Poems Inspired by Ted Hughes
#TedHughes
Poems inspired by the English poet and children's writer Ted Hughes. Hughes was appointed Poet Laureate in 1984 and held the office until his death. Here you'll find poetry using the style, themes or characters found in poems and writing by Ted Hughes. Along with poems about Hughes himself, including praise, criticism and memorials.
wallyroo92
Poem Published
1st Aug 2020 1:09am
1st Aug 2020 1:09am
But in the Meantime
Time keeps running, counting, thinking
Even though for some the gears have stopped
Remembering moments and yet unfeeling
It just sits there as dust settles around
Outside the window the scene changes
Grass and trees grow, some die and some go
Everything material ages
But time less emotions
Bears no weight
It doesn’t wait for anyone
It keeps going forward, unmoved
Characterized by numbers, faces and pieces
Man tries to measure time
Man tries to quantify his existence
It becomes the greatest...
Even though for some the gears have stopped
Remembering moments and yet unfeeling
It just sits there as dust settles around
Outside the window the scene changes
Grass and trees grow, some die and some go
Everything material ages
But time less emotions
Bears no weight
It doesn’t wait for anyone
It keeps going forward, unmoved
Characterized by numbers, faces and pieces
Man tries to measure time
Man tries to quantify his existence
It becomes the greatest...
#TimeHeals
#aging
#gratitude #TedHughes
#gratitude #TedHughes
535 reads
10 Comments
Strangeways_Rob
Poem Published
29th Jul 2020 10:40pm
29th Jul 2020 10:40pm
'A Woman Unconscious'...Wakes?
White Goddess lines open coffin
With her hair trimmings &
Tarred crow feathers
The silent woman
Smites her womb
Exciting waters to be broken.
In final breath of water
She becomes a lake
Sailed by nightjar holy tremblings.
Until
Ancestral ghosts bequeath
Unto him, the white sheet,
Crisply ironed as bank manager’s shirt:
The burnt fox in his once dream
Shrouds earthen existence
Paints the portal obsidian
Of each poetic homecoming.
Earthed thistle prickles skin
Of rustication...
With her hair trimmings &
Tarred crow feathers
The silent woman
Smites her womb
Exciting waters to be broken.
In final breath of water
She becomes a lake
Sailed by nightjar holy tremblings.
Until
Ancestral ghosts bequeath
Unto him, the white sheet,
Crisply ironed as bank manager’s shirt:
The burnt fox in his once dream
Shrouds earthen existence
Paints the portal obsidian
Of each poetic homecoming.
Earthed thistle prickles skin
Of rustication...
#TedHughes
492 reads
3 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
29th Jul 2020 3:27am
29th Jul 2020 3:27am
Lovesong (Unbridled)
He rode atop that mounted horse
that whinnied along into the night
on and on together, astride
wanting never to stop or tire.
He held the reins and bridle tight
so no one else could know her this way
or steer her into the dark as he would
promises lighting the way.
Her eyes were deep with the Earth's secrets,
those he longed to know but never would.
His skull containing only a ridership
of prominent vision understood.
What lie ahead she would never anticipate,
plodding and dodging her circumstance.
Trust...
that whinnied along into the night
on and on together, astride
wanting never to stop or tire.
He held the reins and bridle tight
so no one else could know her this way
or steer her into the dark as he would
promises lighting the way.
Her eyes were deep with the Earth's secrets,
those he longed to know but never would.
His skull containing only a ridership
of prominent vision understood.
What lie ahead she would never anticipate,
plodding and dodging her circumstance.
Trust...
#love
#horses
#TedHughes
525 reads
8 Comments
Josh
Joshua Bond
Joshua Bond
Poem Published
28th Jul 2020 1:44pm
28th Jul 2020 1:44pm
Gogyoshi Poem, Nr.04 — Cold Wind Blows Hot
A split in the winter curtain
where wind slips in from ill-fitting windows
rustling papers, lifting corners of writing-pads
scribing archetypal messages:
despite your technologies, I am here to stay.
where wind slips in from ill-fitting windows
rustling papers, lifting corners of writing-pads
scribing archetypal messages:
despite your technologies, I am here to stay.
