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 Jun 2016
Stephen Purcell
Captivating, alluring, the attractive smell of seduction.
Forbidden fruits of temptation, shining on a pedestal.
A hungry, lust filled gaze sights this perfect rose.
Pursues it, consumes it, dances in drunken ecstasy.
And, as the dammed, falls into endless despair.
 Jun 2016
Stephen Purcell
Red blood, staining crisp, white linen
Dripping slowly from her gaping side, her body folds, tumbling to the floor
A soft but pitiful sigh escapes her parted lips
Her last breath, her last shudder, her last
Scarlet pooling away
Gradual, inevitable, insatiable
Death
 Sep 2015
Stephen Purcell
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the stroke of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Classical ideals of education and life. Miscellaneous cultural connections.
 Aug 2015
Stephen Purcell
Not merely soulmates, matched and equal, but two halves of the same soul incomplete without the other.
Intricately woven links, platinum meshing with layered silver.
Breath-stealing, life exuding, divine.

'Oh, the tales that will be told of this love.'

Hesitant, wondrous and cheerful, the strings of unstructured consciousness circle. Living, imagining and eternal.
Revelling. Crisp, pure and untainted *joy.
An ode to uncapturable impossibilities.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
Entangled, inseparable, the dark and the light; the sun and the night.
Sandy blond hair and a musical laugh; jet black locks and swiftest flight.
Heights they encompass and the depths they rule.
One, united forever, from balance to fall.
He, the prophet, musician and scholar; She, the maiden, huntress and guardian.
Spheres opposing, mixed and mighty.
Fire and water, the shadows in the forest and the piercing rays of dawn.
Starstruck, moonstruck  and tied together in lunar madness.
The Lord, the Lady, marked by fate bound by destiny, yet the fall begins.
Intoxicating, this bond is; the burden of power, responsibility and statute.
Deep they fell, into abysmal glorious ecstasy, and crossed the forbidden boundary.
Their spheres merge, tempted they are and temptation the succumb to.
Blood, the blood they share, reddens the moon and darkens the sun.
The Earth descends into eternal twilight.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
Blood, so potent, the reagent of life.
Birthed from chaos and establishing ‘order’. structured yet willful  influencing life, love and the balance.
Riled in war, simmering in peace, ready to explode.
The whims of blood, The Blood.

Whether split or spread it always calls, eternal curse of power.
The debts paid, yet always reincurred.
The currency of the heavens and depths, glorious and tempting. By knife or pen, bled or bred, the Blood always rises.

Sacred, sanguine, hallowed, holy.
Sacrifice, cleaned by fire washed by blood.
A cleansing spring, the red water of life flows.

Signed, sealed and bound in blood.
The pact renewed, the covenant reborn.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
The sun creeps over the horizon
Spreading divine rays across the sky
Golden fields sown with ripe corn gleam in the radiant sunlight
Bejewelled helms reflect multi-coloured lights as kings ride to war
A day of new beginnings, joy and wonder

The last shining light of day disappears over the lip of the world as shadow sets in
Grey immerses the world in perpetual slumber, the only witnesses nocturnal
Sleepy eyed townsfolk trudge to bed while thieves and spies awaken
The reign of night has begun
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
Dancing in the wind, quite literally.
In the beginning, you danced in the rain,
Your fire doused by the weight of the world.
You spluttered and your glow was crushed.
The expectations of society held you down.
Your movements were feeble and your light was dying.

It began with a touch of innocence, that harmless naiveté that age withers away.
Such a fragile essence of youth is pounded by the harsh reality that is life. Broken.
This acidic reality consumes all; Innocence, hope and simple idealism.
Maturity is a merciless awakening to a ruthless existence.


She drowned you in standards of beauty and perfection.
Did you not realise we are all beautiful?


The moment stops, stands in turmoil
and caustic, sarcastic scepticism.
It builds, climbs and crashes around you.
You fall, die and are swept away.
Only a spark remains.


‘A will to shatter stars.’
Your mind snaps, is reformed and strengthened.
Apparently, “what doesn’t **** you makes you stronger.’


The darkness of your father’s death;
and the morbid beauty contained within that blood-stained image is glorious.
It drives you to new heights and drags you to more depraved depths.


Passion unblocked, and lo, it lies on lofty heights.
Luminous, boundless, binding.
Your smouldering coal bursts into flame anew.
A curious desire for life is born;
Its candle flickers alongside a raging inferno.


A rebirth ensues.
Complete eclipse of restriction cycles from new moon to full.
The lunar light darkens shade by shade, shadows lengthen and the sky descends.


Lightning arcs though strong clouds.
Pulsing energy razes the heavens in its purest form.
This is the ultimate representation of your freed mind.
This chaotic rolling mass of fury, built up over years of restrained frustration.

