Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2025 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.
The Deputation of Folly
$12.95, 51 pages
A
collection
of
sonnets
that
explores
the
complexities
of
Folly
and
puts
human
nature
to
the
question.
It
is
a
studied
consideration
of
the
things
we
laugh
about,
an
investigation
of
the
constitution
of
humor,
a
journey
through
the
spiritual
wilds
of
snickering
abandon.
What
value
the
poems
have
as
monuments
to
Folly,
their
failure
or
delight,
depends
on
the
depth
of
your
schadenfreude;
and
however
you
come
to
an
understanding
of
human
nature,
it
is
invariably
true
that it is not possible to be sane when laughing.
From what gulf can we therefore reconcile our Reason with our stupidity? This book is the gulf...
a
See sample poems below…
The Quilting Club of St. Theodina Paragon, Heart of Mercy
Let’s start a quilt for which we can all be proud
after all that nonsense that happened last Tuesday
and really showcase our needle turn appliqué
while using some fun jelly rolls to make a shroud
for Judy, that insufferable, guzzling bitch
before she returns from her trip to Saint-Tropez
and tells us all again the proper way
to be an asshole about every little stitch.
Unfortunately, the shroud was too chubby and too short
so they beat up her fawning friend Brenda for sport,
with her own walker, and then she was smothered.
Judy was simply set on fire with a propane torch
and what was left shoved under Mildred’s porch
which led to the state’s largest one day arrest of grandmothers.
The Coroner in Sunlight
It was a somewhat somber Grand Opening at Headspace,
the new Burger Shop and Thai Chicken Cafe,
because of a massacre earlier in the day
when the now ex-Manager snapped and shot up the place.
“How many times do we have to suffer this National disgrace?!”
cried Ted Lickey, refilling an iced tea and waving his gun.
Though the crowd concurred, it panicked everyone
so they drew their rifles and shot each other in the face
while enjoying the two-dollar Chicken bucket and cornbread,
blowing out the windows and the french fry machine,
a whole clip going through Lickey's balls and spleen,
hitting a table of grandmothers behind him in their heads
who spun firing into the new Manager, Pauline,
who enfiladed a service dog and covey of teens.
Bigfoot Science of St. Paul
In hindsight, we wouldn't have expected to see one in the mall
and I guess he was missing some of the tell-tale Sasquatch signs
though the odor was there, the fartface, the advanced hairline
that started at the back of his neck and ended past his balls
well, yes, Officer, we could've used some more scientific discretion
but when this big dumb cryptid put us in a Belgian Headlock
and started ramming our faces into his dirty Bigfoot cock
after asking a very simple "Are You a Fucking Sasquatch" question
it tells me, Sir, we were very clearly on the right track
and my only regret, beyond the biting & trampling at Shake Shack
that spilled over into the JC Penney and erupted in gunplay
between us and, of course, the fire and the people that died,
was the fact that we weren't able to take the creature outside
but we were afraid he would just jump in his car and drive away!
$3.99
Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2025 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.
$12.95, 51 pages
The Deputation of Folly
A
collection
of
sonnets
that
explores
the
complexities
of
Folly
and
puts
human
nature
to
the
question.
It
is
a
studied
consideration
of
the
things
we
laugh
about,
an
investigation
of
the
constitution
of
humor,
a
journey
through
the
spiritual
wilds
of
snickering
abandon.
What
value
the
poems
have
as
monuments
to
Folly,
their
failure
or
delight,
depends
on
the
depth
of
your
schadenfreude;
and
however
you
come
to
an
understanding
of
human
nature,
it
is
invariably
true
that
it
is
not
possible to be sane when laughing.
From
what
gulf
can
we
therefore
reconcile
our
Reason
with
our
stupidity? This book is the gulf...
a
See sample poems below…
The Quilting Club of St. Theodina Paragon, Heart of Mercy
Let’s start a quilt for which we can all be proud
after all that nonsense that happened last Tuesday
and really showcase our needle turn appliqué
while using some fun jelly rolls to make a shroud
for Judy, that insufferable, guzzling bitch
before she returns from her trip to Saint-Tropez
and tells us all again the proper way
to be an asshole about every little stitch.
Unfortunately, the shroud was too chubby and too short
so they beat up her fawning friend Brenda for sport,
with her own walker, and then she was smothered.
Judy was simply set on fire with a propane torch
and what was left shoved under Mildred’s porch
which led to the state’s largest one day arrest of grandmothers.
The Coroner in Sunlight
It was a somewhat somber Grand Opening at Headspace,
the new Burger Shop and Thai Chicken Cafe,
because of a massacre earlier in the day
when the now ex-Manager snapped and shot up the place.
“How many times do we have to suffer this National disgrace?!”
cried Ted Lickey, refilling an iced tea and waving his gun.
Though the crowd concurred, it panicked everyone
so they drew their rifles and shot each other in the face
while enjoying the two-dollar Chicken bucket and cornbread,
blowing out the windows and the french fry machine,
a whole clip going through Lickey's balls and spleen,
hitting a table of grandmothers behind him in their heads
who spun firing into the new Manager, Pauline,
who enfiladed a service dog and covey of teens.
Bigfoot Science of St. Paul
In hindsight, we wouldn't have expected to see one in the mall
and I guess he was missing some of the tell-tale Sasquatch signs
though the odor was there, the fartface, the advanced hairline
that started at the back of his neck and ended past his balls
well, yes, Officer, we could've used some more scientific discretion
but when this big dumb cryptid put us in a Belgian Headlock
and started ramming our faces into his dirty Bigfoot cock
after asking a very simple "Are You a Fucking Sasquatch" question
it tells me, Sir, we were very clearly on the right track
and my only regret, beyond the biting & trampling at Shake Shack
that spilled over into the JC Penney and erupted in gunplay
between us and, of course, the fire and the people that died,
was the fact that we weren't able to take the creature outside
but we were afraid he would just jump in his car and drive away!
$3.99