Ted Hughes

(1930 - 1998 / West Yorkshire / England)

Comments about Ted Hughes

  • ray_ping_kids69 (9/18/2018 3:57:00 PM)

    i love the poem, it has really inspired me to be a gay boi

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • ISwallowCum2 (6/2/2018 3:31:00 PM)

    And cuz The ting goes skrrrahh (ah)
    Pap, pap, ka-ka-ka (ka)
    Skidiki-pap-pap (pap)
    And a pu-pu-pudrrrr-boom (boom)
    Skya (ah)
    Du-du-ku-ku-dun-dun (dun)
    Poom, poom

  • ISwallowCum (6/2/2018 3:26:00 PM)

    I really like this poem cuz why not, and because 2+2=4-1 that's 3 Quick MATHSSSS!
    My life sucks help me plz

  • Mexicandruglord (5/22/2018 4:16:00 PM)

    Yuh yuh Gucci gang Gucci gang

  • megan betts (4/30/2018 5:22:00 AM)

    I love George andrews

  • megan (4/30/2018 5:17:00 AM)

    I love this

    [


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    '[; lflpfpkpdkffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

  • gayboi123 (4/30/2018 5:16:00 AM)

    this sucks my big balls

  • Anonymous (4/21/2018 2:10:00 AM)

    Its not really good

  • lloolllljjjuu (4/6/2018 5:38:00 AM)

    cool stuff man i really liked it thanks

  • vinay kumar (3/28/2018 1:44:00 AM)

    very nice the poem of hawk roosting

Best Poem of Ted Hughes

Lovesong

He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing ...

Read the full of Lovesong

Daffodils

Remember how we picked the daffodils?
Nobody else remembers, but I remember.
Your daughter came with her armfuls, eager and happy,
Helping the harvest. She has forgotten.
She cannot even remember you. And we sold them.
It sounds like sacrilege, but we sold them.
Were we so poor? Old Stoneman, the grocer,
Boss-eyed, his blood-pressure purpling to beetroot
(It was his last chance,

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