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Famous Stewart Stafford Quotes

“Daily Bread by Stewart Stafford Butcher short-changed me again, There’s sawdust in the sausages, Grocer’s growing grosser and then, A proposition with my messages. The driving instructor’s pissed on bends, I went and told his mother, The barman’s watering down pints for friends Like he’s feeding his baby brother. The barber’s still one hair off, One side doesn’t match the other, Bookie won’t take my bets and lends, The landlord another sucker. Tossed out in the street to fend for myself, With all the other refuse, Garbage man fills his truck with me, At least I still have one use. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“The Unanswered Question by Stewart Stafford Ask a body why it lies in a grave, And no answer shall ring in your ears, Ask the rat that squeaks like a knave, And there is nothing to ease your fears. See lightning's fiery eye wink a hint, Hear thunder belching out proud, Hail is flicked off like lint, Dumb as a corpse in its shroud. Mourners do splutter and cry, In unison or solitary grief, Hysteria governs their reply, Tongues pocketed by sorrow's thief. Only when you lay in dirt senselessly, Do answers come out of reach, Secrets clouded eternally, To an owl's shrill and wise screech. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“The Final Word by Stewart Stafford On the wall of a prominent jacks, Came anonymous, scurrilous attacks, Innuendo and defamatory jibes, Scrawled by cowardly scribes, Dared the executioner’s axe. And whoever wrote the indecent graffiti, Would never say it to the King in a meeting, He’d cry: ‘Off with their heads,’ Then sleep safely in bed, Having the final word takes some beating. And as they walked to an undignified death, No sarcastic words came from their breath, They were up for the chop, On the executioner’s block, And would plead it was all for a bet. So if you’ve ill words planned, Remember to keep them in hand, Or the butt of your jokes, Becomes your executioner’s host, And that’s the end of your brand. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“The Cavalier Servente by Stewart Stafford Her lover creeps On stairs that creak To where the mistress sleeps To wet his beak. Affairs in the dark When matrimony is parked A disloyal lark Starts the carnal spark. At break of day The cuckolder creeps away From naughty play He’s had his way. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“Season's Greetings by Stewart Stafford Season's Greetings To those we are needing, While I am leading The Festive charge. Christmas love is fleeting, The snow is sleeting, And there's every chance of feeling, A thaw in my cold heart. Season's Greetings everywhere, Let War cease and all be fair, A heart that's full of Christmas cheer, Bravely faces the New Year. And so, we feast and celebrate, For those we've lost, we contemplate, Christmas is an emotional stocktake, Of those still here and those that are late. The year winds down to that last date, Resolutions tempting fate, New Fear's Eve, many hate, And choose to socially-isolate. Season's Greetings while you can, To every woman, child, and man, Season's Greetings, don't you wait Hold back now, and it's too late. And in the end, all we do, Is create memories for the few, Who mattered while we strode this earth, Then back to the place before our birth. Season's Greetings, decorations down, Bittersweet crunching sounds, Topple the tree to live again, Twelfth Night, the inevitable end. © Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.”

PoetryPoemChristmasXmasChristmas CheerSocial DistancingNew Year S EveSeason S GreetingsTwelfth NightChristmas Truce
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“Advent Season by Stewart Stafford A house bedecked in verdant wonderment, With lights that mirror the starry firmament, Where the Christmas Star did once shine, To guide worshippers to the Divine. The wreath on the door is a welcome portal, For any passing cheerful mortal, Wishing to enjoy warm company, And mountains of gravy-drowned turkey. Nostrils fill with cooking scents, That waft through the house with excitement A feast to consume on the 25th, After the Man in Red has paid a visit. Children orchestrate great noise, And sit and play with gifted toys, While adults watch and reminisce, On childhoods past and favourite gifts. The Wheel of Time turns, Festivities End, And the year itself begins again. In Time's juvenile crawl, Or adult speed, Life zips forward, and history repeats. © Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.”

