stewart Stafford Quotes

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Famous Stewart Stafford Quotes

“If I Returned From The Land of Death by Stewart Stafford If I returned from the land of Death, Could I recall its vast domain? To regale with tales of my last breath, Or bury all such earthly pain? Do infinite spirits teem astral skies, Whispering, "Infant, be not afraid!"? Ocean glare that blinds not the eyes, Heartfelt welcomes can but persuade. To see those I lost once more, As smiles and greetings abound? Why would I wade a waning shore, To reject formless bliss so sound? © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Sniper Bird by Stewart Stafford "Look out!" the crowd shouted to me, "There's a Sniper Bird in those trees!" A whooshing sound shot past my ears, Making me duck down to my knees. He must have gone rogue, I reckoned, Someone cheated him over birdseed, Then he took a squirrel as his hostage, Get a negotiator quickly up those trees. He threw up his wings and surrendered, They brought him down in a gilded cage, Never again sniping at innocent people, He studies elocution with a parrot sage. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“The Girl At The Lake by Stewart Stafford She stood at her post rigidly again, By the lakeside in a white dress, Staring sadly down into the water, Wind left hair and clothes unruffled. I waved and called out to her then, She looked up at me and through me, No recognition from her mourner's mask, She went back to staring at lapping water. Jumped in my car to check on her welfare, Driving over to her sole sentinel's mark, Nobody around, just ripples kissing the shore, Arriving home, I saw her at the water's edge. She plunged into the lake in plain sight of me, I dived in with my shoes on to save her, Not suicide, she tricked my life from me, "You can't leave now, darling," as I drowned. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Snowbound Condemnation by Stewart Stafford My vigil for a shabby scarecrow, Cruciform in a snowdrift field, Its saviour-suited arms clawing At corvids, frozen heels to Heaven. Its mouth a wailing O-shape, Lamenting deafened ears of corn, Resuscitation for a fool's errand, In a hysterical chorus of biting gales. Haunting a sycamore tree, complicit, I witnessed desolation's spectacle, Half-expecting a condemned miracle, This pilgrim genuflected into green slush. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“A Lie (Artificial Intransigence) by Stewart Stafford The morrow lies beyond The grasp of our hands, Fogged coastal shadows Of mountains in distant lands. Deities of tech Olympus, Subhuman to simulated will? Sage genius cannot tell, But hubris claims to still. The synthetic brainchild, Squats on shoulders high Of eyeless seers' vision, Our sentient clone - AI. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The Daily Grind by Stewart Stafford Crooked broker flashes teeth, Cannibal flesh on their napkin, The traffic jam zombie shuffle, Stars, take me home quickly. Follow the screaming off a cliff, Panic echoes as the land recoils, Sea spray whipping up at you fast, Splash down into drowning lessons. See a shark fin’s scything slash, Fangs picked clean with a toothpick, Dark eyes wander to exposed midriff, Chomp, and all the problems cease. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Boeing To Gravity by Stewart Stafford Tumbling down a hill, An upside-down idyll, No time to make a will, If prematurely killed. And as you tumble down, Slowly fades your frown, Falling ankle over crown, Rolling all the way to town. Reach the end with a bump, Sporting that fetching lump, And to your feet, you jump, As excited fists both pump. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”

“Rainbow Days by Stewart Stafford They make us live in monochrome, Autoerotic under a mirrored dome, Regurgitating back this non-entity, Inside I scream it's the death of me. In between bouts of colon screening, Rainbow days in a third eye's gleaming, Silence a throbbing executioner's drum, Brass muffling the demagogue's hum. Shattered manacles I'm going to see, As I'm leaving this world for infinity, Christen horror hurricanes after me, On submerged planet earth, Terra-Firma-On-Sea. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”

