Best Famous Dunno Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Dunno poems. This is a select list of the best famous Dunno poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Dunno poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of dunno poems.

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• All Famous Dunno Poems

Written by Amy Lowell | The Grocery "Hullo, Alice!" "Hullo, Leon!" "Say, Alice, gi' me a couple O' them two for five cigars, Will yer?" "Where's your nickel?" "My! Ain't you close! Can't trust a feller, can yer." "Trust you! Why What you owe this store Would set you up in business. I can't think why Father 'lows it." "Yer Father's a sight more neighbourly Than you be. That's a fact. Besides, he knows I got a vote." "A vote! Oh, yes, you got a vote! A lot o' good the Senate'll be to Father When all his bank account Has run away in credits. There's your cigars, If you can relish smokin' With all you owe us standin'." "I dunno as that makes 'em taste any diff'rent. You ain't fair to me, Alice, 'deed you ain't. I work when anythin's doin'. I'll get a carpenterin' job next Summer sure. Cleve was tellin' me to-day he'd take me on come Spring." "Come Spring, and this December! I've no patience with you, Leon, Shilly-shallyin' the way you do. Here, lift over them crates o' oranges I wanter fix 'em in the winder." "It riles yer, don't it, me not havin' work. You pepper up about it somethin' good. You pick an' pick, and that don't help a mite. Say, Alice, do come in out o' that winder. Th' oranges c'n wait, An' I don't like talkin' to yer back." "Don't you! Well, you'd better make the best o' what you can git. Maybe you won't have my back to talk to soon. They look good in pyramids with the 'lectric light on 'em, Don't they? Now hand me them bananas An' I'll string 'em right acrost." "What do yer mean 'Bout me not havin' you to talk to? Are yer springin' somethin' on me?" "I don't know 'bout springin' When I'm tellin' you right out. I'm goin' away, that's all." "Where? Why? What yer mean -- goin' away?" "I've took a place Down to Boston, in a candy store For the holidays." "Good Land, Alice, What in the Heavens fer!" "To earn some money, And to git away from here, I guess." "Ain't yer Father got enough? Don't he give yer proper pocket-money?" "He'd have a plenty, if you folks paid him." "He's rich I tell yer. I never figured he'd be close with you." "Oh, he ain't. Not close. That ain't why. But I must git away from here. I must! I must!" "You got a lot o' reason in yer To-night. How long d' you cal'late You'll be gone?" "Maybe for always." "What ails yer, Alice? Talkin' wild like that. Ain't you an' me goin' to be married Some day." "Some day! Some day! I guess the sun'll never rise on some day." "So that's the trouble. Same old story. 'Cause I ain't got the cash to settle right now. You know I love yer, An' I'll marry yer as soon As I c'n raise the money." "You've said that any time these five year, But you don't do nothin'." "Wot could I do? Ther ain't no work here Winters. Not fer a carpenter, ther ain't." "I guess you warn't born a carpenter. Ther's ice-cuttin' a plenty." "I got a dret'ful tender throat; Dr. Smiles he told me I mustn't resk ice-cuttin'." "Why haven't you gone to Boston, And hunted up a job?" "Have yer forgot the time I went expressin' In the American office, down ther?" "And come back two weeks later! No, I ain't." "You didn't want I should git hurted, Did yer? I'm a sight too light fer all that liftin' work. My back was commencin' to strain, as 'twas. Ef I was like yer brother now, I'd ha' be'n down to the city long ago. But I'm too clumsy fer a dancer. I ain't got Arthur's luck." "Do you call it luck to be a disgrace to your folks, And git locked up in jail!" "Oh, come now, Alice, `Disgrace' is a mite strong. Why, the jail was a joke. Art's all right." "All right! All right to dance, and smirk, and lie For a livin', And then in the end Lead a silly girl to give you What warn't hers to give By pretendin' you'd marry her -- And she a pupil." "He'd ha' married her right enough, Her folks was millionaires." "Yes, he'd ha' married her! Thank God, they saved her that." "Art's a fine feller. I wish I had his luck. Swellin' round in Hart, Schaffner & Marx fancy suits, And eatin' in rest'rants. But