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“Planet Brilliant by Stewart Stafford Verse 1: This is a radio broadcast from Planet Brilliant, You can only hear it now because I'm so resilient, Don't you ever tell me now that it can't be done, I'll be laughing at you when I'm number one. Verse 2: A meteor invitation from Planet Brilliant, Your intergalactic pirate, one-in-a-trillion, Help me sort my Mars from my Milky Ways, An interstellar party with no nights or days. Chorus: Planet Brilliant, my cosmic dream, Eternal big bang of a winning team, Roaring through the stars, high and free, Planet Brilliant - the galaxy of me, Got the man on the moon's jealous spite, Of this rockstar strutting in bright starlight. Verse 3: Welcome aboard this rocketship ride, To Planet Brilliant, no gravity wild side, A case of open minds over dark matter, Breakfast with stardust pancake batter. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“Wicklow's Bounty: Ode to the Irish Strawberry by Stewart Stafford The Garden County's ruby hue; Juicy gush with tart aftertaste, Seeded cream teases the palate, A Summer afternoon without haste. Eireann's pride swallowed so well; Sunburst flesh, chilled bitterness, Enveloped in richest dairy pillows, Feel the divine fingerprint finesse. Amass nature's brief treasures, Don't wait, dear brother/sister, Before frosted breath chokes, Turning land's song into a whisper. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

SummerFruitNostalgiaIrelandFood And DrinkCultural IdentityNature PoetryStrawberryIrish LiteratureSensory Detail
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“Morning's Serenade by Stewart Stafford Stirred by a magpie's auction bids, I opened up our curtained eyelids, To pale dawn's reverential blinking, Beyond my lady's distant inkling. Anointed by the infant sun's rays, I stand in regal morning’s praise; Surveying virgin domain’s expanse, Before the hatchling public dance. The early-risen owl hoots carried far, The songbirds played off fading stars, Cockcrow drew in a loping red fox, Scattering fawns and sheep flocks. My lady spent, sports a drowsy crown, Her chest rises, then slowly down, Cityscape visions to last night's desire, Golden tresses tossed in oriole fire. To the kitchen, a connoisseur's start, A lover's labour, a chef's work of art, Crack avian treasures, new life's motif. Ground coffee, perfumed weekend relief. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

MorningDawnSerenitySunriseLove PoetryWaking UpRomeo And JulietNature PoetryNature PoemsDaily Life Poems
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“The Involuntary Princeling by Stewart Stafford The candle's blaze grows distant fast, Quenched to an ember spark, unseen, Carriage taken in larceny's grasp, Darkness made far bank unclean. Daubing a sovereign slogan, In violet shadows unmasked, A delinquent reunion reprieved, A doggerel name outcast. Trade winds howl to storming, As fireballs 'neath seas seek to atone, The red-crowned crest now stakes its claim, On writhed Rosetta's key stone. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

PowerChildhoodIdentitySeparationIronyRoyaltyFamily DramaDisplacementCustodyBiographical
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“The 32 Society by Stewart Stafford Fight to the last piece, they said, Icons of state bring up the rear, Grunt pawn's first blood duty, Let the board's body count commence. Equine knight in dog-legged battle, Warrior bishop's angular support, Scorpion's claw pincer movement, Then, the trap slams mercilessly shut. The field wiped clean of combatants, The aristocracy's barren playground, Royals tour their chequered court, Pieces reassembled as war restarts. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

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“Necessary Equals by Stewart Stafford The grandest hearth cannot warm, Once grave chills touch the aged, The beggar donates his last coin, At a counting house of the well-waged. The giant is meek and misunderstood, As the slighted short one grows fiery, Life's spun gold pawned for pennies, The stricken strive to buy back entirely. In old age, winter shadows lengthen, As babes on tiptoes crave growth, So-called leaders spit out patron's lies, As a street madman roars his frank oath. Opposing siblings they are, but needed, Fellow travellers orbit on a path seeded. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

LifePhilosophyLife LessonsSocietyInequalitySatireMetaphysicsRhymeContrastsParadoxes
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“The Devil's Chapel by Stewart Stafford Spires writhing in audacity's sky, Laced masonry's Faustian high, The Devil's Chapel invites by lie, Embalmed, a cracked stone altar dry. The golden Madonna rises above all, Lucifer's War, in stained glass, tall, In horned shadow, the angelic fall, Dark kingdom formed of a lightning ball. Bartholomew flayed by sadistic chagrin, Bones laid bare, devotion anchored within, Skin in the game took centuries to win, Gargoyles leer in the paying tourist din. Behind the veil of confession wood, The all-seeing eye drips with blood, Trickster's snare in nightmare's flood, A gift shop trades where sacrifice stood. Pungent echoes in incense crawl, Catacombs beckon entombed gall, To witness ornate veneration's pall, Silent to a martyr's last breath call. Croziers rest in chilled silver's display, As pink-veined marble taints today. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

