Tara Teeling Poems
Comments about Tara Teeling
His Side Of The Bed
How strange it is to wake in a foreign land,
To try to spy the sameness here, as it was there.
Suddenly, nothing feels close, nothing in my acquaintance.
I look around and see things that should be familiar to me.
On that side of the bed, is a pillow of cream and eyelet.
Propped up long ago, it sits, without interference,
Plumped and perfect, wrinkle free under the lofty covers.
Recall him lying there, whilst I lay on my side.
Remember now the gentle breathing as the sun woke,
I think of how the rhythm would change during the night.
I used to sleep ...
By gravel’s edge sits
the sleepy farmer. His resin chair
tips lazily, while he hums lightly
with the buzz-flurry of flies. The baskets
belch with greens, reds and orange,
all shiny and begging for a wanton touch.
The Sunday driver, with
a lust for sweetness on his