#technology
#nature
#evolution
#philosophical
#TedHughes
627 reads
9 Comments
RobAzza
Poem Published
27th Jul 2020 1:14pm
27th Jul 2020 1:14pm
Cooked Me Well
You cooked me well, good sir,
with fragments of fire born from lust.
Twisted and torpedoed throughout my loins,
the crushing sense of wonder fails to wane
even on the most deserted of nights.
When hollowed sounds of skipping toads
break the silent grip of shuttered night,
and when the gallops cease to kick
at the token-eyed sparrow
twisting about my latest plight,
till then I confess my allegiance
to each brilliant sky, dawn or midnight.
For it is the stars that truly own me.
Not even myself.
with fragments of fire born from lust.
Twisted and torpedoed throughout my loins,
the crushing sense of wonder fails to wane
even on the most deserted of nights.
When hollowed sounds of skipping toads
break the silent grip of shuttered night,
and when the gallops cease to kick
at the token-eyed sparrow
twisting about my latest plight,
till then I confess my allegiance
to each brilliant sky, dawn or midnight.
For it is the stars that truly own me.
Not even myself.
#TedHughes
479 reads
2 Comments
nomoth
Poem Published
19th Jul 2020 10:19pm
19th Jul 2020 10:19pm
cherubic politique
so uncollar my shirt,
up to the moss around the chin,
and uncuff the wrist from its irregular saltwater beat
unbutton the puzzles that our babies
pretended had flown away,
puzzles that choked
the hearth and chamber.
for you were correct about the stars,
they are out of control,
they seethe from fleeing light,
with their songs
of bloody urges, hear-of,
a red-setter and his cherry-heavy
paw prints on a scrubbed...
up to the moss around the chin,
and uncuff the wrist from its irregular saltwater beat
unbutton the puzzles that our babies
pretended had flown away,
puzzles that choked
the hearth and chamber.
for you were correct about the stars,
they are out of control,
they seethe from fleeing light,
with their songs
of bloody urges, hear-of,
a red-setter and his cherry-heavy
paw prints on a scrubbed...
#relationships
#confessional
#TedHughes
676 reads
17 Comments
TCLilly
Tanzen Lilly
Tanzen Lilly
Poem Published
19th Jul 2020 4:54pm
19th Jul 2020 4:54pm
Early Bird
The Earth is soaked over-brim and steaming
See proud red cardinal, it is the first
Early bird, to catch and savor
Terror-limp worm curling under
Slick and silent, lacking cruelty
The sole witness a month-old hare
Bug-eyed the dirty-work is done
And both babe and red king hop-along
To the plucky omnivore
Goes its base-need; survival
The urban-jungle morning has begun
©Tanzen Lilly July 2020
See proud red cardinal, it is the first
Early bird, to catch and savor
Terror-limp worm curling under
Slick and silent, lacking cruelty
The sole witness a month-old hare
Bug-eyed the dirty-work is done
And both babe and red king hop-along
To the plucky omnivore
Goes its base-need; survival
The urban-jungle morning has begun
©Tanzen Lilly July 2020
#birds
#nature
#LifeCycle #TedHughes
#LifeCycle #TedHughes
524 reads
1 Comment
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
18th Jul 2020 3:19am
18th Jul 2020 3:19am
Examination At The Womb Door (That Little Death)
Death scratches at my door,
yet I can not fathom it,
so I am better than it.
I can see it with my crow-eyes
and it is not me, but another
worming in the grass, half-blind,
but not deaf.
It hears me as I call to it: That Death.
I scry a branch in the dim light of
outer space which damply revolves
around me and I grant it no mercy,
that little thing which stalks itself,
and cannot reach me,
cannot tell me what it is
or tries to become
but red spills and a silenced tongue.
It wills itself...
yet I can not fathom it,
so I am better than it.
I can see it with my crow-eyes
and it is not me, but another
worming in the grass, half-blind,
but not deaf.
It hears me as I call to it: That Death.
I scry a branch in the dim light of
outer space which damply revolves
around me and I grant it no mercy,
that little thing which stalks itself,
and cannot reach me,
cannot tell me what it is
or tries to become
but red spills and a silenced tongue.
