Dark Days and Enlightened Nights

Victorian Adolescence

Dez Minogue — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 18:20:43 +0000

Death is masked with regret, yet still felt through touch.
Mournful words recorded under moonlight
Immersed in twilight garments, china white skin, and rose-colored lips.
Years of torture and self-mutilation gave way to a vacant stare.
Gravestones and monuments decorate where she dwells.
Her only friends are those six feet under.
Walking on her shattered heart – blessing the broken road.
Through life she collects remorse to line the eternal bed
And waits for the day she can be buried by her guilt.

Crash

Dez Minogue — Wed, 05 May 2010 22:49:25 +0000

The actuator sways side to side,

while the core temp begins to rise.

Processes become catatonic one by one.

Something more is assigned to this friend object.

Exceptions thrown but not all caught

and modules are tainted by corrupt memory.

Calls to undefined functions fall on deaf ears.

When swap is full, processes drop

until there is only a blinking cursor.

Pleasure Through Madness

Dez Minogue — Tue, 04 May 2010 22:55:40 +0000

Illuminated by the sun for the eyes of all.

Arms length is the distance to travel

By the moon and darkness of night’s veil.

So close that space is scarce between

And true color is only for two to see.

Madness is nothing more than guilty pleasure to me.

Love for not another being, but the insanity it brings.

Embraced by darkness and lunacy

I curse the perishing stars that fall from the sky.

Never again will I help them arise.

Only saints are seen through sinner’s eyes.

As ancient tongues speak foreign truths,

Present words can’t convey the torment that lies beneath.

Banana Hanger

Dez Minogue — Mon, 03 May 2010 20:39:58 +0000

Perched upon the kitchen counter

Like a king that watches his land

Royality holds its treasure close

Safely guarded by a cat

From green to gold, sweetness with age

Until the time has come

To taste the maturity of this investment

Tired Morning

Dez Minogue — Sun, 02 May 2010 20:36:41 +0000

A man who hides away inside his abode

After a long day’s work, he sits and stirs

Thoughts bombard him while he lays in bed

One after another until he finally tires

By then the morning has arrived.

Distance

Dez Minogue — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 06:18:30 +0000

Catching glances and skipping words, we’ve been friends for a while.

On that cool September day when the swans all swam away

I turned to you, but couldn’t think of what to say.

Night after night, wishing for the strength to break off this isle

thoughts of this, that, then, and now start to swirl

to form an image of a rarified girl.

Been searching high and low traveling miles.

Dismising that I will find what I seek.

Before me she stands, I’m unable to speak.

Absorbed in that innocent warm smile

we’re out of sync and it’s so tragic

missing out on all of that magic.

Magician

Dez Minogue — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 06:16:46 +0000

She was a magician who had great ambition with no contrition.
Her mission was submission through cardiovascular conditions.
In addition her apparition left men in disposition of malnutrition.
Admonished by intuition, that inhibition was in opposition.
The omission of imposition allowed time to wish for sedition.
Through acquisition of information, the composition broke tradition.
With the extradition of affliction, no more was the addiction,
and the oppression of depression met the mortician through erudition.

By Chance

Dez Minogue — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 06:15:36 +0000

Across the room between blank faces,
for a wandering eye to see.
To the dark where secrets have no shame;
hand in hand below where others pass.
Kiss and tell not, this I will assure.
We’re two strangers in the darkness,
Exploring each other’s desires.
Just as waves crashing in the sea,
making way to the floor as if shore.
A blaze from embers starts to sway,
While the flames reach high into the sky.
In this light there is only us,
Two strangers that just so met by chance.

The Church on Normandy Avenue

Dez Minogue — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 00:54:38 +0000

They all wear the face kept by the door and greet the day with a smile.
Meeting at the same place every Sunday at eight
forgetting their woes and wants, they all come together and pray.
While some pray for life, and others forgiveness,
we all pray at the church on Normandy Avenue.
Those scorned, scared, and tortured mingle with the whole, pure, and untouched.
Each night becomes a battle ground, clinging to the extinct like it’s the last breath.
Surrounded by friends in hopes their shadows will eclipse the sorrow,
waiting for the sands of time to cover a distressful past.
Some pray for friends and some pray for enemies,
but we all pray at the church on Normandy Avenue.
Living day to day at the speed of light by the grace of a higher force.
Making peace while thriving on chaos, silencing the doubt with possibilities of the future.
Counting the blessings received and giving to those in need
some pray for peace and others a peace maker.
Some pray for angels and some pray for a savior
but we all come together at the church on Normandy Avenue
and we all pray at the church on Normandy Avenue.

Untitled

Dez Minogue — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 04:47:05 +0000

The sheep keep coming while the wheels keep turning
as I wait for the package of stardust and dreams
in bed, on the couch, and at the kitchen table.
What will I dream, who will be there, and where will I be?
Between now, then, and again the thoughts barrel through my brain like a freight train.
Searching high and low for the elusive, never thought 50 winks could be so hard.
Trying, hoping that I’d tire and slip in deep.
Toss and turn, as the sands of time run toward the dawn.
Wandering the day like the living dead while time stands still.
Every catatonic step, sinking deeper and deeper into insanity.
Staring blankly into a black screen day dreaming about a distant land.
The journey between lands is endless, and I’m cursed to wander.
Night falls, and the struggle begins with the prize a layer of skin away.
As the cat sleeps in the twilight glow, images flow into a sea of white,
Mapped by lines of longitude, ghastly lists clanking chains, taunting.
3 A.M. still no go, when will the hour be when I’m gone?
Five A.M., I tell myself I’ll get it right next time around.