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Best Poems Written by M. Teresa Blaylock

Below are the all-time best M. Teresa Blaylock poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

Kiss Me In the Shadows

Keep well away from dark, forbidding dreams --
Instead, stay near the hearth and play your lyre;
Sleep even so will wait on wooden beams,
Seducing you beside your cozy fire.
Meticulous and careful you may be,
Evicting darting shadows with the blaze --
Inside your quiet cottage, patiently,
Night's emissary holds you in her gaze.
The cuckoo calls as midnight church-bells chime;
His warning message echoes from the walls --
Enchanted ears have lost all track of time,
So far from whispered fears as silence falls.
Her chilling hands then rip away your voice,
And images assail your inner eyes --
Denying you the act of conscious choice,
On captive lips she mixes truth and lies.
When sunlight climbs the sky and breaks her spell,
She blows a darkened kiss, and bids farewell.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

Saint Blackheart

Saint Blackheart walks the Autumn streets and smiles with diamond eyes;
   She's well-aware of what you think, but listens to your lies.
Confess your deepest fantasies or never look her way --
   She's free with random kindness, though she won't have much to say.

Saint Blackheart seeks the shadows for the secrets they impart.
   Her life's a patchwork puzzle made with jagged shards of art --
Impressionistic paintings on a canvas dipped in red;
   She dances like a demon for the angels in her head.

Saint Blackheart loves the twilight and the elemental rain;
   She'll stand and watch you suffer, yet she senses all your pain.
A soft, Franciscan echo making up a primal scream
   Can hurtle from her crimson lips and dart from dream to dream.

Saint Blackheart lives in solitude among the ancient trees --
   You'll find her there within the mist, but never on her knees.
Her hands will offer nothing which is not her own to give;
   And though you wish to die in peace, she may just let you live.

Saint Blackheart will not weep with you or wipe away your tears,
   Yet she may catch their crystal hue and treasure it for years.
She'll lay a little flower on a long-forgotten grave --
   A tribute to the tortured soul she never tried to save.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

Sonnet To Thoughtful Women

I did not wish to leave your warm embrace --
   I did not wish for our sweet love to end --
And though your chauvinism's a disgrace,
   I cannot help but see you as a friend.
Perhaps someday a sweeter girl you'll find,
   Who'll do just as you wish for her to do --
A girl who doesn't have a thoughtful mind,
   So she can focus all she is on you.
She'll nod her head, and brainlessly agree
   With anything you say, to make you smile --
She'll cook your meals and serve you honeyed tea,
   And never stop her chatter all the while;
So when your brain cells rot from lack of use,
   You've only you to blame, and no excuse.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

Evening Swim

The night emits a citronella scent
   From tiki torches topped with living flame;
I swim in circles -- softly speak your name --
   While starlight washes over us, content.

Cicadas still sing secrets to the trees
   Like Summer's heartbeat throbbing in the dark --
While on a new adventure we embark,
   Sped onward by a silent, gentle breeze.

Your kisses ripple slowly down my spine --
   Your touch is strong and steady, like the tide --
Warm bodies wrapped in motion dip and glide --
   You turn the turbid sea to fragrant wine.

The rising moon gives witness to my cries;
Tonight I drown within your ocean eyes.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

A Coffee Bar With Orange Paint

A coffee bar with orange paint --
   Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
   A neon sign hangs by the door.

I come here sometimes just to write.
   A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
   I do not see it as a taint.

Tonight an artist's work is hung
   Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
   Allows her dreams to have their say.

I like the color in these walls --
   A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
   A coffee bar with orange paint.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

Pretty Paper Doll

You scowl in anger as I turn to go,
   Your gemstone eyes so full of jealous heat;
You do not understand, and cannot know
   The thoughts that turn my head and guide my feet.
The image which you have is incomplete,
   And so by definition soon will fall.
Your views are suffocating -- obsolete --
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

I will not bend my head or stoop down low
   To make myself a mindless slab of meat,
Or let my soul be shaken to and fro
   To lose itself and crouch beneath your seat.
Would you deny my voice to hear the bleat
   Of brainless chatter, just to watch me crawl
To bed and spread my legs beneath your sheet?
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

An ever-changing wind will come and blow
   Through Winter, Spring, and Summer, in the street;
And restless waters will forever flow,
   Their colors cool, their textures smooth and sweet;
Yet you would change the pulsing, throbbing beat
   Of Life and Love, to answer ev'ry call.
Mistakes made in the past, you would repeat --
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

Your mental boxes, always stacked and neat,
   Have packed my essence up against a wall.
Take care, my love -- this gypsy heart is fleet;
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

My Heart Decided Long Ago

My heart decided long ago
   That life is for adventures, and
That bound'ries flow like rivers flow.

Though people told me what to know,
   I'd weather ev'ry reprimand --
My heart decided long ago.

I fought false rhetoric, and so
   Set out across an unknown land,
Where bound'ries flow like rivers flow.

I'd learn from flower, deer, and crow --
   I'd sail the sea -- walk soft, white sand --
My heart decided long ago.

I felt the winds of wisdom blow --
   The breath of Life, and Her command --
That bound'ries flow like rivers flow;

And on Life's river now I row,
   My destiny within my hand;
My heart decided long ago
   That bound'ries flow like rivers flow.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

In the Stillness

Along a forest path that few can see,
   Just as the sun is setting in the West,
With owls and ancient oaks for company,
   I wander in my solitary quest.
In shadowed dusk the world is at her best --
   When lacy lichen clings to cooling stone --
The feathered robin turns toward her nest,
   And in the stillness I am all alone.

There is within these woods an ancient tree
   Whose roots provide a peaceful place to rest;
Like gentle fingers, they encircle me
   When by my thoughts I am too much oppressed.
Then I am of a sudden joy possessed,
   Which I claim quickly for my very own;
I feel the love of Life within my breast,
   And in the stillness I am all alone.

And in that place, I ponder silently --
   Admire the tiny toadstools neatly dressed
In spots and colors, sitting quietly,
   And cannot help but by them be impressed.
The rights of others they do not contest,
   Nor under worthless burdens grieve or groan;
I understand their tiny lives are blest,
   And in the stillness I am all alone.

So when dark doubts and fears have reached a crest,
   And deep despair has pierced me to the bone,
I find that path and grant my heart's request;
   And in the stillness I am all alone.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

Apollo

I never meant that much to you,
   Though from Olympus' heights you came;
Yet I gave you my mortal love,
   While you played your immortal game.

Although my heart I freely gave,
   I never meant that much to you;
You wooed me with your golden harp
   On fragrant grass 'neath skies of blue --

And when you scaled the heights once more,
   Did you think I would slowly die?
I never meant that much to you --
   So why do you now shake and sigh?

Oh, how the golden god has changed!
   Your sun-kissed hair has lost its hue;
And I have wed a mortal man --
   I never meant that much to you.

Details | M. Teresa Blaylock Poem

The Moth

Through tomes of strange mythology
   Floats music sweetened by the gods;
And secrets wrapped in mystery
   Dance daringly where knowledge nods.

My very soul I'd gladly sell
   (Were there a devil in a hell)
To learn the truths within that tune --
   But tiny wings can't touch the moon.