somebody's got to stick to the old place, Else Foxfield'd have to shut up shop, Hey, Alice?" "You admire him! You admire Arthur! You'd be like him only you can't dance. Oh, Shame! Shame! And I've been like that silly girl. Fooled with your promises, And I give you all I had. I knew it, oh, I knew it, But I wanted to git away 'fore I proved it. You've shamed me through and through. Why couldn't you hold your tongue, And spared me seein' you As you really are." "What the Devil's the row? I only said Art was lucky. What you spitfirin' at me fer? Ferget it, Alice. We've had good times, ain't we? I'll see Cleve 'bout that job agin to-morrer, And we'll be married 'fore hayin' time." "It's like you to remind me o' hayin' time. I've good cause to love it, ain't I? Many's the night I've hid my face in the dark To shut out thinkin'!" "Why, that ain't nothin'. You ain't be'n half so kind to me As lots o' fellers' girls. Gi' me a kiss, Dear, And let's make up." "Make up! You poor fool. Do you suppose I care a ten cent piece For you now. You've killed yourself for me. Done it out o' your own mouth. You've took away my home, I hate the sight o' the place. You're all over it, Every stick an' stone means you, An' I hate 'em all." "Alice, I say, Don't go on like that. I can't marry yer Boardin' in one room, But I'll see Cleve to-morrer, I'll make him ----" "Oh, you fool! You terrible fool!" "Alice, don't go yit, Wait a minit, I'll see Cleve ----" "You terrible fool!" "Alice, don't go. Alice ----" (Door slams)

Written by Katherine Mansfield | Deaf House Agent That deaf old man With his hand to his ear-- His hand to hi head stood out like a shell, Horny and hollow. He said, "I can't hear," He muttered, "Don't shout, I can hear very well!" He mumbled, "I can't catch a word; I can't follow." Then Jack with a voice like a Protestant bell Roared--"Particulars! Farmhouse! At 10 quid a year!" "I dunno wot place you are talking about." Said the deaf old man. Said Jack, "What the Hell!" But the deaf old man took a pin from his desk, picked a piece of wool the size of a hen's egg from his ear, had a good look at it, decided in its favour and re- placed it in the aforementioned organ.

Written by Henry Lawson | Knocked Up I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought, And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out; I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow -- I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now. Oh it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin', in flies an' dust an' heat, Or it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-a-mpin' through mud and slush 'n sleet; It's tramp an' tramp for tucker -- one everlastin' strife, An' wearin' out yer boots an' heart in the wastin' of yer life. They whine o' lost an' wasted lives in idleness and crime -- I've wasted mine for twenty years, and grafted all the time And never drunk the stuff I earned, nor gambled when I shore -- But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more. A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin' day, All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away; There's twenty hungry beggars wild for any job this year, An' fifty might be at the shed while I am lyin' here. The sinews in my legs seem drawn, red-hot -- 'n that's the truth; I seem to weigh a ton, and ache like one tremendous tooth; I'm stung between my shoulder-blades -- my blessed back seems broke; I'm too knocked out to eat a bite -- I'm too knocked up to smoke. The blessed rain is comin' too -- there's oceans in the sky, An' I suppose I must get up and rig the blessed fly; The heat is bad, the water's bad, the flies a crimson curse, The grub is bad, mosquitoes damned -- but rheumatism's worse. I wonder why poor blokes like me will stick so fast ter breath, Though Shakespeare says it is the fear of somethin' after death; But though Eternity be cursed with God's almighty curse -- What ever that same somethin' is I swear it can't be worse. For it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin' thro' hell across the plain, And it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-mpin' thro' slush 'n mud 'n rain -- A livin' worse than any dog -- without a home 'n wife, A-wearin' out yer heart 'n soul in the wastin' of yer life.

