I'd derived my poem prompts from Dropout on demand, / but now I have the choice to take the choice out of my hands; / the ceaseless flow of favorite shows is now this poet's heaven, / for Drop-in Dropout spurs my verse—tune in 24/7.
I'd derived my poem prompts from Dropout on demand, / but now I have the choice to take the choice out of my hands; / the ceaseless flow of favorite shows is now this poet's heaven, / for Drop-in Dropout spurs my verse—tune in 24/7.
I'd derived my poem prompts from Dropout on demand, / but now I have the choice to take the choice out of my hands; / the ceaseless flow of favorite shows is now this poet's heaven, / for Drop-in Dropout spurs my verse—tune in 24/7.
Get ready for some hella chronological poems 🎉
An image of Oscar Montoya and an illustration of Poppy Persona, both from Dimension 20: Gladlands. The poem sits on colorful boxes (matching the quill and wig colors of Poppy) and reads: "Poppy Persona Across all the Gladlands, these glad rags portend this Queen of the Wasteland’s purveying pretend. A true first edition, her outfit impressive, she lives by example, her values expressive. Remembrances copied, committed to paper, on gossamer wings Poppy saves the Spear Shaker, some verses to drown out the versus, the screams, Greek chorus in -toriums dismissing dreams. The plights of pragmatics suspend in her Dome that transforms their tightly held tenets of home. Imagine a world, and then make it real— in collaboration and concert we heal. This fact only fiction and friendship achieve, to grant Thagomizer his chance to believe; when life gives you lemons, some chili will do, but leave out the Magna Carta from the stew. If fantasies lived are realities freed, Personas can show us what all persons need."
A poem straight from the dome… the Dome of Dreams, that is. It’s Poppy Persona! @ozzy-mo.bsky.social
The uphill battle’s finding common ground with family— / your mom’s up in the air, meanwhile dad’s “gotta do me.” / You can’t backtalk your parents if they do not say a word— / you roll with it because your dad’s a dirt bike, mom’s a bird.
Facades are part and Parcel of the self; / in makeup, facets made up, facts astound; / page-turners turn our heads, fly off the shelf— / nonfiction can be Flashy, leather-bound. 📚✨
“We'll choose to have what could be real, / an ideal idle time to heal; / like one worn-out cassette describes, / we'll cool ourselves with Cali Vibes.” 🤙🏖️☀️
A light purple raven behind a poem that reads: "In histories heaped high, we save small havens where we don’t have to justify our trash— there’s beauty in what’s brought to us by ravens, even when what shines burns out to ash."
An ornate crown behind a poem that reads: "When Diana died, her son walked behind the car— Would you walk with me?"
A light crescent moon behind a poem that reads: "At three o’clock, a waxing crescent moon sent Muni to me; soon my life was strewn across this world, in more than just myself— in things now recollected on a shelf."
There was enough writing overflow that I decided to include a few “pebble poems,” a few scraps of verse as though collected by ravens.
@brennanleemulligan.bsky.social
Illustrations of Hugi (color) and Muni (black-and-white) from Dimension 20: Gladlands behind a poem that reads: "Memento Muni Memory and Thought, birds of a feather, had flocked as far together as they could; now iridescent discs and trinkets tether mementos to our moris understood. But facts as forward faces read too stern, our mourning can’t be researched ’til mundane. Sorrow’s storms don’t care how much we learn, for knowing is no flight path out of pain. This sucks—grief-struck, we give our feelings air, in rites we do not always get it right; unshown loves shine, hearts broken can be shared in careworn pebbles, Muni’s skull held tight. Aunt Freaky is not well, she’s well aware, but all she needs to know is Hugi’s there."
I spent “A Hugi Minute” sonneting my feelings—and so I present through my tears, “Memento Muni.”
@vicmmic.bsky.social @dimension20.bsky.social
"But facts as forward faces read too stern,
our mourning can’t be researched ’til mundane.
Sorrow’s storms don’t care how much we learn,
for knowing is no flight path out of pain."
Sometimes your work is done for you 🫡
From Dimension 20: Gladlands, an illustration of KoKoMo—then a series of smaller colorful KoKoMos behind a poem that reads: "There Could Be Beaches, KoKoMo The salt plains stretch where waves withdrew to leave a scrap of sun-bleached blue— a salvaged sign of damper sands, of seals & gulls & hang ten hands. Away from gauges counting bummers, KoKoMo can find us summers. We’ll choose to have what could be real, an ideal idle time to heal; like one worn-out cassette describes, we’ll cool ourselves with Cali Vibes. The world is big, so we don’t know— there could be beaches, KoKoMo."
Beach is beach. KoKoMo.
@dimension20.bsky.social
An image of Vic Michaelis playing Hugi in Dimension 20: Gladlands beneath the text of a poem: "HUGI In the care of the Carer Van’s carry-on crow, the dead are attended at their time to go. “Don’t be scared,” Hugi speaks through their beak mask, most corvid; despite their long face, what they do’s more than morbid— Kin kneel by the kiln, a bright crystalline bed ‘round which they reflect the best lights of their dead. She nests; remains rest upon sea moss and salt, sweet scents for the send off—inhale and exalt."
An illustration of Hugi (from Dimension 20: Gladlands), who resembles a post-apocalyptic crow-like person, wearing a plague mask, wings, and a hat, above the rest of the poem: "Then Hugi strikes up some lithe talk, a long match, their nattering sparkles like amethyst ash. These rites may just last—take this small souvenir; what arts we save shine, even when death draws near. But who cares for the Carer Van’s carry-on crow, who tends to their end when it’s their time to go? Migrating, cremating the Gladlands’ dear goners, scavenging loss for what’s left still to honor."