It wills itself...
#death
#birds
#TedHughes
675 reads
10 Comments
slipalong
Poem Published
15th Jul 2020 9:11am
15th Jul 2020 9:11am
Heatwave
Melting tar its smell
Black puddles ripped up, on car tyres
Ray Bans stripped from of the shelf
Factor 75 in the shade retired
Zinc oxide be our war paint
Fissures fingers anger in that temper
In just shorts under the hydrant,
as it sprayed
Mean yellow replacing earths green placenta
Parch(ments) crisp paper
Wall to wall heat, chase shadows east to west
Mother Earth in hot flush beset
Black puddles ripped up, on car tyres
Ray Bans stripped from of the shelf
Factor 75 in the shade retired
Zinc oxide be our war paint
Fissures fingers anger in that temper
In just shorts under the hydrant,
as it sprayed
Mean yellow replacing earths green placenta
Parch(ments) crisp paper
Wall to wall heat, chase shadows east to west
Mother Earth in hot flush beset
#sun
#TedHughes
421 reads
2 Comments
Calamityofgin
Poem Published
14th Jul 2020 8:32pm
14th Jul 2020 8:32pm
Considering Snowdrops
Snowdrop
Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.
Ted Hughes—
I understand the space in the brass
Airless no contempt, or ability to hold it
Tightly, round spring coiled around nothing
The Yo yo ing purpose of mice, mouse
Pursuits of the steel wool cut, itchy ...
Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.
Ted Hughes—
I understand the space in the brass
Airless no contempt, or ability to hold it
Tightly, round spring coiled around nothing
The Yo yo ing purpose of mice, mouse
Pursuits of the steel wool cut, itchy ...
#TedHughes
755 reads
13 Comments
Ahavati
Tams
Tams
Poem Published
6th Jul 2020 3:58pm
6th Jul 2020 3:58pm
Comfortably Numb
I was a fresh tube of paint, Indian Yellow,
in wait to experience the slick skin
of a gesso'd canvas—or paper'd
Poetry put to pictures, a visual gift
After hand-to-hand combat
With the muse. I had never known
A scent of turpentine permeating
The space of an atelier,
Unlike my friend, whose name
Was that of a man's, Michael,
Yet, she was feminine as they come.
Michael, who had fallen obsessively
Within the composition of one
Who would unwittingly become
My greatest mentor. Me, starry-eyed ...
in wait to experience the slick skin
of a gesso'd canvas—or paper'd
Poetry put to pictures, a visual gift
After hand-to-hand combat
With the muse. I had never known
A scent of turpentine permeating
The space of an atelier,
Unlike my friend, whose name
Was that of a man's, Michael,
Yet, she was feminine as they come.
Michael, who had fallen obsessively
Within the composition of one
Who would unwittingly become
My greatest mentor. Me, starry-eyed ...
#TedHughes
#secrets
#philosophical
849 reads
24 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
28th Apr 2017 6:30pm
28th Apr 2017 6:30pm
Wild Thing: A Poem
The wild thing becomes a poem;
How it crawls on its white belly
To scrape the grass.
Its jaws are the insight,
Its paws the indifference,
Its nails the drudging instruments.
It knows it must struggle to live
In such ignorance as this wilderness.
How its death would be so
Forgotten so it must
Fight to stay remembered.
How it clambers up the slippery
Side of humanities cliff in storms
Of humility and mendacity.
How it shudders in a morning chill
Of those who would read it.
How it would fill them with this void; ...
How it crawls on its white belly
To scrape the grass.
Its jaws are the insight,
Its paws the indifference,
Its nails the drudging instruments.
It knows it must struggle to live
In such ignorance as this wilderness.
How its death would be so
Forgotten so it must
Fight to stay remembered.
How it clambers up the slippery
Side of humanities cliff in storms
Of humility and mendacity.
How it shudders in a morning chill
Of those who would read it.
How it would fill them with this void; ...
#SylviaPlath
#WritingPoetry
#TedHughes
727 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems Inspired by Ted Hughes
Page:
