Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2009-2022 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 Fulgent Requiem is a book of poetry that sings with the simple ambition of Life itself, lush and louche with all of its oof. It is at once a lyrical celebration and lament of all that makes us human, where the brightest and the darkest, the violent and the kind, the lovely, the lashing, the tragicomic, in the end and always, defiantly intersect. See sample poems below…

The Fulgent Requiem

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$16.00, 95 pages
The Cancellation of the Plum City Phillumenists' Convention It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world. Some people have to have a really bad day and we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold. Water flooded the venue and I'm told The Director and the food were washed away. It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world. Poor Cedric has a matchsafe made of gold he's waited since September to display but we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold. Win makes Jell-O coffins in a mold when I suggested crafts like macrame. It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world. The umbrella sits in the corner like a scold but it's no good when it's blowing sideways so we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold. Why do we get pneumonia or grow old? Apparently, it's the only way. It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world and we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold.
Doomsday in the Bayard Arboretum Let's spread my blanket beneath this tree to make a checkered bed, the terrible creatures overhead, with cheese for you, cherries for me. Though everywhere's the end of days the fires, the suffering and the fear, I have sandwiches, your favorite beer and, before forever, cold green grapes.
The Moon with the Daffodil Stars Summer is the secret Heaven youth disclosed. The moon with the daffodil stars settles with light and joy like the ketchup spot crescent on lilac-scented clothes of romping girls the chases with the run of laughing boys whose globe requires nothing but kittens in knapsacks, the wings to fly them always who are small as french fries beyond the edge of hearing their parents calling them back where begins the land of phantoms, buttercups and fireflies. Silver is a promise that Gold is somewhere good, the moon will help us find what the sun makes sweet by day, and follows where they run and jump in their favorite wood throwing rocks at the moon as hard as they may to test how strong they are, how dreaming far away. I'm sure he'd catch them were there any hope he could.
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The Night Castle of the Crocodiles I wasn't as tall as the turnstiles but in my pyjamas was taking the tour that only happens midnight to four at the Night Castle of Crocodiles. In the hallway canals on left and right they rolled over and over at their feast of antelopes, zebras, wildebeests, so I held my stuffed animals tight. Normally dreaming at that hour, I thrilled to the monsters, trumpets and towers and was buying some pencils in the gift shop when everything suddenly flashed to a stop with screaming, trampling, the shout of the cops because Miriam got herself devoured.
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Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2009-2022 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.
$16.00, 95 pages
The Fulgent Requiem is a book of poetry that sings with the simple ambition of Life itself, lush and louche with all of its oof. It is at once a lyrical celebration and lament of all that makes us human, where the brightest and the darkest, the violent and the kind, the lovely, the lashing, the tragicomic, in the end and always, defiantly intersect.
The Fulgent Requiem
The Night Castle of the Crocodiles I wasn't as tall as the turnstiles but in my pyjamas was taking the tour that only happens midnight to four at the Night Castle of Crocodiles. In the hallway canals on left and right they rolled over and over at their feast of antelopes, zebras, wildebeests, so I held my stuffed animals tight. Normally dreaming at that hour, I thrilled to the monsters, trumpets and towers and was buying some pencils in the gift shop when everything suddenly flashed to a stop with screaming, trampling, the shout of the cops because Miriam got herself devoured.
The Cancellation of the Plum City Phillumenists' Convention It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world. Some people have to have a really bad day and we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold. Water flooded the venue and I'm told The Director and the food were washed away. It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world. Poor Cedric has a matchsafe made of gold he's waited since September to display but we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold. Win makes Jell-O coffins in a mold when I suggested crafts like macrame. It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world. The umbrella sits in the corner like a scold but it's no good when it's blowing sideways so we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold. Why do we get pneumonia or grow old? Apparently, it's the only way. It has to rain to make the Beauty of the world and we'll have to stay inside or catch a cold.
Doomsday in the Bayard Arboretum Let's spread my blanket beneath this tree to make a checkered bed, the terrible creatures overhead, with cheese for you, cherries for me. Though everywhere's the end of days the fires, the suffering and the fear, I have sandwiches, your favorite beer and, before forever, cold green grapes.
The Moon with the Daffodil Stars Summer is the secret Heaven youth disclosed. The moon with the daffodil stars settles with light and joy like the ketchup spot crescent on lilac-scented clothes of romping girls the chases with the run of laughing boys whose globe requires nothing but kittens in knapsacks, the wings to fly them always who are small as french fries beyond the edge of hearing their parents calling them back where begins the land of phantoms, buttercups and fireflies. Silver is a promise that Gold is somewhere good, the moon will help us find what the sun makes sweet by day, and follows where they run and jump in their favorite wood throwing rocks at the moon as hard as they may to test how strong they are, how dreaming far away. I'm sure he'd catch them were there any hope he could.
Buy Now Buy Now
See sample poems below…