Tara Teeling Poems
|45.||Grey Smoke Of November||11/13/2008|
|46.||An Open Closet||5/26/2008|
|48.||Kairos On The Deathbed||9/10/2007|
|49.||A Noble Concession||2/13/2007|
|50.||This Lady Of Hand||11/27/2006|
|51.||Muse On A Tightrope||5/1/2006|
|53.||The Fox In The Beaches||3/30/2006|
|54.||Divinity In The Bakery||3/30/2006|
|55.||Eve On A Tabletop||4/5/2006|
|57.||The Truth About Sympathy||4/15/2007|
|58.||A Tulpa Likes The Light||11/22/2007|
|59.||Hoodoo In The Garden||8/8/2007|
|60.||Where I'M From||1/9/2008|
|61.||Answers To His Question||1/6/2008|
|62.||The Recipe For Resurrection||1/2/2007|
|65.||Earthlings In July||7/21/2006|
|66.||A Cold Blow||8/13/2007|
|72.||His Side Of The Bed||6/2/2006|
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 ...
The Fox In The Beaches
Sitting in the chair
with its threadbare bruises,
I am home. The earlier-crimson cushions
look bled dry, hosting the smells
of long-dead decades. With the sudden
gust of breath from a spirited descent,
there is a hint of the crying war bride, or
the scent of the brazen flapper
who teases and tortures