Written by D. H. Lawrence | Whether or Not I Dunna thee tell me its his'n, mother, Dunna thee, dunna thee. --Oh ay! he'll be comin' to tell thee his-sèn Wench, wunna he? Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother, He's gone wi that-- --My gel, owt'll do for a man i' the dark, Tha's got it flat. But 'er's old, mother, 'er's twenty year Older nor him-- --Ay, an' yaller as a crowflower, an' yet i' the dark Er'd do for Tim. Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter? It's somebody's lies. --Ax him thy-sèn wench--a widder's lodger; It's no surprise. II A widow of forty-five With a bitter, swarthy skin, To ha' 'ticed a lad o' twenty-five An' 'im to have been took in! A widow of forty-five As has sludged like a horse all her life, Till 'er's tough as whit-leather, to slive Atween a lad an' 'is wife! A widow of forty-five. A tough old otchel wi' long Witch teeth, an' 'er black hawk-eyes as I've Mistrusted all along! An' me as 'as kep my-sen Shut like a daisy bud, Clean an' new an' nice, so's when He wed he'd ha'e summat good! An' 'im as nice an' fresh As any man i' the force, To ha'e gone an' given his white young flesh To a woman that coarse! III You're stout to brave this snow, Miss Stainwright, Are you makin' Brinsley way? --I'm off up th' line to Underwood Wi' a dress as is wanted to-day. Oh are you goin' to Underwood? 'Appen then you've 'eered? --What's that as 'appen I've 'eered-on, Missis, Speak up, you nedna be feared. Why, your young man an' Widow Naylor, Her as he lodges wi', They say he's got her wi' childt; but there, It's nothing to do wi' me. Though if it's true they'll turn him out O' th' p'lice force, without fail; An' if it's not true, I'd back my life They'll listen to _her_ tale. Well, I'm believin' no tale, Missis, I'm seein' for my-sen; An' when I know for sure, Missis, I'll talk _then_. IV Nay robin red-breast, tha nedna Sit noddin' thy head at me; My breast's as red as thine, I reckon, Flayed red, if tha could but see. Nay, you blessed pee-whips, You nedna screet at me! I'm screetin' my-sen, but are-na goin' To let iv'rybody see. Tha _art_ smock-ravelled, bunny, Larropin' neck an' crop I' th' snow: but I's warrant thee, bunny, _I'm_ further ower th' top. V Now sithee theer at th' railroad crossin' Warmin' his-sen at the stool o' fire Under the tank as fills the ingines, If there isn't my dearly-beloved liar! My constable wi' 'is buttoned breast As stout as the truth, my sirs!--An' 'is face As bold as a robin! It's much he cares For this nice old shame and disgrace. Oh but he drops his flag when 'e sees me, Yes, an' 'is face goes white ... oh yes Tha can stare at me wi' thy fierce blue eyes, But tha doesna stare me out, I guess! VI Whativer brings thee out so far In a' this depth o' snow? --I'm takin' 'ome a weddin' dress If tha maun know. Why, is there a weddin' at Underwood, As tha ne'd trudge up here? --It's Widow Naylor's weddin'-dress, An' 'er's wantin it, I hear. _'Er_ doesna want no weddin-dress ... What--but what dost mean? --Doesn't ter know what I mean, Tim?--Yi, Tha must' a' been hard to wean! Tha'rt a good-un at suckin-in yet, Timmy; But tell me, isn't it true As 'er'll be wantin' _my_ weddin' dress In a week or two? Tha's no occasions ter ha'e me on Lizzie--what's done is done! --_Done_, I should think so--Done! But might I ask when tha begun? It's thee as 'as done it as much as me, Lizzie, I tell thee that. --"Me gotten a childt to thy landlady--!" Tha's gotten thy answer pat, As tha allers hast--but let me tell thee Hasna ter sent me whoam, when I Was a'most burstin' mad o' my-sen An' walkin' in agony; After thy kisses, Lizzie, after Tha's lain right up to me Lizzie, an' melted Into me, melted into me, Lizzie, Till I was verily swelted. An' if my landlady seed me like it, An' if 'er clawkin', tiger's eyes Went through me just as the light went out Is it any cause for surprise? No cause for surprise at all, my lad, After lickin' and snuffin' at me, tha could Turn thy mouth on a woman like her-- Did ter find her good? Ay, I did, but afterwards I should like to ha' killed her! --Afterwards!