Hear all, see all, say nowt, tak' all, keep all, gie nowt, and if tha ever does owt for nowt do it for thysen.
Related quotes
Mr. Swales: It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel, that’s what it be and nowt else. These bans an’ wafts an’ boh-ghosts an’ barguests an’ bogles an’ all anent them is only fit to set bairns an’ dizzy women a’belderin. They be nowt but airblebs!
line from Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Too Many People
(ransford)
Theres a story that I read about in books
About the bad times that people had
Thats how he planned it
You cant do nowt about it
Too many people
The black plague came along and wiped out quite a few
The rats came with the graves, thats how we knew
Thats how he planned it
You cant do nowt about it
Too many people
This aint no story
No fairy tale
These things have happened once before
Ask yourself the question
When will it end
There aint no foolin death
So you just gotta sit and wait
Break
Too many people
Too many people
This aint no story
No fairy tale
These things have happened once before
Ask yourself the question
When will it end
There aint no foolin death
So you just gotta sit and wait
A million people died
In great wars, that we know
They sacrificed their lives
Just goes to show
Thats how he planned it
You cant do nowt about it
Too many people (theres too many people)
Too many people
Too many people
Too many people oh yeah
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Atoms Tale Is Epic
An Atoms Tale Is Epic
If I die before tomorrow
Though the sun won't shine for me
Take pleasure in it's warming glow
There's a future there to see
No life will last forever
The sun will one day fail
But not before we've all passed on
So who will hear the tale
A tree falls in a forest
A whale dies in the sea
What happens to the birds nest
Do the krill sigh with relief
For all things have their moments
And moments are just that
Fleeting blinks of birds eyes
While they are swallowing a gnat
The movement of those atoms
That constitute our food
May see them come full circle
How oft have they been chewed
Eternity is far too short
To learn all that is about
Everything this world has
Is really nowt but nowt
In pondering the puzzles
That plague us one and all
Dont succumb to sorrow
When you see the last leaf fall
For somewhere in the realms of space
In one parallel or two
Will be another one of us
Who holds a similar view
All the atoms that we find here
Have been around so long
Their airmiles are quite staggering
But their engines still on song
For visions of perpetual motion
That man has sought for centuries
Can never match these tiny dots that
Have whizzed around with endless ease
(c) Rhumour
December 4th 2008
Telling the entire world and his dog how good a manager I was. I knew I was the best but I should have said nowt and kept the pressure off 'cos they'd have worked it out for themselves.
quote by Brian Clough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be God - Be Silent
Fear the spoken silence
For you know nowt
Why or where the sentiment
or if indeed, its contented silence.
020108
poem by Sylvi Sylva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elegy To Lost Childhood
the little things inside our heads
all seemed as real as rain,
knew nowt about taxation, mortgages or pain,
then they came and scooped them out.
monsters! from above
and fantasy was no longer truth
and we grew facial fuzz.
poem by Frances May
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Burghers of Calais
It were after the Battle of Crecy-
The foe all lay dead on the ground-
And King Edward went out with his soldiers
To clean up the places around.
The first place they came to were Calais,
Where t' burghers all stood in a row,
And when Edward told them to surrender
They told Edward where he could go.
Said he, " I'll beleaguer this city,
I'll teach them to flout their new King -
Then he told all his lads to get camp-stools
And sit round the place in a ring.
Now the burghers knew nowt about Crecy-
They laughed when they saw Edward's plan-
And thinking their side were still winning,
They shrugged and said- " San fairy Ann."
But they found at the end of a fortnight
That things wasn't looking so nice,
With nowt going out but the pigeons,
And nowt coming in but the mice.
For the soldiers sat round on their camp-stools,
And never a foot did they stir,
But passed their time doing their knitting,
And crosswords, and things like that there.
The burghers began to get desperate
Wi' t' food supply sinking so low,
For they'd nowt left but dry bread and water,
Or what they called in French "pang" and "oh"
They stuck it all autumn and winter,
But when at last spring came around
They was bothered, bewitched and beleaguered,
And cods' heads was tenpence a pound.
So they hung a white flag on the ramparts
To show they was sick of this 'ere-
And the soldiers, who'd finished their knitting,
All stood up and gave them a cheer.
When King Edward heard they had surrendered
He said to them, in their own tongue,
"You've kept me here all football season,
And twelve of you's got to be hung."
Then up stood the Lord Mayor of Calais,
"I'll make one" he gallantly cried-
Then he called to his friends on the Council
To make up the rest of the side.
When the townspeople heard of the hanging
They rushed in a crowd through the gate-
They was all weeping tears of compassion,
And hoping they wasn't too late.
