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Famous Stewart Stafford Quotes

“The Master Plan by Stewart Stafford Do you choose to lose yourself In grief’s planetoid hinterlands, Discarding every gift given By loved ones in preparation? Wade through marsh and swamp, The world turns for mogul and meagre. Burdened down by survivor's guilt, Unspoken words, unfinished deeds, A wandering, teetering flagellant, Haunted by what should have been. You were and are loved, not begrudged, Olympic torch bravery delighting others. Familiar hands on marathon's shore, Offer self-medicating cocktails, To numb the Captain to his storm, Resist to avoid addiction's reefs, Resolve to endure whatever comes. We are driftwood, seedpods, Blind to windswept grand design. And the most important decision, Who to pass trust's baton to? We must not believe our eyes, As all we see is weaponised. Human instinct, A mighty shield unseen, Guiding us through, Where we dare not lean. The path of fearlessness, A paradox in itself; A source of fear, Inside a shipyard of hope. In dreamlike audacity, grasp destiny with barriers lifted, clothed in courage’s cloak. Grieve, Emerge transformed, Octopus ink to glowing algae, Knowing others will come, To complete our healing. Our plotted course continues, Until privy to the master plan, At last, upon the inverse shore, As loved ones congratulate. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Life Lessons Grief Healing Courage Resilience Grief And Loss Death Of A Loved One Survivor S Guilt Grief Poem Grief Poems

Author:Stewart Stafford

“Life Looks Lasting by Stewart Stafford Why should evening's last hues Get short shrift by rays of morn? Or contented looks of jaded age Be void by stung slits, newborn? The skull's opalescent orbs shut, A lifetime's sense memories kept, Amnesia's windfall revisited in spirit, In corridors of déjà vu, windswept. Though not the peeled eyes of youth Nor intoxicated with passionate ire, Scarcity unveils beauty in mundanity, Visions consumed by a funeral pyre. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Philosophy Death Grief Aging Memory Ageing Life Poem Shakespearean Intertextuality Sonnet 73

Author:Stewart Stafford

“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.”

Pain Grief Sonnet Sleeplessness Shakespearean Emotional Poetry Healing Poetry Hope Poetry Shakespearean Sonnet

Author:Stewart Stafford

“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.”

Poetry Loss Grief Loneliness Poem Grief And Loss Death Of A Loved One Bereavement Loss Of Love Grieving Process

Author:Stewart Stafford

“The Fading Game by Stewart Stafford Though your life was stolen from me, I greedily wanted—and want—more. Death made us necessary strangers, And you, hostage to a timepiece fog. Pain’s screams in the kettle’s whistle— The brittle choreography of survivor’s guilt, Self-loathing: I had let you flee my memory, Your voice relapsed to white noise in life’s static. Assuming my agitated reaction made you recoil, As you faded as soon as you had arrived, The desire to connect was overridden by mutual bartering for a wary ceasefire. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Death Loss Grief Memory Contemporary Poetry Elegy Survivors Guilt Psychological Poetry Funeral Poem Suburban Gothic

Author:Stewart Stafford

“The Mortal Tempest by Stewart Stafford In the tranquil, shaded crypt, Life's storms batter no more, Historia, the isolated remnant, Of an interior remembrance. The howling gale, a mourner's cry, Icy tendrils reaching to exert, The only possible pressure, On a shell in heedless slumber. A post-mortem death wish, Phantom projection of the morbid, To vacate an urn and soar, Swirling ash in the mortal tempest. © 2021, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Death Poetry Loss Grief Mourning Existentialism Mortality Dark Poetry Elegy Death Poems

Author:Stewart Stafford

“Reflectorama by Stewart Stafford City buildings screaming down, Memories staggering anywhere, My childhood self calls out, But I must not go back there. Conjoined twins amputated, The pathway home lies cracked, Tsunamis smashed our thin bridge, Egregious horse, blindly backed. Forced into immovable objections, Monoliths in mutual self-defeat, Torched your bed, now burn in it, As I hotfoot it down the street. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Poetry Grief Identity Mental Health Trauma Modernism Escapism Surrealism Fragmentation Urban Poetry

Author:Stewart Stafford

“I Am Chameleon by Stewart Stafford I am the shadow in your peripheral vision, A rippling in the brilliantine matrix, A wind's mesmerising, gossamer lullaby, The speck of dust for a euphoric sneeze. I am the shimmering, starry shell of night, The bird that bathes in transient pools, A cloud, shaped by myriad perspectives, Flaming phoenix flower picked to re-sprout. I am the tribal cave of rest and warmth, The cleansing pool of birth and rebirth, The fire of light, heat, and nourishment, The beloved departed's shawl on cold nights. I am soup and a sandwich on a rainy day, Banquet feast of a gathering of the clans, Caviar of the commonplace, regal remnants, An after-dinner mint to soothe and satiate. I am the floating shadow clinging to the corner of your eye. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Spiritual Poetry Grief Identity Comfort Transformation Symbolism Contemporary Poetry Mythic Nature Imagery

Author:Stewart Stafford

“Procession by Stewart Stafford Stop me carrying the burden alone, For I cannot bear the crushing weight, Put your arm around me as I reciprocate, Together, we will walk the needed steps. If our shoulders shudder, we will steady, You will help me as I will help you, Together, as one, we shall go forward, One foot in front of the other. When the strain grows too great, We will lay our mighty cross down, An altar coffin, and genuflecting, Rejoin the mourning congregation. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

Grief Grief And Loss Funeral Supporting Others Funerals Strength In Numbers Grief Poem Grief Poems Strength In Unity Pallbearers

Author:Stewart Stafford

“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.”

