Emerging sex scandal on the "Gaza flotilla": the organizer slept with all the activists. The "key organizer" of the world's most humane flotilla engaged in intimate relations with numerous mission participants right on board. On previous flotillas, Israeli military reported finding an anomalously large number of used and new condoms on the vessels. Was Greta Thunberg among them—we have no clue.
They went to break though sea blockade
Bring light to needy Palestine
A worthy cause when one is jade
A trip of orgy, by design
The amazons of our times
Or rather "dames on the loose"
Accuse Zion of awful crimes
For "noble cause" enjoyed abuse
To screw like there's no tomorrow
Abandon hubbies and proceed
Support Hamas, by moans and sorrow
No doubt, a courageous deed
When yacht becomes a battleground
Heroic act was their protest
Thereafter, all went homeward bound
Tight-lipped about "two bar" test
April 15, 2026
We were kids
That took the low road
Growing up
On the edge
Of the sword
Bullying other school kids
And breaking the rules
It was dark
Cold-hearted pursuit
To cause pain
To these kids
Stealing their lunchtime monies
Homework, clothes, and shoes
Like puppets
Stripped of dignity
Their strings pulled
And life's tugged
They followed that lowest road
Throughout that sixth grade
They shoplift
Stole fishing hooks for the hood
Rods and reels
Food and snacks
And condoms just for practice
Their faces were sad
Years later
Gray, old, and dusty
I ask why
What reason
Was there to tear on their youth
And leave this world scarred
connie pachecho
3/17/26
Mrs. Hickey, you’ve been on my mind,
just like a ball of twine
on a spool that never ends.
Though I’d never clapped an eye on you
my hands explored you:
feel the knees on me!
Hey, baby, let’s take a chance:
I left the condoms in my other pants.
Rollicking times,
late November back in sixty-three,
that’s when I shot John F. Kennedy
(superstar, but he didn’t get far).
Olivia Neutron Bomb,
you can ring my bell.
Gonna take a trip to Lonesome Town,
gonna stay at Heartbreak Hotel.
The aerial’s broke
can’t watch ‘Gunsmoke’
how are we gonna get by?
No BBC no ITV
above us only Sky.
Gypsies, stamp your feet.
Scrape that muck off your face.
Take your teeth out,
tell me what’s wrong.
Don’t go painting with emulsion.
Ain’t no sausages now.
There’s a ghost in my house.
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring.
We’ve got a liberal dad and a bachelor pad
and we do it.
Four hundred children and a crap in the field.
I can see Deirdre now Lorraine has gone.
I didn’t get the point
of Barton Fink, though.
I think I’m turning Japanese,
I really think so.
I walked as a grey kid
lost in his own hometown streets.
When my slow mind
began to see more clearly
it saw brick dusted air
and a sunlight blotched with yesterday's scabs.
There were small parks in that part of the city,
where the shabby slept and fornicated,
a wilted grass
was dotted with used condoms
and patchworked with dog urine.
We thought it fine
to explore those sleazy acres
parents behind us, we running ahead.
as if we were discovering paradise.
The clouds would give way,
and a light fell upon this new world of ours
as if newly painted.
For a while, we kids saw each other as
playmates and not intractable rivals.
Later, back in the crowded reek
of the crumbling tenements,
we grew soul-blind once more.
We hoped that the God
we had been instructed to love
occasionally watched over us,
that perhaps once a week
He checked us all out,
from the far side of a city park.
the bridge
In the middle of the bridge, we leaned on its railing
and looked into the slimy, green, and slow
running stream. Its bank, decorated with plastic bottles,
used condoms, a long-since-dead dog, yet grinning as
recalling a filthy joke and a three-month-old abortion,
half eaten by discerning water rats.
Over this beauty of decay hung a reluctant, pale sun
refusing to lend light to this polluted river scene.
The first time we came here, the water was clear, we could
see fishes you held my hands, she said.
My hands were cold, spat into the filth below, dug them
deep into my pockets, hunched my shoulders, and
began walking. No bother telling her that our love was
like a river burdened by too much debris.
All we have in common is our shared solitude, but that is
a dad is better than being alone.
Talked to a fisherman
He said he hadn’t had a bite in days…so I bit him
Hickory dickory dock
The mice ran up the clock
The clock struck one…
If he clears concussion protocol he’ll start tomorrow
Mary had a little lamb
…and mashed potatoes too.
One potato, two potato, three potato, four
That’s all I could afford so I walked out of the store
Walked into a church. There sat a tethered parrot on a perch.
With a wily rasp he asked if I could “un-tithe” him
Purchased a pack of condoms
The sales clerk said: “that’ll be $6.95 plus tax”
I replied: “forget the tacks, I’ll tie them on”
A door made from the haphazard weaving
of wood, rust, and ivy.
Smudged newspapers flap their wings
in a wayward wind. Bird feathers
emerge from wet claw prints. Faded condoms
spill to feed the mouths of empty cans.
The garden has no house,
rubble and broken verges limn a floorplan.
Weeds grapple, roots maul residual slabs of concrete.