With ropes round their necks the twelve heroes
Stood proudly awaiting their doom,
Till the hangman at last crooked his finger
And coaxingly said to them-" Come.
At that moment good Queen Phillippa
Ran out of her bower and said-
Oh, do have some mercy, my husband;
Oh don't be so spiteful, dear Ted."
Then down on her knee-joints before them
She flopped, and in accents that rang,
Said, "Please, Edward, just to oblige me,
You can't let these poor burghers hang.
The King was so touched with her pleading,
He lifted his wife by the hand
And he gave her all twelve as a keepsake
And peace once again reigned in the land.
poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Any Of The Above
funny how we are each
ghosts of the future,
our histories
before us.
Curious, no? , how we are
all
the spawn of
lust,
one way
or another.
Strange how some people
have all they do not
need,
while others have all
of nowt much.
Sad how none of
any
of the
above
means something,
in the final,
futile
Reckoning.
It is funny, eh?
Copyright Garry Stanton
2008
poem by Garry Stanton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Northern Farmer: New Style
Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?
Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saäy.
Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an ass for thy paaïns:
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braaïns.
Woä--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse--
Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eäther a man or a mouse?
Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to weeäk.
Proputty, proputty--woä then, woä--let ma 'ear mysén speäk.
Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as been a'talkin' o' thee;
Thou's beän talkin' to muther, an' she beän a tellin' it me.
Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass--
Noä--thou 'll marry for luvv--an' we boäth of us thinks tha an ass.
Seeä'd her todaäy goä by--Saäint's-daäy--they was ringing the bells.
She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' soä is scoors o' gells,
Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.
Do'ant be stunt; taäke time. I knaws what maäkes tha sa mad.
Warn't I craäzed fur the lasses mysén when I wur a lad?
But I knaw'd a Quaäker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
"Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!"
An' I went wheer munny war; an' thy muther coom to 'and,
Wi' lots o' munny laaïd by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maäybe she warn't a beauty--I niver giv it a thowt--
But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?
Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weänt 'a nowt when 'e 's deäd,
Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her breäd.
Why? for 'e 's nobbut a curate, an' weänt niver get hissén clear,
An' 'e maäde the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shere.
An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt,
Stook to his taäil thy did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' noän to lend 'im a shuvv,
Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married for luvv.
Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
Maäkin' 'em goä togither, as they've good right to do.
Couldn I luvv thy muther by cause 'o 'er munny laaïd by?
Naäy--fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reäson why.
Ay, an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,
Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.
Woä then, proputty, wiltha?--an ass as near as mays nowt--
Woä then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.
Breäk me a bit o' the esh for his 'eäd, lad, out o' the fence!
Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence?
Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
If it isn't the saäme oop yonder, fur them as 'as it 's the best.
Tis'n them as 'as munny as breaks into 'ouses an' steäls,
Them as 'as coats to their backs an' taäkes their regular meäls,
Noä, but it 's them as niver knaws wheer a meäl's to be 'ad.
Taäke my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.
Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a beän a laäzy lot,
Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd issén dead, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.
Looök thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!
Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
An' I 'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou 'll live to see;
And if thou marries a good un I 'll leäve the land to thee.
Thim's my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick;
But if thou marries a bad un, I 'll leäve the land to Dick.--
Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im saäy--
Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter awaäy.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New Year Sonnet
Each year I fear a little less than last
as time erodes the terrors I have known.
No longer doomed to deem the die is cast,
though 'change for change's sake' is overblown.
I know I need a catalyst, ad lib
to spur the odd excursion from the droll
I know the pen is nowt without the nib
I know the ink inside me is the goal.
I seek not to discover what is new
when what is old has yet to be explained.
I'll dig down deep and ask, 'What can I do
to share the knowledge I've already gained? '
In order to bequeath our wisdom's wealth...
This year I'll start by honouring myself.
poem by Hola Mentirosa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A New Imagine (21st Century)
Imagine there’s no Internet
It’s alright, please don't cry
No comments for us
It’s all Pie in the sky
Imagine all the surfers
Nowt to do all day
Imagine no computers
It’s not easy for you
No Microsoft, or Windows
No Googling too
Imagine all the bloggers
Having inner peace
You might think I’m a nutter
But wait until I’m all done
You could enjoy all of this
And maybe have lots more fun
Imagine no more Tesco’s
No food out of a can
No shopping centre’s either
All living off the land
Imagine all the bloggers
Farming for their food
You might think I’m a nutter
Now that I’m nearly all done
I hope you have enjoyed this
And we can all live as one
poem by Gordon David
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For as long as i remember,
For as long as i remember,
Looking out my windows,
Always trying to find the sun, knowing its somewhere around
Clouds are forming confusion,
Rain, snow and hail blow
My windows strewn and blurred and mystery hits the ground
As i remember i cant help but wonder
When will it ever stop
Stop the pouring down
And i remember the thump of thunder
It pushed me on my heels
Feeling like im a drown
But still i wonder
And i remember
Asking who’ll stop the rain
And i remember
And i still wonder
Why it wont nowt but rain
poem by Daniel Richards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Owt Fer Nowt
‘No subscription fee
No fines for late returns
No charges at the library’
Whoopee! It’s free!
