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Famous Stewart Stafford Quotes

“Apart from masochists, if everyone treated others the way they would like to be treated, the world would be an infinitely better place. We should dedicate an international EKT Day to this principle, a day to celebrate empathy, kindness, and the transformative power of treating others as we wish to be treated.”

“The Reluctant Guest by Stewart Stafford My hand extended to an off-the-grid stray; Yet, still he scowls, And smacks it away. Near-gone from the world, His blindfold horizon quails, That veteran heart stiffens, As frozen asphalt exhales. A ghost at his own funeral, Thwarting hopes of a life— Institutionalised in cement, A fold in warm cardboard strife. Frontal assault to backdoor pivot: Dinner in his mother’s memory. A toothless grin at my tactic, A bridge to nourishing festivity. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Samaritan's Path by Stewart Stafford On a solo trek on a dusty road, A volunteer picked up my load, Heavy things of weight and idea, Hoisted aloft, a relaxing panacea. We ran the clock down without ennui, With songs, jokes, and inflated history, Scenery and animals to comment upon, Stones kicked as the sun still shone. In dusk's bowing light, a reticent parting, A trip over, happy memories restarting, With a last handshake, wave, and smile, We headed for home on the closing mile. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“My maternal grandmother died on December 21st, and her only concern was that we wouldn't find the Christmas gifts that she'd hidden away for the family. Right then, I understood why my mother was such a kind woman - she followed her mother's example and passed that compassion on to her children. My grandmother's example in life became her shining example of a noble death - selfless and caring until the end. While some choose the path unilaterally, for me, kindness is a learned behaviour: teach your children humility by your words and actions, and they will give something to this world and not just take from it.”

“The Philosopher’s Weight by Stewart Stafford Philosopher in my peripheral vision, Pouring watery wisdom rapidly Into my ear, then stepping back, Smiling, he bid me go on my way. What he said made my way clearer, But added to the burden on my back, While lightening his own load, In guiding a stranger through the dark. What advice did the wise one give me? "Follow one step with another and live, My son, use any difficulty you find As a beacon on your journey to salvation." © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Waiting Room by Stewart Stafford The waiting room lay empty, Gloom-prowled, leather-studded seats, A ceiling fan spun lonely circles above, Keeping no one in particular cool at all. Portrait of a rose in a shadowy alcove, A pair of empty street scenes framed, Mirroring the deserted room where they hung, Creating the vacuum of an infinity void. A wreath of hope on the door, The first patient of the day lumbers in, Where there's one, there'll be others, Smiles from all at the start of the day. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

“Dark Child by Stewart Stafford Moondust down the fire curtain Carried Syd to the darkest side, Trespass became a prison term, A non-compos mentis dark child. From gambolling nymph with a lute, To an imp falling over instruments, A thousand-yard stare sucked in, Vacant eyes drew like a black hole. Riderless horse, a living déjà vu, The spectral shell of our brother, Ambled towards us at his nadir, We wept for the shuffling stranger. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The Familiar Squatter by Stewart Stafford Stranger at a ranting roundabout, Changeling deep in a cranial fog, An infant brooked with abandon, The frail bitterness fumed within. Another dawn, the lid loosens more, Recognition dims, pleading for hints, Let me see my reflection in full now, Squatter with a thousand-yard stare. A planet downsized to an asteroid belt, Leave, and I surrender to disintegrate, Core melts inside this atrophying shell, Beyond repair, a journey of light ahead. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Forced Perspective by Stewart Stafford She unscrewed my eyeballs with daggers, as she had with her father before, no doubt. Fractured the irises so I saw things her way, jamming them back in so they wouldn’t pop out. It took time before focus felt no longer strange, as she asked if we were now lockstep viewers. I told her I’d let her know the moment I did — and suggested she take a walk in the sewers. She took umbrage at that, giving me black eyes, reverting at last to an optical divorce. She tapped out — project fail — and we drifted apart, mutually, of course. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“In Delirio Familiari by Stewart Stafford He devoured radioactive pizza, eyes bulging to breaking point. Every riddle imploded in a flash, daymare fission without a joint. He, the man of conjured letters; she, his spark that moderates. Janus creature, clockface duo, oddballs, but fitting mates. With dollops of ambrosial agony, in frenzied closeness, but witty, The Brain Surgeon’s Cookbook, A bromide concoction served as ditty. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The Dopamine Paradigm by Stewart Stafford Never so connected, Yet, never further apart, A crowded room's isolation, An aspic suitors' false start. Fear and hatred everywhere, When toxic ideologies stink, Lab rats of our own making, Reward hits go over the brink. Throwing away tomorrow, For a dopamine buzz today, Home fort, don't multiply, A eunuch future staggers away. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“For Having Offended Thee by Stewart Stafford A rebirth in my other kingdom, Deafening choruses of mute vampires, Stowaway's arrival not of my choice, Treading water on stranger's ground. The crunching gravel of past sins, Fine bone dust of wasted chances, Weighed down at Purgatory's door, The gatekeepers nod and admit me. A hurricane swirl of screaming souls, Housed within Infinity's planetarium, Whispers, pleas, a drowning outcry, Metaphysical smothering of bodily errs. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Tamper with Biology’s delicate balance, and you reap the whirlwind. For aeons Nature bore the heavy lifting, evolving a perfect, watch-spring equilibrium—until upstart humanity emerged from the primal soup, armed with ego and reason, to overrule every precedent. We know how the merest tipping of the ecological scales will unleash catastrophe, yet we persist blind—Earth’s self-anointed judge, jury, and executioner—refusing to humble ourselves before Nature’s Supreme Court verdict.”

