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Community News Hey - 06/11/2018 by V. Blake I hope you're having a good day. You're an excellent writer. Keep on doin' what you're doin'. Everything is Broken - 02/06/2018 by V. Blake As I write this, I don't actually know if it will post successfully. Let's see. Sorry to report that the owner of this website has abandoned it. We owe him eternal gratitude for all the work that went into building it in the first place, and for continuing to foot the bill that keeps it online at all. That said: we apologize for the bugs, but there's nothing we can do to fix them. CURRENT MEMBERS: Keep steady backups of your poetry. And everything else--that's just practical advice for a digital world. In case you didn't realize, private messaging does not work. Your messages are not reaching their recipients. The moderators can pick poems of the day. That's about it for our powers. APPLICANTS: I am sorry. Site errors will prevent me from making you a member. I promise that we'd have welcomed you to this community if we could. -- I guess that's it. Hope you're having a good day. The Pathetic Book of Poetry - 04/08/2014 by V. Blake Our very own Jody Pratt was cool enough to put together a book of poetry using submissions from Pathetic members. Read more about it in the forums--you can even just click this link if you're feeling lazy, so no excuses. Thanks go out to Jody for his efforts and to everyone who submitted their work to make it possible. Go get yourself a copy! New Server - 08/03/2013 by Gavin M Roy The site has been moved to a new server which should address the ongoing login issues for the past week or so. Older News

Poem of the Day for 11/20/18 GO! by Bet Yeldem I am desperate for playing Star Wars like in days when I piloted dad’s old Chevy van from the command wheel which was my baby brother’s booster seat speeding to galaxies far, far away. You be the cowboy and I’ll be the Indian – too politically incorrect? You be the cop and I’ll be the robber – too morally reprehensible? Okay, Batman and Robin, then – no, they’re not gay and so what if they were? I just want to play. Give me days when prayers were centered on my tooth not hurting when it was time for pulling, or when the only violent outbursts of protest were in response to accusations of Santa being a myth. Give me days when holidays were marked by the types of candy most readily available. Jelly Bean Easters. Divinity Christmases. Chocolate truffle Valentine Days. Halloweens filled with the beauty of Pixie Stick bliss. Is this Peter Pan syndrome? My midlife crisis come early? Or the plain truth that we’re not allowed to admit and entertain because it’s just not appropriate behavior for masquerading adults. In an instant, when I saw him, Z, three years old, sprawled across the couch like a drunken ninja, sucking down pure granulated refined dyed sugar, blue #4 staining the corner of his mouth, head thrown back in absolute pleasure, throat choking on heaven, I knew that sooner or later, we all become anxious for who we once were. We rationalize that we wouldn’t change a thing, but we still wonder who we might have been if we could do it all over. And if we could, we’d only wonder still because no version of ourselves would ever satisfy. It’s all a lie. We don’t want to be a better grown up, deep down. We just want to play. We want to go back, before work, before chores, before school, before anyone had any expectation of us other than making mispronounced sentences, sleeping through the night without wetting the bed, and not biting the hell out of someone over a toy. Some people of “mature ages” still have trouble with that last part, but they’re the kids to avoid. I just want to play. I want to play with the kids who believe that they can fly, with or without wings, and who feel their conviction so strongly that they have you running after NeverLand. So, we’ll clap our hands because we believe in fairies as much as in our own breath on winter days puffing smoky rings after racing down the snow covered driveway on pizza pans used as makeshift sleds. We’ll stand up on top of the fire pit as our stage cover our faces in clown paint become air guitar masters and stomp and yell seeing if we can channel KISS for the fifth time this week without even a clue what a single lyric is. We’ll get all our friends and our favorite Marvel comics and make superhero capes from great grandmother’s hand-made quilts. We’ll food fight in the kitchen like there’s no one starving in the world. We’ll run through the woods blazing trails with machetes, unafraid of injury or boogey men or ever being lost. We’ll jump head first into muddy water from alligator infested river banks all in the name of fun. We’ll be hobbits and elves saving the world from ultimate evil, carrying grandpa’s wedding ring in our pocket like it’s nothing more than pop tab from a can of Coke. We’ll take our whipping when we’re caught in mischief, never learning the lesson they intend to teach, justifying that the pain was always worth what was the greatest adventure of life every time. We’ll ride our bikes with no hands, our skateboards with no helmets. We’ll race to the tops of trees, double daring each other further out on flimsy limbs for that flip flop feeling in the pit of our stomachs that makes us squeal with anticipation and fear, adrenaline and power and delight. Splash with intention into rain puddles with Sunday clothes and new shoes. Stare into the sun because they told us not to. Bring home every stray puppy and pretend they’re gremlins hiding under beds that we can love over from the dark side to the light. They’ll be Yoda and Chewbacca when we’re desperate for Star Wars again. Tag. Your it. I get to call home base. Hide and Seek. No peeking. Marco Polo – I’ve always been a fish out of water, you know. Come play with me. Climb up the stairway railing like it’s the Empire State Building. I’ll be King Kong and you be Godzilla and we’ll tear the house down until mom comes home. You know the words Ready, set 04/15/2008 Visit Bet Yeldem's Library GO! Copyright © 2018

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