This is one of a long series of poems written as indefinite surrealism. The poems are about one page long and most have been read by the writer during open microphone performances.
Examination reminded the princess that not all spirits arose from the barn or the yard even though the answer had to be wider than a manger or a loft. The piano was obliged to show its teeth, although the costume did not impress others of the public festivities. The instrument grew thoughtful and dwelt upon a cruel lantern glowing like a jack hoisting the prow of the ship to bounce it in the water. The party began to climb into the creatures, making them wild and cheerful. The cats wanted treats that rhymed with bats; on the dock, the crates were filled with fragments of gems for the clock. One of the heroes, after an inquiry, got the answer wrong and set off an alarming bang at just the incorrect moment. This was glowing in the eyes of the pumpkin like a candle. The prints returned from the developer and were mailed to a participant who did not totally braid the diversified facts into a comprehensive outlook. Some of it appeared to be scraps of paper with advertising. The weight of the seeds, carved out of the center, counterbalanced the mass in the hold. None of the travelers were interested in this or worried because their concerns were related, more appropriately, to the edge of the farm pond and the trails leading to there or from the water into the dark shadows cast over the remaining arms of the nebula. Their eloquence brought others into the group, and, really, the herd was not often convulsed by feelings of prejudice. When the performers were decorated, it was like the snakes with their patterned skins, shining. All of the designs were artificial and registered by the institute. It was the charm that impressed the aliens, some of whom had horns like the goats and the cattle. The rusty iron in the lower reaches of the ship reminded them of the deep freeze. Anything might be hidden there; nobody had ever looked. The causes of mercy were based on this fact as, with firmness, the decision was voiced. The lady did all the engineering with a soldering gun and small pieces of wire. This was the reason why the farm animals considered her to be an aristocrat.
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Reviews of "Bouncing The Particles Through Their Seasons"
I found the individual images of each line of this piece to be interesting and the overall piece shines with those little temporary images. It suffers from the lack of an overall theme though. Any individual sentence would be a fine start for a seperate work though. I liked how each sentence was worded Dr. Bob
I prefer surrealism in artwork over surrealism in words. The result of the word painting comes out incomprehensible and unsatisfactory. However, critics of poetry will probably find it to be laudable.
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
Ron