“The modern world is the opposite of the aspiration expressed in Doctor Martin Luther King's 'I Have A Dream' speech. In that speech, Doctor King stated his ideal vision of a future where his children would be judged not 'by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.' There is an even-greater obsession with race today and the external packaging we come in. Content of character is secondary, if not completely irrelevant.”

“A Cephalopod Wish by Stewart Stafford O, to be an Octopus, Sporting three hearts, Two that won't break, To go on and love more. O, to have its nine brains, To spread a migraine load, Fogless coordinates clear, A tower fire, now contained. O, to have a boneless form, A body fitted to life problems, Not ail from a tumour's grasp, Flee to safety in inky clouds. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved”

“April's Fool by Stewart Stafford The fool of April enters bowing, Ritual humiliation's shameful call, A harsh harlequin's wooden stocks, Butchering "wit" to wound and maul. A victimless crime full of victims, Spring showers weep a jester's cheek, Reputations pilloried in estocada— Merciful gods spared us a week. By noon, the branding is over, The faux superior blunder on. Jokers think they're oh-so-clever, Booed offstage to oblivion gone. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Sacking of Grief by Stewart Stafford Thou speaketh of grief as a funeral cowl lashed, When 'tis a thorny, haunting cuckoo's nest smashed, I wouldst cast it off, fain if choice be mine, And not necessity's wickedness stretched supine. Peace's changeling to restless beds doth creep, In conjoined prayer to restoreth salvation sleep. To crawleth awake in dawn's incessant weight, Can I tame this sleepless lion and walk it straight? I confesseth sins, but the blemish remains, Call it regret that stalks these guiltless brains, Would a surgeon's blade cut me free of it? And I in luscious orchards, the solaced fruits bit. O, in slumbering dusk the leonine roar doth cease, And the pathway home heralds sweet release. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Posed In Vein by Stewart Stafford O Stephanie! In your cruciform puppetry, Bloody veins stretched out wiry To relive in a bondage diary. Subject mapped as inked skin she wears, Decorating, desecrating olden snares. Each needle kiss, a line defined, A pinprick story rushes her mind. By candlelight, in her coven deep, Secrets webbed flies must keep, Spelled out straight in her hexing book, Consort Lenore gives a cryptic look. They tug the strings, the marionette, Caught in her captor's welcome net. In artificial light, a social moth's mien, A wrought, posed, fetishistic scene. The knots are tight, the ropes defined; Bodily and in private mind. This mutual art, a supplicant's plea, Cut into her Kinbaku diary. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“B.S., I Luv You by Stewart Stafford Bite that lying tongue in your cheek, Shaman's mask to play hide-and-seek, A whirlpool vortex being, so deluded, Tarantuled me in, my senses denuded. Checking blood banks - Yes! You got paid! A sociopath's shameless, sick parade, In sycophant shade, carrion crows convene, Alibis caw over a cadaver's gangrene. Botox sessions ended frowned, Dredge up memories when you're around, Bury your drained victims, vampire creep, From oozing floorboards, vile secrets seep. Communing with nocturnal revelry, Hog feast at a bonfire of hypocrisy, Scapegoating ends in mirrored past, In tumbling runes, flaws naked, cast. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“This Elixir Smites by Stewart Stafford How dull the rose's painted lustre, As bees gossip, all mistrust her, Window taps on stormy nights, Aphids swarm as suckling mites. Once buds entwined at Nature's hip, Now cleft in two and water-dipped, Glass-twisted strangest shape, Mauve-petalled mausoleum draped. Neglected drops in muted drought, The bloody thorns scratch about, A lush finger in withered point, Pruned stem of glum conjoint. Cataclysms from petty faults arise; Reflection pardoned in imperfect eyes. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