ChristianitySacrificeCorruptionMartyrSocial CommentaryGood Vs EvilChapelDark PoetryGothic HorrorReligious Horror
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“The Word by Stewart Stafford Though I am gone, at last, you see, Everything I spoke heralds true, Cleansing your wrongs done to me, In promised vistas of unlimited hue. If I stayed, they said you would pay, I took the strain, assured you sanctuary, I am the sentinel that prepares the way, Evolving beyond the dusty ossuary. Words in strange clothing upon sharing, By living, know your shadow's meaning, Familiarity flourishes upon the wearing, Shepherd's flock on rich pastures weaning. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

ChristSacrificeJesus ChristBetrayalResurrectionProphecyEasterCrucifixionBiblical PoetryThe Passion Of The Christ
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“Thou Shalt Kill by Stewart Stafford Today, an official declaration: "The past's forbidden soil is virgin; The present, a thunderous chariot, To glory's gold destiny awaiting us. Go forth and offer up sacrifices!" But the blood we spilt was red, Whichever body it spurted from. Pleas for help, fused into one. Witnesses to death grew jaded. We made the living into the dead, Forged museums of crowded streets, In executioners' hoods at limp dawn. Arising afresh to our deliverance. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

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“The Roller Trip by Stewart Stafford A psychedelic Rolls-Royce ride, Lennons and pals giggle inside, Chauffeur whistles as secrets slip, Hourglass liquid lets sentience rip. Supplied narcotics set minds ablaze, Looping the loop in a magenta haze: "Ladies & Germs, to a scene obscene! Set sail to ecstasy we've never seen!" Wheels whirled wild in a swirling blur, Yokels mouth breathe where cows concur, Red light flare, fans storm captive glass, Mary Jane and Lucy on laughing gas. Below the speed limit, warp speed fast, Canary oil slides on a ghost ship's mast, Paisley spermatozoa in jigging fright, Tumbling back to earth as day flipped night. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“Figurative Fun by Stewart Stafford Neigh, neigh, Hyperbole! Galloping into wild mares' play. I'd yell, "Egregious slander streaker!" But it skulks 'neath its nudist speaker. Understatedness hides in a selfie's rear; Verbosity hogging limelight sans fear; Caustic parody, satire, and critique, Peddling wares in skewed oblique. Gossip's lip, stained in a bloody hue; Rumour's half-baked harmonies slew; Utterances bejewelled speak of love, Absolutes sting as a duellist's glove. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

HumorHumourIronySatireRhymeDark HumorWordplayDark HumourFigurative LanguageExperimental Poetry
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“Space Boot Hill: The Urbane Frontier by Stewart Stafford Red hot, white hot, then what? Nostril fleas dancing at dawn, Creating Frankenstein rivals, Great Whites slumming as prawn. Melon farmers of the world unite! We like them big, ripe and juicy, See all the Vegans next Tuesday: Barbara, Doris, Amy and Lucy. And so we dodge the cosmic bullets, Of an Atraxis gunslinger, non-ritual dead, Playing possum, we slip away, Chiming life's aria, eternally spread. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“I don't know what happened, but in a pre-emptive strike, I'm offended on behalf of people who may have been offended even though that wasn't the intention. I'm also offended on behalf of people who may be allergic to apologies. Some people are probably offended by what I've written and I'm also offended on behalf of those people against myself.”