Honoring Hugi, the Carer Van's carry-on crow...
@vicmmic.bsky.social @dimension20.bsky.social
They're pinning their hopes on a slippery puppet, / this plinth is their hill and the ball's rolling up it!
From "Very Important People," two bonneted, bibbed, brobdingnagian babies stand side by side (Brennan Lee Mulligan as Archimedes and Jacob Wysocki as Ollie). The poem reads: "Are you our mum? That tender touch we seek that shan’t shy from a knee’s cadaverous cold. From babas we forbidden nectars eke, but most we crave that rare love ere we’re old… well, Ollie does, while Archimedes opts to try a mien less mean (he can be tough); just fun and tickles ’til someone adopts. (Fraternity for one is not enough.) Call in to bear us cosmonaughty wains and hold us closer than a Halpert zoom— usurpers shall not split us twins in twain, for alone we shan’t survive the timeout room. We scheme and dream for perfect, pretty mothers to raise spit-bubbled, double-troubled brothers."
All rise for my formal sonnet, please. “Archimedes & Ollie” (the poem) is up for adoption.
@vipeopleshow.bsky.social
As Robert Moses weighs his soul, assessing bad intent, / Gunnie knows to schmooze with foes demands the full extent. / He's practiced in the mirror his Wurst proldier tough-guy frown— / but what is worse? what feels more cursed? than balls gone rolling down.
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, Brennan Lee Mulligan exclaims while holding his legs over the DM screen. The poem reads (in a different font): "We wish as we beam bright beneath moonbeams' light, 'Moonar Yulenear to all, and to all a goodnight!'"
If anyone’s wondering why the last slide is metered differently: I couldn’t resist a small “The Night Before Christmas” finale… (7/7)
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, Brennan Lee Mulligan holds his hands up as though summoning winter. The poem reads: "We'll spurn what stars claim we're unchanging with capricious gift-exchanging; let faith furnish us through cold reason, may tides bring tidings of the season."
(6/7)
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, art by Cait May depicts Cassandra and Ankarna holding hands. The poem reads: "(And married mid the standing stones stood rage becalmed and doubt so known. But Fallinel's fresh snowfalls fell to keep that tale too lost to tell.)
(5/7)
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, Lou Wilson lists the kinds of marshmallows served. The poem reads: "Warm efforts of soft furs in snow are fortified with rich cocoa— dulce de leche and strawberry marshmallows melt to make us merry."
(4/7)
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, Ally Beardsley laughs while Brian Murphy mimes trying on bracers. The poem reads: "Kei Lumennura's cantripped lights give glow to festive snowball fights while Secret Sylvans start their gifting and do the work of spirit-lifting."
(3/7)
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, Emily Axford mimes throwing a snowball. The poem reads: "Our Wolfsong howls through wintry air, sweet fahoo forays into prayer, with all the merry we can muster under Galicaea's luster."
(2/7)
From Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year, an image of Emily Axford, Zac Oyama, and Siobhan Thompson. The poem reads: "A winter that could not come sooner by miracle arrives by Moonar— for as the moon greets its new phase, we welcome in these Yulenear days."
A Very Merry Moonar Yulenear to all! Wolfsong and the “dahoo dores” rhythms of the holiday inspired a few further verses of holiday cheer. (1/7)
A framed image of a Dimension 20: The Unsleeping City scene ft. Zac Oyama, Emily Axford, and Lou Wilson with the poetic text: "Classic December 21st As winter days fall down like dominoes, and city streets gleam gold with sun on snows, Kingston Brown awakes at late dawn’s crack— these shortest days give rise to shortest stacks. A classic day, December 21st, to cook up scrambled eggs and grits and wurst. Through solstice cold we hold fast, breakfast right— long-held traditions keep this longest night."
Well, if it's December 21st...
Happy Unsleeping City Breakfast Day!
As winter days fall down like dominoes, / and city streets gleam gold with sun on snows, / Kingston Brown awakes at late dawn's crack— / these shortest days give rise to shortest stacks.
Jeremy Culhane's character, Boris Tarshkokan (top hat, tripartite beard, divorced magician vibes), holding his top hat in his hands and grinning, with the poetic text: "I Wrote This Sonnet Shall I compare thee to the sexy lightning? Thou art more caramba and less ay for I am less without you, though it’s fright’ning to see my bachelor boyhood pass me by. But I will—patriotic—sleep and suck and charm with my divorced magician’s mien. Lightning strikes twice? No, fourteen times lovestruck! I served my heart to crew with sweet baked beans. I’ve kissed and programmed, flirted and subtexted, and I’ve brought thousand guest to bongel feast… But you’re my sun, the one I never nexted— without you is the color I like least. So… cannon, mocktail, rabbit, hookup, you. We’ll consecrate, for US and Lafufu."
Boris Tarshkokan DEFINITELY wrote this sonnet...
@vicmmic.bsky.social
📸: @vipeopleshow.bsky.social
The precise amount of slant rhyme I’ll allow myself today 🫡
Maxwell Gotch is always whinging when surprise wingsuits / swoop in to save fraternal foes, prolonging his pursuits. / Hatwell’s patently hard head had failed… so this is it? / Unless—why yes!—he’s Beardsley blessed!—one wingsuit for a crit.
Through the MechLeod? Why, the windshield's so thick! / Hatwell could headbutt, or Wealwell be sick... / Me? I've my ruses to shorten long shots—/ just lift up your visor real quick for Longspot!