“A Garden Epitaph by Stewart Stafford From a verdant birth, Two roses entwined together, A union withered from the earth, Root quest in envenomed weather. Green fingers pruned with ill will, Each barb taken to wounded hearts, Cut natures freed of earthly swill, Two crimson blooms, beyond scars. Master gardener, just hear me, If you see devotion, leave it be, In silent witness, wonders see, Lest you hasten obsequies. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The Night When Fear Strays by Stewart Stafford Each Hallowtide, all monstrous shapes do quail, No balm for wounded wretches feeling frail, Spectators as charlatan mortals filch frights, Appropriated skins on haunted nights. With bonfire’s glow ablaze in dauntless eyes, Children’s fun quelled by strangest sighs, A hulking shape, once fierce, wails tainted, Its fearful gaze in phantom mists attainted. Small, tender hands caressed its sodden fur, A trembling growl betrayed its lonesome blur, “Peace, gentle shade, what sorrow stirs unfed?” “November’s dawn shall call me home,” it said. Their kindly-shared oat cakes eased its pangs, A webbed claw from veiled night to munching fangs, It feasted with a hunger born of striven years alone, Stroked the child’s cheek for the kindness shown. When parents called, it whispered, soft and torn, “At midnight’s knell, this thicket heralds morn— Go, kindred babes, I’ll linger in this glade. Each Halloween, I’ll mourn my fear remade.” © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Powder Burns by Stewart Stafford A lone boy prowls a murky sandbar, The cataract sky, judgemental kin, A wrecking-ball life's flattened vista— Any hopeful resolution growing thin. Alley dice swallowed all naïveté, Fixed or cursed, he remained unsure, Surreptitious bone-white erotic charge, Legacy besmirched by fame impure. A neon safari hunt of the vanished, Luring victims to his flytrap home, Murderous brief interval to loneliness, A purring predator refusing to atone. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Storm Stranger by Stewart Stafford Were I to shed forty coats, Or forty layers of this skin, I'd stay an intruder in myself, At a crossroads in a storm. Stranger in my own country, Pariah to everything beloved, Organ rejection by my own body, A lantern wanderer in limbo. All foul, cast out by my lamp, Saving those mistreating me, Traversing sanity's outer rings, I turn my collar up and trudge on. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Aftershock by Stewart Stafford Sitting by myself at the firepit, The dregs of last night's inferno, Still charcoal from vibrant flame, Charred bones of the festivities. Dropped food and empty bottles, A littering ring, now seen in light, The laughs and drunken banter, Distant echoes that bring smiles. Head throbs, chill morning breeze, Take two pills and zip up my jacket, Post-party blues gripping onto me, Happiness, revisit on swiftest wings! © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“The Lingerer by Stewart Stafford Another lonely start, O shadow companion, My twin bereft of heart, On grief’s stormy galleon. Each step disbelief, Strangers pass in proximity, In motion an artist’s relief, Abstract as infinity. The quickening pulse of streets, Tears on cheeks reflective, This scarred heart missing beats, Damaged and defective. Home now just where memory sits, Perspective greatly shifted, This shapeless form no longer fits, The body it was gifted. And if, my love, you see me now, I beg you, look away, Love’s blush departed with a bow, Then withered and decayed. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

“The Night Watchman by Stewart Stafford Does the night watchman watch the night or does the night watch him? Is there anything in the darkness or is his eyesight growing dim? Does a beast growl in the shadows or is his stomach requesting food? Is his pay adequate compensation or is his boss just being rude? As he prays for the sunrise, does anyone hear his prayers? When he clocks out for breakfast, is anyone standing there? Does he creep home to his bed to count the hours down? Until he sits staring at the darkness once more with a quizzical and resigned frown? © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”