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Community News A Congratulations to Leonard M Hawkes - 03/27/2019 by V. Blake ..who just published his first volume of poetry! Entitled Leaves from my Box Elder, it comes just in time for the 150th anniversary of the driving of the Golden Spike. So, like the title says--congrats, Leonard! 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! Older News

Poem of the Day for 12/15/19 Curtains by Noe Procházka close hard around moonlight, your shoulders rolling back the white dress. This is what you would have told me from Koh Chang, your skin cool and brown, sun rashless, uncallused, this is what you meant to say, making two wide U's under your breasts, hands like channels for Neruda's Mississippi, the feminine sea. I love you quietly, like I might love the Hope diamond in a knapsack, walking through Southie to an unlocked car, an original Renoir wrapped in brown paper seatbelted to the passenger seat. Here, unlike art (which I love but do not understand), are your two familiar hands. I love you loudly like I'm the last prophet and you are the last woman left to be proselytized, blood underlines the setting sky and fanfare signals down the celestial city, coming to give us bodies that do not register distance. We turn down the sheets, Kind of Blue, we sleep bone to bone. 10/15/2009 Visit Noe Procházka's Library Curtains Copyright © 2019

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