“The Taranis Cèilidh by Stewart Stafford Lightning's jagged spear, Burning the horizon bright, Silhouetting empty tables, No picnics by the waterside. Waves sloshed against jetties, A displaced bath on all sides, Flailing tree chorus genuflected, To the foaming vat beside them. The roar of the gale rose and fell, Tempest's tongue agitated potently, Leaves surrendered in droves to it, Sleep deepened in the storm's fury. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Upon A Stormy Night by Stewart Stafford Lay that downy head beneath a roof, Lest the lightning sear those temples, As the lamb hears the hewing blade, We sense when the last hour arrives. Testing thunder of the scolding deities, A gallows silence rings in every dimple. Rain, sobbing, weeping for humankind, with no potent hand to dry damp eyes. The upturned night's rage passes on, Sprightly dawn cracks a guardian eye, Cowed people check the gashed skies, Grins, not marked by a storm's blemish. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Black Widow by Stewart Stafford She blinds me with her caress. Hand upon my chest, Venom kisses like snake bites ecstatic and unbecoming night. She drags me to her tomb, graveyard of many a groom, Lovers wrapped in silken lace, In webs of death, find their place. Creeping dawn on morn, Frostbitten and reborn, Clinging on so tight, Her kiss, the shroud of night. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“New Year Way Out by Stewart Stafford Take off down the truculent highway For a well-earned New Year escape Tasty lunch at some time warp hotel Seedy tree in an old folks dining room. Destination reached in crimson twilight Friends from back in the day greet us Bags dragged in, up and put in corners Then, downstairs for a seafood dinner. Catch up on all the gossip and chat Take a moonlight walk on the beach Crabs roam the sand as sleep comes Routine fractured in grinning dreams. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“What Walks By Night by Stewart Stafford Jealous looks at earthly prowl, Or unbound by fleshly form, Seen under darkness’ cowl: Agitated ghost or hellspawn? Violence torments it from sleep, Or trapped inside by exorcist bait, Hexed glances corrupted, weep, As redress or perdition state. Jinxed trails of ashen flame, Unheard wails for living aid, Or gatecrash our human frame, As night and sunrise trade. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The Coffeehouse Troubadour by Stewart Stafford I am The Coffeehouse Troubadour; Catchpenny conduit of all your pain, Nanosecond glance, a collective boil lanced, And my mirror refracts again. You mix my words in bitterest cups, Laced to an addictive latte brew, Read the room as we slowly dance And see, it's not about me, it's about you. Did you catch the trick I pulled there? Would you like me to show you once more? Or put on your coat in silent meditation? A rainy baptism as you walk through the door? © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Pressure Cooker by Stewart Stafford We arrive at the sweltering park, And disturb a larcenous squirrel, Trash can raider with easy spoils, He scampers away down the back. Solo lady in the gazebo watches, An outdoor Mrs. Bates silhouette, As a tuft of angel hair rolls along, I give the thirsty baby hydration. Transfixed by a burst helium balloon, Rocking itself to the unheard beats, Arid breeze, now ceiling conductor, Our squirrel pal returns to spy on us. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“With no VCRs or MTV in 1975, the 'Bohemian Rhapsody' video was the most expensive TV viewing in history. For the song's nine-week reign at UK number one, every fan who desperately wanted to see that mind-blowing 'promotional film' just one more time had to cast their vote by buying the single again and again, thereby forcing the mandatory Top of the Pops re-broadcast of the UK's number one song.”

“Three-Ring Circus by Stewart Stafford First love's doubtless light, Blinded with scorching might, What little a cloudy eye allows, Passion's seal on supple brows. Resplendent in our united phase. Love's incandesence in full blaze, No one else existed, gazes locked, Past emptiness, amnesia-blocked. Now we pass on a muted, wintry street, Joyless crime, sounds of splashing feet, Pained awareness, eyes to the ground, Mourners part bereft of sorrow's sound. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Fair Warning by Stewart Stafford Sheer Heart Attack! The auctioneer's hammer fell, On Freddie's exquisite clutter, The room officially rocked. The last item of King Mercury, Sold to the highest bidder, In the room and online, No Kensington Pyramid, though. Seven Seas of Rhye claimed, The Killer Queen laid to rest, A throne in flux, vacated, Champion bids will out, darling! © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Matthew Hopkins: Witchfinder General (1645 – 1647) by Stewart Stafford ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ – Exodus, Nor allow legalised killing too cheaply, Twenty shillings of blood money per witch, A charlatan’s extortion for ‘cleansing.’ Witchcraft, the capital crime of the age, Lawyer Hopkins, parasitising laws, Self-appointed Witchfinder General, A reign of terror brought to God-fearing doors. Evildoing’s hunter was its embodiment; A Judas purse wed brutality’s handmaiden, With Stearne, stoked Essex witch hunt mania, Puritanical zeal’s sadistic cruelty. His victims were cast into dungeon pits; Bloodied and broken in outcast desperation; Disease helped some cheat the hangman; The only fortune anyone deemed fair. Extracting confessions through torture’s pain; Their skin pricked to find Satan’s mark, Victims, forced to run until collapse, Sleepless starvation hastened their bleak end. Then to the wicked ducking stool gauntlet, Lowered into muddy ditches or icy water, A survivor’s noose or drowned exoneration? None met the Witchfinder’s imperious eyes. “I, John Lowes, a minister of God, Was martyred so. Hopkins, thou pestilent knave! Bade me to run, held aloft by mocking hands, Funeral rites as I dug mine own grave.” Sensing his gaslit flames turn back on him, Hopkins went to ground with his ill-gotten gains, Slowly he faded, from infamous to obscure, Scars linger on 300 unmarked graves. Some say that Hopkins was executed as a witch, Or faced a tubercular end in his village, Where he is buried, no one knows or cares, Hexed in a barren field for karmic tillage. Rat-catcher to an imagined pestilence, Communities, not covens, he did churn, A toxic chalice for New World lips, Fanning Salem’s pernicious turn. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Armless Tics by Stewart Stafford Never again, the blustering brass said, Inked in blood, my generation dead, Human meat carved with lunatic aplomb, No cowering allowed from gun or bomb. Lice, rats, and mud—war zeal’s reality. Trench foot and poisoned-gas lethality, Churned hellscape, where no man can be, Scribbling letters home to preserve sanity. The artillery’s heartbeat, now silent, aghast, Shells raining on future, present, and past, On a last keepsake bullet, I etched “11-11”, Through influenza, faint prayers to Heaven. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”