by Derek Geiger
I set My Bow in the cloud,
A Promise bright and loud.
Now My Children are proud,
Yet some say it’s not allowed.
Blind, they follow distortion,
Corrupting the Portion
In unHoly contortion.
Was My Word to You not clear?
By this Sign, lose Your fear,
And know that I Am here.
Now You hate It, for It’s Queer?
Morgana La Fey
by Derek Geiger
Morgana La Fey is as fair as she is gay,
As dark as end of day. Darken, choke every ray
Of sunlight that shook its shawls long before May.
On the cusp of dusk she exudes her musk and frays
Until the pole is veiled and cold, and there she stays,
Thirsting for fresh thrashings from distilled, aged maize.
An old man sidles idly by and, full of wist,
Wrenches Morgana’s whiskey-weary worldly wrist,
A plea for passion and mercy through eyes of mist.
The sun has set, and this queer pair must break their fast.
She has finished her glass and made her quaint repast.
She is to be her father’s first, and he, her last.
(Editor’s Note: NonDoc publishes poetry, short prose, visual art and other artistic ideas pitched by creatives in Oklahoma and around the world. All submissions are encouraged, and new creatives are constantly being sought. Submit your work for publication by contacting Editorial@NonDoc.com.)
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