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“Beachcomber by Stewart Stafford Sundial straight, I strode onshore, Waves pulsing like a foetal lullaby, Canine companion nestling my knee, A chef's kiss-of-life breathing space. Looking glass shimmer at the cliff's base, Tranquility’s wellspring beneath my feet, Sanctum of meditation, a paused life retreat, My seagull eyewitnesses hovering above. The seclusion sought yielded rewards, A hit of joie de vivre in its purest form, The sky’s spotlight and the humid wind, Senses alive with the lapping, busy tide. Nascent cloud veils gather at magic hour, Amber inferno, foretaste of paradise, Welcomed, savoured, and appreciated, Driftwood floating home on sunset waters. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“I Am The Cobra by Stewart Stafford A prisoner in his distant brain, Drowning man courts stardom, Became an ass in assassination, A zilch begetting zilch ad infinitum. Helicopter Christian and Satanist, Cauliflower man, now a cabbage, In judgement, cutting off phonies, Blind to himself in lost daydreams. In the cobra's deadly surprise strike, The attacker's venom splashed back, Bars in his head now physical restraints, A malingering, slow death from snakebite. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“The Diverted Imperium by Stewart Stafford Welcome to my lush vineyard, As we crush poison grapes, Forcing that last vinegar sip, Of this “first citizen’s” foul wine. In spite of meeting in night's shade, It is not the taint of shame's veil, But a new dawning concealed, Our hand to reveal in due course. Fellow senators, my brethren! Men of honour, and, you, Brutus; The noblest of all at our gathering, But your eyes are on yonder hill. Our dreamer’s conference tonight: Seeks sacrifice, not bloodlust; A fly caught in Necessity’s web, And, is no more, for that is Nature. Stakes of the bear pit arranged, A swift consumption of power, Nipping retaliation in the bud, Smoothing our ascendancy. A patriot in a traitor's pall? Liberty's stars in alignment Or noose of the ill-omened? History’s verdict in absentia. The hand beneath the cloak Shakes the dagger mightily, Mercy’s coup de grâce stills, Bloody tip to inked treaties. Once the bloodshed has passed, Martial backing shall follow, And our regime commences, The Imperium by right diverted. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

HistoryPlotConspiracyShakespeareAssassinationRoman EmpireConspiratorsJulius CaesarEpic PoemRoman Emperors
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“You could argue that the killers of JFK learned from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar not to be such overt assassins. The symbolism of the killing was still there but the modus operandi hid the perpetrators. The ultimate coup d'états school their murderous heirs: shed the target's blueprint blood via a covert coup de grâce.”

HistoryConspiracyAssassinationPower DynamicsCoup D éTatPolitical ViolenceJfk AssassinationJfk ConspiracyLife Imitates ArtPolitical Strategy
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“Some Cutting Advice by Stewart Stafford Before you pick up your knife, To run your enemy through, Know the entry wound bleeds red, And the exit thrust bleeds blue. Not because they are of noble birth, But they are protected by a mighty hand, Not just of those moneyed and influential, But the mightiest hands in all the land. So stab with caution, I urge you, For the blade jabs back in your gut, Swallow the bile that fuels you so, Lest it be your throat you cut. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

AdvicePlotWarningPersuasionCautionDark HumorAssassinationDark HumourStabJulius Caesar
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“Tea & Toast by Stewart Stafford Let me stop in this lay-by a moment, That I have tagged - Tea & Toast, A shimmering oasis frequented often, A soothing elixir one loves the most. It's as comforting as a warm bath, Enjoyed even when wracked with pain, As welcome as an old friend's smile, On thundery days of lashing rain. No matter if the tea is too sweet or burns, Greasy butter hijacked by sandpaper crumbs, There shall be no Boston Tea Party here, Our minuscule parole from routine doldrums. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“Unspoken Sonata by Stewart Stafford Love's lullaby's unheard duet, Kisses of life drown shallow opinions, Prejudged by logic, yet set apart, Our oasis bars the negative legions. Eternal tongues of a mother lode; Looks of love, a second-sight ploy, To visions beyond earthly interpretation; Dance down darkest paths to ecstatic joy. Spoiler seers nix romantic ideals; Abyssal agendas in jealousy's biome, A caterpillar doxxed for its butterfly shape, Real love's navigator guides us home. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“A Mother Steeled by Stewart Stafford A haunted mother in despair's glade, That echoed with her feral screams, Sifting through tiny bones for reasons, Catharsis an absent but invited guest. Healed knees, once bloody, kneel, Cobwebs wiped, storm damage fixed, Bittersweet, her baby has taken wing, His bruises, all of him, now flown above. Daybreak's star field on the final vigil, Dropping the self-flagellation whip, Fragment memories of her infant taken, Striding forth, her scars a living map. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