--an' after how long Wor it tha'd liked to 'a killed her? Say no more, Liz, dunna thee, I might lose my-sen. --I'll only say good-bye to thee, Timothy, An' gi'e her thee back again. I'll ta'e thy word 'Good-bye,' Liz, But I shonna marry her, I shonna for nobody.--It is Very nice on you, Sir. The childt maun ta'e its luck, it maun, An' she maun ta'e _her_ luck, For I tell ye I shonna marry her-- What her's got, her took. That's spoken like a man, Timmy, That's spoken like a man ... "He up an' fired off his pistol An' then away he ran." I damn well shanna marry 'er, So chew at it no more, Or I'll chuck the flamin' lot of you-- --You nedn't have swore. VII That's his collar round the candle-stick An' that's the dark blue tie I bought 'im, An' these is the woman's kids he's so fond on, An' 'ere comes the cat that caught 'im. I dunno where his eyes was--a gret Round-shouldered hag! My sirs, to think Of him stoopin' to her! You'd wonder he could Throw hisself in that sink. I expect you know who I am, Mrs Naylor! --Who yer are?--yis, you're Lizzie Stainwright. 'An 'appen you might guess what I've come for? --'Appen I mightn't, 'appen I might. You knowed as I was courtin' Tim Merfin. --Yis, I knowed 'e wor courtin' thee. An' yet you've been carryin' on wi' him. --Ay, an' 'im wi' me. Well, now you've got to pay for it, --An' if I han, what's that to thee? For 'e isn't goin' to marry you. --Is it a toss-up 'twixt thee an' me? It's no toss-up 'twixt thee an' me. --Then what art colleyfoglin' for? I'm not havin' your orts an' slarts. --Which on us said you wor? I want you to know 'e's non _marryin'_ you. --Tha wants 'im thy-sen too bad. Though I'll see as 'e pays you, an' comes to the scratch. --Tha'rt for doin' a lot wi' th' lad. VIII To think I should ha'e to haffle an' caffle Wi' a woman, an' pay 'er a price For lettin' me marry the lad as I thought To marry wi' cabs an' rice. But we'll go unbeknown to the registrar, An' give _'er_ what money there is, For I won't be beholden to such as her For anythink of his. IX Take off thy duty stripes, Tim, An' come wi' me in here, Ta'e off thy p'lice-man's helmet An' look me clear. I wish tha hadna done it, Tim, I do, an' that I do! For whenever I look thee i' th' face, I s'll see Her face too. I wish tha could wesh 'er off'n thee, For I used to think that thy Face was the finest thing that iver Met my eye.... X Twenty pound o' thy own tha hast, and fifty pound ha'e I, Thine shall go to pay the woman, an' wi' my bit we'll buy All as we shall want for furniture when tha leaves this place, An' we'll be married at th' registrar--now lift thy face. Lift thy face an' look at me, man, up an' look at me: Sorry I am for this business, an' sorry if I ha'e driven thee To such a thing: but it's a poor tale, that I'm bound to say, Before I can ta'e thee I've got a widow of forty-five to pay. Dunnat thee think but what I love thee--I love thee well, But 'deed an' I wish as this tale o' thine wor niver my tale to tell; Deed an' I wish as I could stood at the altar wi' thee an' been proud o' thee, That I could ha' been first woman to thee, as thou'rt first man to me. But we maun ma'e the best on't--I'll rear thy childt if 'er'll yield it to me, An' then wi' that twenty pound we gi'e 'er I s'd think 'er wunna be So very much worser off than 'er wor before--An' now look up An' answer me--for I've said my say, an' there's no more sorrow to sup. Yi, tha'rt a man, tha'rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyes As sulky an' ormin' as thine. Hast owt to say otherwise From what I've arranged wi' thee? Eh man, what a stubborn jackass thou art, Kiss me then--there!--ne'er mind if I scraight--I wor fond o' thee, Sweetheart.