Death Poetry Nature Grief Poem Mourning Meaning Of Life Death And Dying Life After Death Death And Taxes

Author:Stewart Stafford

“Lazarus Saturday: The Longest Way by Stewart Stafford 'Lazarus, come out!’ said Jesus: A dead man awoke in a burial place, wrapped head to foot on a stretcher; He shook the cloth away from his face. Four days dead; his soul had gone. Tongues lashed the Saviour’s tardy arrival. The Lord, resolute, could overrule death — From the afterlife came his survival. From white-light end to darkest revival, life surging back into decomposing flesh. His chest burned as it rose and fell, bloated and blotchy skin, alive afresh. Lazarus struggled to breathe the dusty air; His body was freezing, deathly pale. At first, he thought he had gone to God; Until his friend parted the ultimate veil. Shuffling stiffly toward the cave mouth, newborn-blind to this second life, The Disciples rushed to unwrap him, His sisters embraced him as a bachelor's wife. Lazarus longed to tell what he had seen, forbidden to impart it to mortal ears. No one questioned his silent burden — The aged expression of Methuselah’s years. Yet from that day, he walked without a smile, The Void still echoing behind his eyes; A living witness to what none should see, Some resurrections come at too high a price. The word spread fast of this divine act, Of the Nazarene’s immense power; That his reach could extend so far, Beyond the ruins of the Babel Tower. As the daughter of Jairus herself revived, And Christ himself would rise on the third day, Lazarus survived Death’s tightest grip — A ransom no earthly king could ever pay. All rights reserved. © 2024 Stewart Stafford (Revised 2026)”

Christian Spiritual Death Hope Jesus Grief Miracle Resurrection Easter Lazarus

Author:Stewart Stafford

“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.”

Philosophy Spiritual Death Faith Grief Fate Society Existential Rhyme Elegy

Author:Stewart Stafford

“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.”

Philosophy Death Spirituality Grief Immortality Afterlife Existential Metaphysical Transcendence Emily Dickinson

Author:Stewart Stafford

“Death is not the villain of the piece. It is the next phase of life in unfamiliar clothing.”

Death Loss Grief Life And Death Grief And Loss Death And Dying Death Quotes Loss Quotes Next Life Life And Death Quotes

Author:Stewart Stafford

“Life has to go on even when you don't want it to or when you feel unable to participate. The world doesn't stop turning for anyone.”

Grief Grief And Loss Inclusion Closure Life Goes On Recovering Moving On And Letting Go Grief Inspirational Moving On After Tragedy Grief Inspirational Quotes

Author:Stewart Stafford

“My Angel Sleeps by Stewart Stafford My angel sleeps, do not disturb, Painless and gorgeous in repose, In resting flight, I still see her, Her embryonic features now froze. Many times, she called me father, And hastened me to her side, Entwined as one, no one to part us, Now, the earth's youthful bride. Let me cast more soil upon you, To soften your final resting place, My heart's core I leave with you, To claim back when face to face. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

Love Loss Sleep Grief Angel Mourning Grief And Loss Angels Love Poem Love Poems

Author:Stewart Stafford

“The Lottery by Stewart Stafford It was New York, 1984, The AIDS tsunami roared in, Friends, old overnight, no more, Breathless, I went for a check-up. A freezing winter's dawn, A solitary figure before me, What we called a drag queen, White heels trembled in the cold. "Hi, are you here to get tested?" Gum chewed, brown eyes stared. This was not my type of person, I turned heel and walked away. At month's end, a crippling flu, The grey testing centre called, Two hundred people ahead of me; A waking nightmare all too real. I gave up and turned to leave, But a familiar voice called out: "Hey, you there, come back!" I stopped and turned around. The drag queen stood there in furs, But sicker, I didn't recognise them, "Stand with me in the line, honey." "Nah, I'm fine, I'll come back again." "Support an old broad before she faints?" A voice no longer frail but pin-sharp. I got in line to impatient murmurs: "If anyone has a problem, see me!" Sylvester on boombox, graveyard choir. My pal's stage name was Carol DaRaunch, (After the Ted Bundy female survivor) Their real name was Ernesto Rodriguez. After seeing the doctor, Carol hugged me, Writing down their number on some paper, With their alias not their real name on it: "Is this the number of where you work?" "THAT is my home number to call me on. THAT'S my autograph, for when I'm famous!" "I was wrong about you, Carol," I said. "Baby, it takes time to get to know me!" A hug, shimmy, the threadbare blonde left. A silent chorus of shuffling dead men walking, Spartan results, a young man's death sentence. Real words faded rehearsal, my eyes watered. Two weeks on, I cautiously phoned up Carol. The receiver was picked up, dragging sounds, Like furniture being moved: "Is Carol there?" "That person is dead." They hung up on me. All my life's harsh judgements, dumped on Carol, Who was I to win life's lottery over a guardian angel? I still keep that old phone number forty years on, Crumpled, faded, portable guilt lives on in my wallet. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

Fear Friendship Grief Empathy Memory Aids Lgbtq 80s Stigma Aids Epidemic

Author:Stewart Stafford