Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2024 William Frank | Tuckford Bunny Press | Selden, NY |
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication or website may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Goodreads Giveaway Review
It only took me a couple of poems to feel the flow and pattern of the Fiasco Galante's genius. You truly get a sense of his bond with literature in the beauty of his writing. His poems stretch the mind of the reader; many a time I learned a new word or phrase. His rhyming schemes are clever and fast-paced and definitely humorous. I thoroughly enjoyed "I Would Be Lovely Then a Quick Reply," which I found quite facetious and a nice surprise amidst the rest of the poems. [He] surely has his unique style and is not afraid of showing it off.
The Organ Grinder's JoJo
You say we're employed
but we don't make any money.
In our enterprise of choice
there's nothing noon of funny.
They were sold out of cats?
your crippled Mother says.
Fate made you fat
and I wear a fez.
We hang around the park
in the heat of the day.
You daydream on your box,
I've a chain around my waist.
Is that little monkey tame?
I like rabies.
If you don't want the same
put your money in my jeans
then the tune skips a note
I look you in the eyes
I go for someone's throat...
while you apologize
I stretch out in the sun
and bite the policeman's feet.
We take your cudgelled run
to the end of Mary Street.
To Hell with your shoe.
I eat my grapes and rest.
People are so cruel,
we say in matching vests.
Don't tell me who you love,
that nut-tree is gone.
We've all had something of
Martha "Two Tits" Tomlinson
for time by time the doom
in all the hope we played
for her or just the moon
went a window serenade.
Her light went on then off,
the curtains glad and drawn.
All mysteries are lost,
we're broke again at dawn.
Our hearts are changing place,
the quiet is renewed.
Forgive me, said Faith
and Save me, Solitude.
Fiasco Galante
$14.00, 89 pages
Sample poems follow…
The
Fiasco
Galante
is
a
book
of
poetry
that
fits
neatly
in
its
culture,
an
exploration
of
degree
and
a
celebration
of
the
vivid
festival
of
life.
It
is
color
and
imagination
in
the
ambling
between
high
art
and
low-budget
romp,
joy
and
sadness,
brutality
and
fun,
love
and
distance.
It
is
a
lyrical
book
with
formal
style,
mixing
traditional
music
with
broken
furniture.
However
books
entice
readers
to
take
a
chance
or,
midway
through,
fillip
you
to
keep
us
on
the
nightstand
and
press
on,
I
can
only
humbly
ask
or
offer:
What
other
book
of
poetry
are
you
reading
that
has
Elephants,
Henchmen,
cookies,
hypnotists,
buffi,
stuffed
animals,
curlicues,
lullabies,
love,
reflection
and
chase
that
this
one should not join?
Bunny
The day you can’t be Bunny anymore
Renzo comes at nine to saw your stilts,
her brothers next to kick you out of doors
and stab you in the belly to the hilt.
Like a comet, our chroniclers record
I sang when broke, I put the time on tilt,
you were easy in my arms, I was adored
and I had a little nose made out of felt.
Curlicues Taking Notes
† Ringworm isn’t pretty and bad girls go to jail.
† Gyrovagues were drunkards and roved around Despair.
† Some want their whiskey straight; the tightrope act defer.
† It isn’t proper theorem if I have to punch you in the face.
† The short way round leads to a broken commonplace.
† The animals are lying, see The Fall From Grace.
† Never was a man so going he didn’t tangle up his thread
† or be the Boke of Crafte of Dyinge dancing or in bed
† the klutz has the touch of cold that ferries on the Dead.
† The whip is our instrument, the floret is our band.
† Everywhere in Nature is the flourish of free hand
† and every Great Disaster, love, ends with ampersand.
Parlo Without Leonie
The bridge is down, it rains all day,
the sun must have the same flat tire,
like poets run out of things to say.
The gleam is awful when you’re away.
I miss you like the world’s on fire.
The bridge is down, it rains all day.
The afternoon's in bowtie gray,
how the time is mine entire
like poets run out of things to say.
No matter the parade can play
without notes they’ve no desire.
The bridge is down, it rains all day.
You’re beautiful in every way
beyond dreams, trains and empires
where poets run out of things to say.
This is how our écorché
is with your bumbershoot attired
when the bridge is down and it rains all day
like poets run out of things to say.
Twiddle
1.
Forget Poem and all his little
Love’s promises and crumbs,
you and I are twiddles
of the same Leman’s thumbs.
Though she cuts us down the middle,
no two so one becomes.
2.
While Love’s the truest concept,
without touch, it hardly stands.
Though both the smallest in our beds
and farthest on the fan,
how close, and loving, we have slept
in each other’s hands.
3.
Lady, shuffle me into yours,
I'll twiddle you into mine,
purls that kiss so much more,
crush, and intertwine.
We come together with back and forth
brisk and leonine.
Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2024 William Frank | Tuckford Bunny Press | Selden, NY |
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of
this publication or website may be reproduced, distributed or
transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Fiasco Galante
The Fiasco Galante is a book of poetry that fits neatly in its culture, an exploration of degree and a celebration of the vivid festival of life. It is color and imagination in the ambling between high art and low-budget romp, joy and sadness, brutality and fun, love and distance. It is a lyrical book with formal style, mixing traditional music with broken furniture. However books entice readers to take a chance or, midway through, fillip you to keep us on the nightstand and press on, I can only humbly ask or offer: What other book of poetry are you reading that has Elephants, Henchmen, cookies, hypnotists, buffi, stuffed animals, curlicues, lullabies, love, reflection and chase that this one should not join? Sample poems follow… a Bunny The day you can’t be Bunny anymore Renzo comes at nine to saw your stilts, her brothers next to kick you out of doors and stab you in the belly to the hilt. Like a comet, our chroniclers record I sang when broke, I put the time on tilt, you were easy in my arms, I was adored and I had a little nose made out of felt. Curlicues Taking Notes † Ringworm isn’t pretty and bad girls go to jail. † Gyrovagues were drunkards and roved around Despair. † Some want their whiskey straight; the tightrope act defer. † It isn’t proper theorem if I have to punch you in the face. † The short way round leads to a broken commonplace. † The animals are lying, see The Fall From Grace. † Never was a man so going he didn’t tangle up his thread † or be the Boke of Crafte of Dyinge dancing or in bed † the klutz has the touch of cold that ferries on the Dead. † The whip is our instrument, the floret is our band. † Everywhere in Nature is the flourish of free hand † and every Great Disaster, love, ends with ampersand.
$14.00, 89 pages
