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Tom Twisleton Poems

Tom Twisleton was a prolific poet who wrote in Craven Dialect. You can find a selection of his poems here or buy our Tom Twisleton 100 book inc audio CD here.

Click on the links below where you can read and, in some cases, listen to the poems in Craven Dialect.

‘Bacca Smookin’

  Yan winter’s day, as I walk’d out, I sah a chap, baath strang an’ stout, Come waadin’ through the snah ; He grasp’d a […]

A Prophetic Picture

“ Blest and thrice blest the Roman Who sees Rome’s brightest day. ” Macaulay’s Lays of Ancient Rome. The following poem will have only a […]

Address to Strong Drink

Thou chosen agent of Owd Nick’s ! Thou source of base unmanly tricks ! I’ve just ta’en up my pen To tell thee plainly, to […]

Advice To Young Ladies, given at the close of an address on temperance delivered by the poet

Saa now, ye young women, saa bonny an’ breet, Just tak the advice that I give ye to-neet ; I isn’t ower-burden’d wi’ knowledge myself, […]


Oh ! who is the man who is warst off in life, To be without wit or to hev a cross wife ? Baath of […]

Captain and Mrs H-

  For lang my mind hes hed na rest, For lang I’ve tried an’ done my best To spin a decent yarn : But allus […]

Church Gangin’

Yan Sabbath day, i’ summer time,  When leeaves were green an’ flowers smelt prime,  An’ lile birds raised a din,  I chanced to pass a […]

Composed on both barrels of my gun missing fire at a hare, one wet day, on account of my not using waterproof caps.

Yan day when I was rangin’ t’ land, Wi’ owd “ Black Bess ” cock’d in my hand, Up starts a thumpin’ hare ; Then […]

General Gordon

Let the colours be lowered and the minute guns boom, For sad are the tidings that come from Khartoum ; Let the tears of the […]

Husband and Wife Or, “ Wharivver hev ye been? ”

Wife: Wharivver hev ye been to, ye maupin’ owd tyke?  For ye’ve grown sich a trail-tripe, I nivver sah t’ like ;  An’ here I’ve […]

Johnny Bland, the Blacksmith

A blacksmith strang was Johnny Bland,  He wrought within a smiddy ;  Wi’ his girt hammer in his hand,  He used to bump the stiddy.  […]

Letter to the Poet’s Brother, on extending his leave of absence

  I’ll tell thee, plainly, Maister Frank ! Thou’s playin’ off a tidy prank, An’ dodgin’ us i’ style. When thou up into Howgill went, […]

Lile Bobby

Who is that lile fat dumpy lad, Who just can call his mam an’ dad An’ kicks his legs an’ craws like mad ? Lile […]

Lines composed on seeing a Woman intoxicated in Settle Streets on a Market Day.

Yan day, it was Tuesday, an’ Settle was thrang, For fooaks to an’ fro in the market did gang ; There were warkmen an’ tradesmen, […]

On reading a criticism

The following verses were written on reading a criticism on mine and my brother’s poems, mainly composed of long words and latin quotations, which appeared […]

On shooting two dogs that were worrying sheep on the night of the 3rd January, 1865.

Yan moonleet neet, at t’ edge o’ dark, I stump’d about amang my wark ; I just was crossin’ t’ yard, when – hark ! […]

On the Death of John Griffith Owen

Who was killed by the fall of a Crane on the Settle and Carlisle Railway, February 18th, 1873. No farewells were spoken, no parting words […]

Owd Johnny an’ t’ ghoast

  When t’winter’s sun sunk down at neet,   An stars hed started peepin’; When t’ timid haar wi’ nimmle feet,   Ower hill an’ […]

Song Of The Old Maid

The sun it was sinking, the neet it was fair,  An’ sweet was the breath of the calm summer air ;  The last merry notes […]

T’ Kersmas Party

When cowd December’s sturdy breeze L’ chimney-tops did grummle, Or teearin’ through the leeafless  trees, On lang, dark neets did rummle ;   A lot […]

The Bachelor

Behold him issuin’ fra yon den, In his owd filthy garment ; Despised of women, shunn’d by men, A prey to fleeas and varmint. For […]

The Fair

Yan morn i’ May, when blossoms gay  On ivvry hand were springin’ ;  When t’ cuckoo’s note through t’ air did float,  An’ lile birds […]

The Picnic

The summer sun raase breet an’ fair, An’ softly breeath’d the mornin’ air Out fra the clear south-west. I’ leeafy bowers the young birds sung, […]

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