HopeLossHealingTragedyMemoryMotherhoodResilienceClosureDeath Of A ChildGrief Poem
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“Arise Reborn! by Stewart Stafford In cosy choice, the complacent lie, Teasing open the serpent's eye, To outflank, usurp then suppress, A deceiver's mask under duress. Delusion lays a gossamer snare, Flicking forked tongues tasting air, Devotion to clan, a dying dream, Delirious mining of treachery's seam. Battle drums as heroes rise, Saving tribe and land by surprise, The call to action, your country's plea, The broad church of necessity. Lessons echo in infancy's steps, Territory gained, homeland re-annexed, Skirmishes coalesce in a patriot's war, To campfire tales of visionary valour. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

InspirationalHopeStruggleBetrayalResistancePatriotismNationalismHeroismRebirthSocial Commentary
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“Tomorrow We Starve by Stewart Stafford Grey aftertaste of dawn's biting light, In emptied pockets, lint lesions blight, A funeral march, with posture askew, To a larder bare, options few. A cup of tea's transient balm, Rip open bills in the trembling calm, Hope flickers in redemption's seam, Vanishing as we scratch a fragile dream. Wages held back, our pleas ignored, To cloudy ivory towers, we implored, Shadow people ground to a husk, Tiny crumb specks in the dusk. An overseer's laugh, a cruel facade, The golden rule's sick charade, Fingers sear in the dying flame, The keening wind calls my name. Reflections shatter, a distorted view, Pipe dreams, strangled at birth, through, The shaming shade exacts its cost, Each pore clogged with penury's frost. In darkest siege, a spark may ignite, Defiant ember beacon's twilight, Hope battered, but refuses to die, Whispered lifeline to the coldest sky. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“The Christmas Child by Stewart Stafford O this world’s resplendent beauty, Halting breath of sheer mortal me, Words in my throat pause freely, My eyes overflow involuntarily. Salted joy’s bittersweet reign. Sculptors can your looks ne’er feign, The greatest reward gifted to me, Wrenched away in coldest larceny. Death shall hold no fear, I say, With your sweet face to light my way, At precipice edge, a smitten retinue, My beloved, restored, so we continue. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

HopeMortalityHope And DespairGrief And HopeBeauty Of NatureOdeChristmas PoemLove And Loss PoemsWhat A Wonderful WorldEternal Hope
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“The Musket's Progeny by Stewart Stafford The musket's progeny, gunpowder's rise, Heirloom ingot cast in festering dirt, No scaldy-faced defecator's lies, Can tarnish gold's immutable worth. Besmirched, perpetual gleam to my eyes, Ne'er base, but plundered from thy berth, Another's private treasure, I cannot despise, Until thy loan fadeth i' th' afterbirth. With cloistered secrets to impart, Our correspondence doth expand, Let it encompass thy tiny heart, For when it groweth to understand. When from distant quays, emotion sails, My words guide thee in storms and gales. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