Inexorably intertwined, our threads on fates tapestry weave over and over.
A ghost of echoing sentiment remains, one that must be guided, lest it is forever lost.



Gently nurturing a recovering mind is a tedious process.
Great perseverance and patience are required to preserve both its sanity and your own.
‘Tis a far reaching and noble goal, yet one of the most arduous of all to pursue.


This explosion of your psyche and subsequent downfall leaves a dangerous dilemma.
A block, if you will. A redeeming light remains from your rapid release of consciousness.
The key, is in finding that light.
Unlocking this matrix of memory produces a spectacular result.
This web of twisting thoughts spins in the air.
Dancing in the wind, quite literally.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
Tears of blood run down a snow white face.
Doubly compounded purity, sanguine and ancient.

Dancing flames infuse the veins of life,
Consanguinity is a curious riddle.

New blood merges with old; when they meet sparks fly.
These sparks develop, building ideas, lives and Gifts.

Psyche, breath and spirit are passed down.
Lineage, loyalty, honour and creed encompass all through these ties.

The dual lusts; both for blood; fulfil their purpose.
Eyes cloud scarlet red until they are sated.

The shedding, sharing and spawning of blood.
These are the foci of this world.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
The gradient of the mind

Black tears she cries, black to match her dour estate.
In the halls of the house sits darkness.
Cold is the night, constricting and binding,
only the minds of the naive escape its clutches.

White encapsulates his psyche, blindingly brilliant
and wasteful purity.
Gradually poisoned, the shadows creep through.
His bright light turns to grey.

The shadows twist forward, watching always watching.
Ensnaring souls, precious souls and infecting all.
‘Shadows exist behind all objects illuminated’
Or so the saying goes.

The chalice fills, overflows and spills.
Spills the sorrow of the mourning, spills the wrath of the vengeful.
Spills the love of the kind and ignorance of the doubtful.
This cup tips and writhing colours meet on the ground.

Ribbons dancing fluidly in the wind, whirling like flames.
Sights unseen by mortal eyes for many ages gone by.
Tangible streams merrily fly from heart to heart,
loosely connecting motes of light in the darkness of the void.

Higher, the mind ascends, infinitesimal mysteries grow.
Deeper into the abyss, conundrums swirl in misty reaches.
Forbidden knowledge beckons.
In the locked tomes of silence, a whisper is heard.

Fingers close around your swallowing throat.
Trapped they have you. Cut off from all.
The power fills you, an urging you felt.
‘Escape: delve back into the hidden depths of time.’

One midsummers night you dream.
Of teary ladies and foreboding towers.
Morn arrives and you venture into the dawn,
her face in your mind and song on your lips.

The song begins, weaves and binds; the greatest of us all consumed.
Minds break, splinter and fracture under its demanding weight.
Fevered and weary we are compelled to follow. Nuanced and delicate, a haunting melody.
It dances through your mind. The song of Time.

Like fire it leaps from sapling to sapling.
We are all trees in this great forest of life.
Very few resist its intricate thrilling cadence.
Only five score have remained sane.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
Each moment; each thread in the fabric we call existence; is a precious gift.
Blessed or cursed, in hope or despair, we can only marvel at each passing second, minute, hour.....


Multi-faceted, fragrant and eye-wrenching life swirls around us, wreathed in sheer Humanity.

And so we dance the Dance of Life. When a crimson sunset concludes this day;
Days of grey, dreary and mired or Days of depth and mystery, whether lit up or clouded by rain;
We dance in this moment, dance in this day and dance the eternal Dance of Life.
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
I am the one at the edge of the playground, the wallflower, the silent observer.
I am the one with the quiet smile and little sigh,
I am the one who stands aside, contented, rested, but gradually regretting.
I am the one who passively thinks, whiles away uselessly, counting the stars or dreaming of eternity.

I am the precocious one, the child that learned and learned like a sponge - but nothing ever came of it.
I am patience, but patience that nothing ever comes of, for my efforts are wasted.
I now languish in feigned contentment, having missed my chance to talk, to laugh or seek your mind.

I wish...

I wish I had broken open my visage; to have partaken, rather than watched.
I will wish this forever...
 Mar 2015
Stephen Purcell
From beach to beach to beach, glimmering shimmers of sand laden waves lap lazily at your feet. The seaweed masquerade of the crab clumsily dancing amongst the foam is paradoxically poignant but apt.
Sighs of relief as the soothing sensation of the sea on hot blistered feet capture the essence of the moment. The simple pleasures of the beach; sand ridden toes and remarkably veined geodes; the golden grains and barnacle encrusted rocks provide a unique treasure indeed.
And then comes the gentle pitter-patter of a sunshower- putting a literal damper on things- but uniquely completing the picturesque scene.
Inspired during the Abel Tasman Coastal Track, one of New Zealand's 'Great Walks'.
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