A man giving away
A very old car
Put a sign outside his house
Whoopee! It’s free!
And nobody came
It was too cheap
Too cheap by far
So he upped the stakes
Fifty pounds said the bright new sign
And before he turned his back
Somebody had stolen the very old car
The car priced at fifty quid
So the moral is:
‘Not even a thief likes owt fer nowt
©2009
James Hart
poem by James Hart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cloud's Life
Meandering on – as would a cloud –
I billowed bored, with nowt to do...
No, wait!
At least I tinkle on the crowd, and
On occasion, soak ‘em through!
You should see them bloody run
Without a brolly – oh the fun!
And when it’s cold, I dropp the hail,
Creating havoc – ne’er to fail!
I dump my snow a metre deep to
Trap ‘em all – I’m such a creep!
You know,
It ain’t so bad just being a cloud –
I’m really proud!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Life life life life life life life life
Life life life life life life life life
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Calf
To the Rev. James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. "And ye shall go forth, and grow up, as Calves of the stall."
Right, sir! your text I'll prove it true,
Tho' heretics may laugh;
For instance, there's yourself just now,
God knows, an unco calf.
And should some patron be so kind,
As bless you wi' a kirk,
I doubt na, sir but then we'll find,
Ye're still as great a stirk.
But, if the lover's raptur'd hour,
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power,
You e'er should be a stot!
Tho' when some kind connubial dear
Your but-and-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
And, in your lug, most reverend James,
To hear you roar and rowt,
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims
To rank amang the nowt.
And when ye're number'd wi' the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,
With justice they may mark your head-
"Here lies a famous bullock!"
poem by Robert Burns (1786)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Northern Farmer: Old Style
Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere aloän?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abeän an' agoän;
Says that I moänt 'a naw moor aäle; but I beänt a fool;
Git ma my aäle, fur I beänt a-gawin' to breäk my rule.
Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a says what 's nawways true;
Naw soort o' koind o' use to saäy the things that a do.
I 've 'ed my point o' aäle ivry noight sin' I beän 'ere.
An' I 've 'ed my quart ivry market-noight for foorty year.
Parson 's a beän loikewoise, an' a sittin' ere o' my bed.
"The amoighty 's a taäkin o' you to 'isén, my friend," a said,
An' a towd ma my sins, an' s toithe were due, an' I gied it in hond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.
Larn'd a ma' beä. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn.
But a cast oop, thot a did, 'bout Bessy Marris's barne.
Thaw a knaws I hallus voäted wi' Squoire an' choorch an' staäte,
An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raäte.
An' I hallus coom'd to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wur deäd,
An' 'eard 'um a bummin' awaäy loike a buzzard-clock ower me 'eäd,
An' I niver knaw'd whot a meän'd but a thowt ä 'ad summut to saäy.
An' I thowt a said what a owt to 'a said, an' I coom'd awaäy.
Bessy Marris's barne! tha knaws she laäid it to meä.
Mowt a beän, mayhap, for she wur a bad un, sheä.
'Siver, I kep 'um, I kep 'um, my lass, tha mun understond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.
But Parson a cooms an' a goäs, an' a says it easy an' freeä:
"The amoighty 's taäkin o' you to 'issén, my friend," says 'eä.
I weänt saäy men be loiars, thaw summun said it in 'aäste;
But 'e reäds wonn sarmin a weeäk, an' I 'a stubb'd Thurnaby waäste.
D' ya moind the waäste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then;
Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eärd 'um mysén;
Moäst loike a butter-bump, fur I 'eärd 'um about an' about,
But I stubb'd 'um oop wi' the lot, an' raäved an' rembled 'um out.
Keäper's it wur; fo' they fun 'um theer a-laäid of is' faäce
Down i' the woild 'enemies afoor I coom'd to the plaäce.
Noäks or Thimbleby--toäner 'ed shot 'um as dead as a naäil.
Noäks wur 'ang'd for it opp at 'soize--but git ma my aäle.
Dubbut looök at the waäaste; theer warn't not feeäd for a cow;
Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' looök at it now--
Warn't worth nowt a haäcre, an' now theer 's lots o' feeäd,
Fourscoor yows upon it, an' some on it down i' seeäd.
Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I meän'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall,
Done it ta-year I meän'd, an' runn'd plow thruff it an' all,
If godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let ma aloän,--
Meä, wi haäte hoonderd haäcre o' Squoire's, an' lond o' my oän.
Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taäkin' o' meä?
I beänt wonn as saws 'ere a beän an yonder a peä;
An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all--a' dear, a' dear!
And I 'a managed for Squoire coom Michaelmas thutty year.
A mowt 'a taäen owd Joänes, as 'ant not a 'aäpoth o' sense,
Or a mowt a' taäen young Robins--a niver mended a fence:
But godamoighty a moost taäke meä an' taäke ma now,
Wi' aäf the cows to cauve an' Thurnaby hoälms to plow!
Looök 'ow quoloty smoiles when they seeäs ma a passin' boy,
Says to thessén, naw doubt, "What a man a beä sewer-loy!"
Fur they knaws what I beän to Squoire sin' fust a coom'd to the 'All;
I done moy duty by Squoire an' I done moy duty boy hall.
Squoire 's i' Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite,
For whoa 's to howd the lond ater meä that muddles ma quoit;
Sartin-sewer I beä, thot a weänt niver give it to Joänes,
Naw, nor a moänt to Robins--a niver rembles the stoäns.
But summun 'ull come ater meä mayhap wi' 'is kittle o' steäm
Huzzin' an' maazin' the blessed feälds wi' the Divil's oän teäm.
Sin' I mun doy I mun doy, thaw loife they says is sweet,
But sin' I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abeär to see it.
What atta stannin' theer fur, an' doesn bring me the aäle?
Doctor 's a 'toättler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taäle;
I weänt breäk rules fur Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a floy;
Git ma my aäle, I tell tha, an' if I mun doy I mun doy.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sam Goes To It
Sam Small had retired from the Army,
In the old Duke of Wellington's time,
So when present unpleasantness started,
He were what you might call... past his prime.
He'd lived for some years in retirement,
And knew nowt of war, if you please,
Till they blasted and bombed his allotment,
And shelled the best part of his peas.
'T were as if bugles called Sam to duty,
For his musket he started to search,
He found it at last in the Hen house,
Buff Orpingtons had it for perch.
Straight off to the Fusilliers' depot,
He went to rejoin his old troop...
Where he found as they couldn't recruit Him,
Until his age group was called up.
Now Sam wasn't getting no younger,
Past the three score and ten years was he,
And he reckoned by time they reached his age group,
He'd be very near ten score and three.
So he took up the matter with Churchill,
Who said, "I don't know what to do,
Never was there a time when so many,
Came asking so much from so few."
"I don't want no favours" Sam answered,
"Don't think as I'm one of that mob,
All I'm asking is give me the tools, lad,
And let me help finish the job."
"I'll fit you in somewhere," said Winnie,
"Old soldiers we must not discard."
Then seeing he'd got his own musket,
He sent him to join the Home Guard.
They gave Sam a coat with no stripes on,
In spite of the service he'd seen,
Which considering he'd been a King's sergeant,
Kind of rankled... you know what I mean.
He said "I come back to the Army,
Expecting my country's thanks,
And the first thing I find when I get here,
Is that I've been reduced to the ranks.
He found all the lads sympathetic,
They agreed that 'twere a disgrace,
Except one old chap in the corner,
With a nutcracker kind of a face.
Said the old fella, "Who do you think you are?
The last to appear on the scene,
And you start off by wanting promotion,
Last come, last served... see what I mean?"
Said Sam, "Wasn't I at Corunna,
And when company commander got shot,
Didn't I lead battalion to victory?"
Said the old fella, "No... you did not."
"I didn't?" said Sam quite indignent,
"Why, in every fight Wellington fought,
Wasn't I at his right hand to guard him?"
Said old chap, "You were nowt of the sort."
"What do you know of Duke and his battles?"
Said Sam, with a whithering look,
Said the old man, "I ought to know something,
Between you and me... I'm the Duke."
And if you should look in any evening,
You'll find them both in the canteen,
Ex Commander-in-Chief and ex Sergeant,
Both just Home Guards... you know what I mean?
poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Turns
I thought it made me look more 'working class'
(as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!)
I did a turn in it before the glass.
My mother said: It suits you, your dad's cap.
(She preferred me to wear suits and part my hair:
You're every bit as good as that lot are!)
All the pension queue came out to stare.
Dad was sprawled beside the postbox (still VR) ,
his cap turned inside up beside his head,
smudged H A H in purple Indian ink
and Brylcreem slicks displayed so folks migh think
he wanted charity for dropping dead.
He never begged. For nowt! Death's reticence
crowns his life, and me, I'm opening my trap
to busk the class that broke him for the pence
that splash like brackish tears into our cap.
poem by Tony Harrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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