HopeAbsenceSeparationLegacyGuidanceHeartfeltFathers And SonsParental LoveParent Child RelationshipShakespearean Sonnets
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“The Feline Chill by Stewart Stafford The feline parries morning's biting kiss That turbulently gooses the hedgerows The cat barometer turns back inside To relax and preen by the hearth. Gusts howl at the blasé abandonment Our whiskered friend deaf to protests Domestic tiger curled in busy routine Single-minded creature of no reflection. The storm's symphony rises and fades To twitching limbs of galloping kitty dreams Elements vanquished in slumbering tricks Puss goes and stands by the door once more. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“Prisons by Stewart Stafford There are prisons of bars and jailers, There are dungeons of the mind, And of family blackmailers. Some sit manacled in a marriage cell, Thunderous isolation next door, All aflame in loveless hell. Misery, with no parole in poverty's trap, While in privileged ivory towers nearby, Elite confinement in luxury's lap. Inmates break free to a new golden age, Other jailbirds await merciful luck, Destined never to escape the cage. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“Cult Of The Elements Chorus by Stewart Stafford The breeze began as hymns, Spreading through the forest, Slowly tipping, creaking limbs, A cult of the elements chorus. As bobbing boats at a marina, Invisible H₂O, dialled up to seven, a domino effect, calmly serene, Swaying arms, raised to Heaven. Whistling through the branches, Trees rocked forward, fell, then, came with uneasy, silent chances, Until the zephyr whispered again. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“Lazarus Saturday: The Longest Way by Stewart Stafford "Lazarus, come out!" Jesus said: A dead man awoke in a burial place, Wrapped head to foot on a stretcher; He shook away the cloth on his face. Four days dead, his soul was gone; His sisters berated Jesus's late arrival; The Lord did not doubt his power, From the afterlife came his survival. From a white light end to a dark revival, Life cascaded in decomposing flesh, His chest hurt as it rose and fell again, Bloated and blotchy skin alive afresh. Lazarus struggled to breathe in dusty air; His body was freezing and deathly pale; At first, he thought he had gone to God, The voice of his friend told another tale. Shuffling stiffly to the cave's womb exit, Newborn-blind to his second life; The Disciples rushed to unwrap him, His sisters embraced away their strife. Lazarus wanted to tell what he had seen, But was told it was not for mortal ears; His sisters had to respect this wish, Overjoyed to live to Methuselah's years. The word spread fast of this act; Of the Nazarene's immense power; That his reach could extend so far, To the world far past Babel's Tower. As the daughter of Jairus resurrected, Christ himself arose on the third day; Lazarus was in Death's grip tightest, Miracles that blood money cannot repay. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

JesusTheologyResurrectionMiraclesLazarusBible StoriesChristian PoetryBack To LifeBack From The DeadNarrative Poetry
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“Tuesday Man by Stewart Stafford He was only a superhero on Tuesdays, And the rest of the time was his own, Tuesday was the villains' day of rest, Then crime sprees just like Al Capone. He tried to make his Tuesdays longer, By pulling some gruelling all-nighters, But he knew that to be more effective, He'd have to be a 7-day crime-fighter. So, he rearranged his calendar totally, To take the fight to all the baddies, He was on-call from then on, 24/7, Or relaxed playing golf with his caddy. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“The Chattering Season by Stewart Stafford Hear a fearsome banshee's wail, From a dank bog or Celtic dale, Like the pulling of the rat's tail, In the whistle of a thrashing gale. In this skittish son of Mc's room, A death knell tolls out his doom, A cursed shadow now does loom, Her spirit bride's unwilling groom. The stark evening's grim messenger, She's a maelstrom's fatal passenger, Howls from last breath's harbinger, No dowry for this eternal dowager. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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“The seeds of our own destruction are often sown at birth or in childhood. We are too busy acquiring knowledge and living life to notice their presence. It is for our biographers, if we are of sufficient importance to have any, to highlight them to a post-mortem audience.”

