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Poetry || Submissions

Anthony Liccione

Dinner Alas

There is a bird in my grill
There is a bird in my grill-

On my way to the grocery
It was snagged doing sixty,
When its tired wings sank low
Against the wind and drizzle.
Now I can abort my trip
And pry my prey, yet chirps
>From the car's radiator.

There is a bird on my grill,
There is a bird on my grill-

Roasting with seasonings
A dinner to not be passed,
I will feast the barbeque
With a washing of white wine,
Then pick my teeth giddily
>From the bone of its soft rib.

But first,
I will gather these leaves
And pray I find a potato
Leap in the stroke of each rake,
Then my meal may be complete.

On Turning Two

Second birthday
$4.89 for a number 2 candle
three blows out
a whitewash for future Augusts'
birds flying high
to a new dawn, a new day
flame withdrawn--
sticky fingers frosting
all worth the pennies
of 2 seconds,
captured on reel.


Choked With Fascination

Was she waving at me
or the guy some feet away?
She was dazzling as she went on
waving her hand as a white flag
in her ruby two piece.
The trine of her body
bobbing on the zenith lake
submerged in water
as a red-white lure
attracting fish or men
or fishermen.

How far gone was she,
dipping with those
Do Not Swim
Beyond This Point
lines and signs.
I would have felt an ass
had I waved back and smiled,
when it wasn't meant for me.

As I turned toward the sand
and walked away it dawned
to me that I could have her.
Why shall I drown in fear?
All the fishes in the sea
how many have slipped
from my hands-
my feet baring the earth alone.
And if I wave at her,
what the hell…
is it a curse to be friendly.

The courage up-
the fear swallowed
when I turned to finally wave,
she was gone.


Anthony Liccione's poetry has been accepted in Real Eight View, The Surface, WORDs Dance, Wieldy, Liquid Muse, The Sidewalk's End and The Stump. And he has published at Ariga


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