Black bags regurgitate desiccated bacon rinds.
A boy finds treasures,
a nickel can opener,
a pen with a lady, whose clothes fall off
when turned upside-down,
a dog-chewed superman doll.
That night with dreaming eyes
he flew over the city with a half-naked lady.
while a can-opener
slowly opened up his adulthood.
The eagles have long left,
scattered over miles; empty plastic bottle,
condoms and diapers.
Here under a burning sun
human traffickers do not imply a rush-hour.
Death is imported, life degraded.
They come from all over the world,
mostly men of military age,
and no one asks why?
Whole families come,
they are bussed away at night,
to be forgotten amidst more teeming masses.
An old man
rides his bike, grins, waving a hand
at a gaggle of press and photographers.
There are still no eagles.
Away at the drug store
no condoms I see
I need some protection
to stop pregnancy
My girlfriend’s so horny
wants sex night and day
I’d never refuse her
a roll in the hay!
I’ll purchase some cling film
and some rubber bands
I’ll use these till condoms
are back on the stands.
Poem of the Day 14th July 2023
07/13/23
I have lived various journeys, torpidity with ideas.
During the summer I walked 6 miles and 12 miles back. Intervals for blow jobs, as well as hiding within her cupboard, until her parents were asleep to .
Her parents always disliked me, they agreed she could do better.
I thought it was true love but she effortlessly forgot.
When finally meeting six months later. Holding hands with a new friend, who had friends that introduced her at university parties.
A family meal out, they all said “hello”.
I left immediately to be alone, regretting being with a ****.
Then outside in the rain we argued about my feelings, There was nothing to say, I had none.
We went home together. Her back towards me, being cold.
My thoughts when back to you Kate. In the garage, having sex on a fridge.
We could not afford condoms but used a crisp packet instead.
A door made from the haphazard weaving
of wood, rust, and ivy.
Smudged newspapers flap wings
in a heaving wind. Dead birds
emerge from wet print. Once full condoms
spilled now to feed the mouths of empty cans.
The garden has no house.
Rubble and verge limn a floor-plan.
Weeds grapple, roots maul concrete.
Black bags regurgitate
bacon rinds.
A boy finds treasures; a nickel can-opener,
a pen with a lady, whose clothes fall off
when turned upside-down,
a chewed Superman doll.
That night his closed eyes
fly over the city with a naked lady.
while a can-opener
slowly opens up his young mind
into puberty.
A mountainous town
Lalitpur is a charming town among high mountains
the air is pure; no need to take a shower every day.
I was going there but, in Rome, I lost my passport
had to drive home to get a new one, which took
time and losing money.
Nepal is a small country often used as a tennis ball
by bigger countries in the region, for conflicts
killing thousands and condensing palaces to dust
covering mountains into a clock of sadness
Cry my lovely, I can only offer my understanding
when tourists evacuate on your sacred top
filling valleys with empty tunny tins, condoms and
the toilet papers flapping in the wind.
For tourists falling off cliffs, I only offer contempt
tourists that bestride and befoul a holy mountain.
To the tune of: “My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean”
I
My grandpa sells condoms to sailors
He pokes holes in them with a pin
My grandma gives backstreet abortions
Lord, how the money rolls in!
II
My cousin’s a pastor in Cleveland
He saves young, fallen girls from their sin
Fifty bucks, and he’ll save you a cutie
Lord, how the money rolls in!
*Variations of the above have been around at least since the 1970's.
Written 5/25/22
Does
Make America Great Again
Also mean
Make America Straight Again?
How about
Make America White Again?
Maybe
Make America
AntiFeminist Again?
Another possibility,
Make America
Christian Evangelical Supremacist
Again?
And,
more elaborately,
Make America
Business As Usual
Patriarchal/Capitalist
Autonomously Empowered
and Exclusively Enlightened
MonoCulturally MonoTheistic Again?
GREATness
is soooooooo much more
morally
and ethically ambiguous
than public HEALTH
and global climate SAFEty.
I would feel so relieved
if my RedRight friends
and family
would patriotically fly
and pleasantly post
Make America Healthy Again
banners,
hats,
bumper stickers,
condoms,
masks,
And MAHA foreign
and domestic
green-woke policy statements
with health wealth optimizing
cooperative intentions.
I watched the “news” this morning.
Chicken Little ran around squawking
Two women talked amiably after describing
scenes of horrific violence.
A homeless puppy was found
cared for and now needs a “forever” home.
Thousands called in looking to adopt it.
A homeless veteran was stepped over
in the entrance to a shelter
he/she was not cared for or allowed entrance.
Three kittens sang “Jingle Bells”
Chicken Little squawked a bit more
Climate change, global warming yadayada
The weather persons told me of storms
in the Midwest, floods in the south and
high temps in Arizona….
I had to look out my window
to get the weather report here.
The station manager made a Public Service Announcement.
Paraphrased : “If you’d all just do as you’re told
everything would be just fine”.
(the commercials were for Erectile disfunction, tampons,
birth control and condoms….oh….and childrens breakfast cereal))
John G. Lawless
1/4/2022
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.