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“A Futile Gesture by Stewart Stafford Challenged to de Clair's Danse Macabre, Sebastian counted condemned steps, Thistle ranks awaiting duelling blood, A powdered farce of silk and steel. Spun, heart exposed to pistol shot, Sebastian faced his rival, Flintlock fired, A sharp crack counterpointed the gale, A crimson bloom on his foe’s ribcage. Honour preserved, whatever it meant - Slain Baron de Clair curtsied to tilled earth, The manservant held out his master's coat as if death were but a pause in the day. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“Strained Relations by Stewart Stafford Brother, you have flown from me, Too often and to that blinding maze, As capricious as the wind that blows, No visible shared blood between us. Are you not my mother's and father's son? If the fault lies with me, then tell me so, Or let the bloodied bandage fall from you, So the wound heals without reinfection. You picked prized strangers over family, More damaging self-flagellation as hubris, They let you down as parents an infant, Still, you chose a messy path of pain. The only glimmer of light in the next life, Is we two reuniting together again, brother, Or shall you flee to fellow astral travellers? A last dagger thrust in the permafrost cold? © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“The Yearning Steeple by Stewart Stafford God hesitates to take the kindest; The recycled tradeoff ending life, Heaven's thundering, fiery stage, Echoes Calvary's conflicted strife. Undeserved things appear guided, To the apex altruists of all people, Finding beacons in cast down flame, That guide us to our final steeple. A world masquerades as meritocracy, In its numbing gales, forge aesthetics, "Leaders" tease our carrot cravings, "Rewards" crack mirrors of core ethics. Random flip of the Reaper's coin? Tidal fades of the mirage of youth, The story routinely ends the same. We slake our thirst with unclean fruit. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“Sticks and Stones I dreamt a fossil came to life and told a tale of his former wife Did she beat him? Where? She broke his fingers on the stairs And tore out lumps of his orange hair How could she? Then she gave him pride of place At an archaeological feast in his honour A prehistoric horse was the main course! © Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.”

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“Shakespeare's strengths and there are many include his unique ability to vastly improve pre-existing plots and turn them profoundly dark and tragic or lightly comedic and romantic at will. There is also The Bard's lyrical, complex dialogue encoded with hidden meaning that works both in context and out, his towering, unforgettable characterisations, and the variety and depth of his female characters.”

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“Ode To A Spider's Web by Stewart Stafford O to dwell in the skeletal palace, Of the spider's ceiling cobweb and, Spy on all as none can spy on you, An arachnid deity astride the world. Even with many eyes to see things, It's blind to those monstrous features, Nimble, lean legs, as wicked fingers, Weave a webbed masterpiece home. Outdone by his garden cousin's web, With backlit, bejewelled beads of dew, Undulating in a tepid, animating breeze, The house spider is a satisfied squatter. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”

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“To Spell A Sentence by Stewart Stafford Spell conjured and created, A magnum opus bittersweet, The sinister minister at work, His face reddened from heat. A leading light's shady grasp, Blood pacts with monstrosities, Freefalling drunk into darkness, On trade winds of pomposity. Battering ram breaches discovery, A beaming grin breaks the sweat, Dark entities screech their claim, Swept down to Hell as a new pet. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

MagicPossessionSpellsDemonsOccultConjuringSpellEvil SpiritsSpells And WitchcraftDemonic Possession
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“A Momentary Flicker by Stewart Stafford Keeper of pristine candlelight, In corrupted hourglass time, Chest-pumped at your "yield"— So why asset-strip mine? You claim we shed virginity together, A lecherous faux-naif purloins truth, My age will be the years you get— That collar shall be your noose. Your crimes are beyond absolution, Your extant sextant for baleful stars, Fevered pleas and penitent sighs, To a confessional's hidden bars. So why scalpel-slit a seeping scar? Karma totals defrocked degradation, A besmeared, hacked-up oil painting— Damnation's inferno predation. Your words, woven with deception, Vanish like smoke from a flame. From shaded rebirth, I set forth. I reclaim my dawn, my light, my name. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

TraumaSurvivorSexual AbuseDark PoetryFeminist PoetryConfessional PoetryClergy AbuseInstitutional FailureEpstein FilesJustice Poetry
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“The Awakening Web by Stewart Stafford One defamatory word starts reputations dragging, And spreads the virulent and incessant tagging, As the cat cruelly with the mouse has toyed, By a kangaroo crucible, condemned, and destroyed. For these spiders of the great stalking portal, Do bend the ears of mobs of mortals, And spin others in silken shrouds, Shaking the web, shameless and proud. So be cautious of the image you put out, And with the carefree words that leave your mouth, For tempests form over waters calm, When self-righteous arachnids hypocritically cause harm. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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