Poems About Ted Hughes Seeking Friendly Advice

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...

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...

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; ...