HumorHumourSatirePolitical CorrectnessWokeSocial CommentaryZeitgeistMonty PythonTaking OffenseOverly Sensitive
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“Weekend Wildlife by Stewart Stafford Praying mantis tapped out code, On waste ground down the road, Legs, wings and antennae spread, A walrus mugged a pensioner in bed. A chameleon joined in the mêlée, Effortlessly cool, a saurian Pelé, Mimicking every backdrop around, Eyeballs akimbo, tongue on ground. Then a herd of Ibex from Iberia, A yak stampede from frigid Siberia, Bomber squadrons of high Cockatoos, As the rest liberated the nearest zoos. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“Season's Bleatings by Stewart Stafford I'm looking forward to Christmas, As Nostradamus dreaded prophecy, In place of war, famine, apocalypse, I see spending, coveting and family. Wandering through warm déjà vu, In new ways with usual-faced folk, Fat in an absent winter wonderland, Goodwill to all men as you go broke. A fever dream or a deep turkey coma? St. Nicholas dripping presents around? An eviction notice to vacate sobriety, Consumerism and consumption unbound. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“Anaesthetic Aesthetic by Stewart Stafford Crumbs infesting my bedsheets, Sleeping sand in all the cracks, As a hijack tick on a giant horse, Awakened by deadening thudding. Body falling down the elevator shaft, Can you stop that instantly, friend? I cannot focus on all my work here, You should have water to cannonball. And another stiff just fell down that, Cool, go ahead if you have to leap, You won't see me cleaning that mess, Shattered carcasses, basement floor. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“When the cinema lights go down and the movie starts, it's such a relaxing moment knowing you can get away from your problems in the real world temporarily. That's how the film business started in The Great Depression. I've always thought moviegoing was akin to voluntarily retreating into a primal red (theatres are nearly always red) womb-like area where you're fed sustenance in the dark while having surreal experiences.”

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“The White Falcon by Stewart Stafford Trampled pomegranate underfoot, Fervent ascent of anatine steps, To the alabaster falcon's chamber, Viperine slither as a king's retinue. Roman breakage for a concubine, Stillbirths piled on a spiral staircase, Skewered tongues spitting smears, Spurious sparks fanned to an inferno. Denounced in the toxic public mind, Cast into a wolf pit by kangaroo court, Blood money to the Gallic executioner, Her headless ghost in a centuries' limbo. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

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“Seasons Fore by Stewart Stafford Winter elbows its way to prominence, Placid Spring gradually lays on the land, To presage Summer’s teeming exuberance, Before Autumn messily rents all asunder. Niveous shroud, promising blossom, Roaring greenery and russet capitulation, Four seasons and their intricate combinations, Alighting passengers in another year of life. Nature’s window dressing encircles, Time’s passing at the grandfather clock, As heartbeats throb and ebb eternally, The closing of an eyelid, our pacemaker. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“The Springtime Guest by Stewart Stafford From winter's wounded sleep, Dear Nature rouses itself again, Bearing no ill will for the scars, Timely movement blooms again. Bursting colour, praising birdsong, Easy smiles when sprightly of step, Lambs and cats frolic in sunny play, Banishing winter's despair for now. Welcome warm kisses on the wind, Summer's young sibling promises, Much more to come in rolling time, With comfort in the heart of progress. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“B.S., I Luv You (Final Version) by Stewart Stafford In Black Widow's grip, senses denuded, Heathen preen in savage web deluded. Sweet nothings said tongue-in-cheek, Shaman's mask for deception's peek. Check blood bank, deposit paid! It's a sociopath's shameless, sick parade. In sycophant shade, carrion crows convene, Alibis caw over a cadaver's gangrene. Bury your drained victims, vampire creep, From oozing floorboards, vile secrets seep. Botox sessions cease, a purse frowned, Dredged up memories when you're around. Communing in brackish revelry, Bacchanal feast amidst hellfire devilry. Scapegoating slithers to slippery past, In tumbling runes, flaws naked cast. Choke on scabrous words yourself, Unison choir of your faces on the shelf. Self-worth void is your parasitic twin, Overdue promises, to flay second skin. Puppeteering your rigged game, Cracked compass of faux shame. Pompous pharisaic fête queen, A selective soundbite murder scene. Swimming lessons ended drowned, Regurgitated before it was downed. Hide your bodybag laundry away, Swallowed by a cesspit's wanton decay. I'll hold my hands up for all my wrongs, Not gleefully bamboozle you in songs. A wanted poster on your mirrored path, Eyelids glued to face your own wrath. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“Corsican Checkmate by Stewart Stafford With one loyal warhorse, I could snatch victory! You force an ultimatum, An eagle downed for wrens. Are you battle steeds, Or brood mares of a new stallion? Or do you take my knight, In impotent checkmate? I, Napoleon, ruled Europe, From Brest to Brest-Litovsk, A chicken feather’s stroke, And my empire falls. You offer exile to Elba, Reaping rich estates Which I secured for you, Silence is my thanks. Give me your vile scrap, No death warrant, but close, I’ll scratch my mighty name, Here’s my blood — begone! This about the abdication of Napoleon Bonaparte. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

BetrayalChessExileDefianceDownfallHubrisMilitary HistoryNapoleon BonaparteHistorical PoetryHorse Imagery
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“Day of the Dogwood by Stewart Stafford If I opened my veins, With the Saviour’s nails, Will your bloodlust go? Where compassion failed? Do I sweat out blood now? Or is it your crown of thorns? Miracles to silvered treachery, Pure as first Christmas morn. Scattered flock, shepherd leaves, Can you sheep know what you do? Such immaculate deception, but, Know this sacred heart was true. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“Once A Sister by Stewart Stafford In a mirror, admirably still call yourself sister? Of festering, viperine plot and scaling threat, Cast your brother out as a street mongrel, Then counted coins from his dwelling's sale. If this is a blood relative, yours is now poison, And tears his, for none shall believe his truth, That family acted so cruelly in his innocence, What made his loved ones mortal enemies? No apology will ever pass those lips, not one, Explanations merely justify the unforgivable, Sober fact imparts the brazen cuckoo nests, With ignominy's profits in bricks and mortar. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

GreedBetrayalSelfishnessBetrayBetrayedFamily DramaSisterJudasEvictionDisown
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“Teardrop Swarm by Stewart Stafford Entombed by verdant prison bars, On land where I once held sway, Drowned in Death's tearful surf, In which we all get swept away. Weep at a rock bearing my name, A vacant space once familiar there, Lost and lingered in limbo longing, Planted in pastures, green and fair. Arch headstones are defiant cliffs, For Reaper's wrath to crash upon, A foundling rage's pristine triumph, In foam white light, multitudes gone. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

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“The Mourner by Stewart Stafford Waxen candles flickered, burning, I found myself alone in mourning, Instinct urged me to turn around, Insistent feet kept walking down. A lonely casket at the altar lay, Not a soul came to mourn or pray, A surge of pity pierced my heart, Incense bade me dearly depart. Empty pews where no one stayed, I slowly illuminated the coffin shade, Blackout! Icy hands gripped tight: “Welcome to our endless night!” © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“A Gathering of Frogs by Stewart Stafford Through the fence with friends, And into the back field frontier, Past the growing pile of lumber, Shivers for the Halloween bonfire. Down the slope to a boundary hedge, Rusty bathtub lying like a crime scene, And into the deepening marsh beyond, For the ritual kidnapping of frogspawn. Frogs leap through reeds and tall grass, The bulbous jelly of many eyes located, Scooped surgically into a container, Up to our fort to study our live plunder. Tongues of smoke from our twig fire, On the derelict path between estates, Crisps consumed in the darkening chill, Then, satiated, a walk home for dinner. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

KidsChildhoodAdventureMemoryFrogsChildhood MemoriesChildhood FriendsChildhood MemoryFrogMarsh
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“Cyclops Hill by Stewart Stafford To the cock-fights, O’er the briny pit, Grimy coin, grubby fist, Lip service i’ foaming fit. Fish or fowl, bestir them on, I’ll ne’er stop mine’s feat, An oracle for all-comers, Frolicsome backing i’ th’ heat. Odds be the usurer’s friend, Victor and vanquished spent, Trudge away in silent mourn, To kindly pay the tavern’s rent. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

SexInnuendoDouble EntendreGothic PoetryShakespeareanElizabethan PoetryBawdy ComedyCockfightingAnatomical MetaphorDark Satire
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“No Throat So Deep by Stewart Stafford “I'd like you to meet Mrs Koch-Gobbelaar,” I weighed up the overture long and hard, "I'm licking my lips without drool!" I replied, “Amazeballs!” he said, “Tonight, you'll meet.” We came early, but she didn’t take umbrage, “Spread out all over my ballroom,” she said, She told us how the rooms were hanging, Up the elevator shaft to the top floor and left. Mrs Koch-Gobbelaar made vegetarian claims, But we found her smuggled stash of beef jerky, Her ex-husband split and became a eunuch, He died bone-tired with limp alibis on his urn. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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