Welcome to pathetic.org , a community for poets and poetry enthusiasts alike. To navigate the site, simply move your mouse over the main categories above to activate menu options. pathetic.org is a free resource for poets to maintain poetry libraries and to publish their works, virtually. If you're looking for a community with a wide variety of poetic styles and voices, you've found the right place. Simply browse through the Poetry Center menu above to find the best in modern amateur poetry.

Also be sure to signup for our Poem of the Day emailed directly to your inbox, by clicking Here.

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.

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.

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

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…


Visit Bet Yeldem's Library

GO! Copyright © 2018

Top Rated Member Poetry

  1. Dirt - Glenn Currier
Click Here for More Top Rated Poetry

10 Random Member Favorites

Click Here for More Random Favorites

10 Most Recently Posted Poems

Click Here for All Recent Activity


pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 1 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2018 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)