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Best Poems Written by Diana Thoresen

Below are the all-time best Diana Thoresen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Rainforest

If God was a hideous orchid
The rainforest would be his shrine
A glittering mechanical green capsule
Of spirals, patterns, sets of organizing energies
A thousand focused sunlight lasers
That lock the souls into cause and effect
Nature is full of patterns
Nature is Satan's church
Once a victim, always a victim?
The music of the spheres
Condemns us thus
How many times does a tree branch?
There is a respite from the Terror
In the simple physics of water
River systems and Gondwanan trees
Fusion and fission
Isis and Nephthys
Our scarlet wounds are etched in spirals
In the Emerald Dreaming of spirals
We are airborne, Osirified
Crowned as co-creators
Of All That Is

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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Tiepolo Pink

Silvery greyhound clouds are melting into delicate splashes of Tiepolo pink

Before the cobalt blue sky plunges into the stormy sea

The earth replies with a monotonous buzzing of crickets

As if a thousand interstellar Taiko drums salute the twilight with a battle cry

And Ariel speaks:

"Have you offered a fiery agate to the spirit of my lizards?''

"Have you put a blue gemstone in a pond in honor of my peacocks?''

"Or left a circle of thirteen black shells by the ocean shore?''

Restless pale horses seem moon-lit from within across the field tonight

And Ariel's sprites burst out laughing in female voices by my river

As my thoughts become confused by invisible lyres in the wind

A painfully familiar orchestra from an ancient star

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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The Flight of White Cockatoos

It's the strange well oiled machinery of a family picnic that seems so arcane to me,

The regal viscosity of a guacamole concoction, the cleverness of cheeses laid out on a turquoise piece of cloth under a tree,

The rich palette of bright pink watermelon pieces, so lunar, motherly and Goddessy.

One must be friendly to the ladies; one must speak little to their men.

I see a belly swelling: another infant has been cooked. The ones ex utero will be in bed by 8. There is a stupid movie to watch,

There is the laundry, the never ending laundry. There is the newly invented punishment of office toil for both Adam and Eve.

I think God is the ultimate abortionist, and I am his Lilith of dead blood clots and white-coated torture.

Li-li-li-tu, listen to the terrifying sound of the screeching owl in the jungle. And each holy thing is a thing of terror.

It was by that chilly dark water hole when I saw white cockatoos soar over our misty fairy land hills,

The moon is full tonight - her dead, pale, sterile light consecrates the Coral Sea,

And the black heart of Lilith, the Creatrix, becomes golden star dust under a Gothic canopy of tropical fig trees.

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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Saturn's Tears

''Life is rock rearranging itself.''

Antiseptic, sterile
Bone clinic whiteness
Of the surf
Sea shells
Paper thin or lavender skeletal
The frightful radiolarian symmetry
Of the great ocean death factory
Slowly slowly
Calcium is returning to crystal
And the crystal of Atlantean bones
Is a pale pink sea shell by the shore
Molten rock is filled with corpses
Cities vanished
Our bones are still Atlantean
Neptune's commandments
Still being sinned against
Our bones are honeycomb tombs
Vaults of ghostly imaginings
Now crimson, now white

Ever Christ-like
The coral bleeds into the blue

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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The Lion's Heart

The Southern Cross has
exorcised all princely
sanitised shrines to mass
consumption oblivion
has crawled back
into the Atlantic
English bakeries are spinning
and weaving the heart
of the hearth so tirelessly
The joyous magnificence
of humble steak and ale pies
so working class and staid
Does St George watch
over the brown gravy?
Does St Brigid bless
the flakey warm crust?
The heart of the hearth
Verse forged in the stove
And the palm trees
are gently swaying
in the breeze to the
invisible blues rhythm
Bakeries and palm trees,
daisies and dandelions
are sunbursts from
the Lion's Heart
The heart of the hearth
Invisible threads
The Star Goddess radiates
like brilliant ideas
or spokes of a photonic

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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Water Trance

"Silence is the general consecration of the space.'' (Herman Melville)

Every river whispers the secrets of the land

Tragedies, future-past

Set has scattered to the Nubian winds

Undeciphered hieroglyphs of the Fates

The sacred scrolls of destinies, future-past

Entering the silence of the space

Broken filaments of the Web

The Sun doesn't shine at midnight 

And Helios is a broken marble faun

Whom does the Grail serve?

The stillness of the river is so shrill

Power of the spirits

Power of the crocodile

Power of the immortal frangipani flower

Power of the iridescent dragonfly

Rivers must become Edenic again

The holy places of the tabernacles 

Of the most High

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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Venus Rising

The sunset has shed its sapphires
over the parking lot, drinks after a movie.
It's a nice place. Civilization flies a flag
of complacence and neon lights.
Only a bright star rises over the dark hills.
You must feed yourself to the moon wolves
hiding in the ancient hills.
Wild bulls and storm terrors live there.

You must become skeletal. Dead but ever living.

And there is a golden lynx guarding a bow
you aim at the heart of the Milky Way

in those dark hills.

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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"I want to die."

"Just wait till the pills kick in. I'll make you a cup of coffee. I'll take you to the beach."

A wave of drowsy non-being. A chemical gunshot of mercy, inaudible, invisible. You ease into a gentle craddle with black feathers.

Forgetfulness and remembrance all neatly wrapped up as a shiny red Christmas gift.

The sea, the sea, the sea. Alexandria. The dreamer in you has forgotten that world, SPQR, another me.

My death.

I found death in a city by the glittering blue sea. And you found me.

So the black raven followed us underneath the Golden Gate Bridge in another century.

Death is in a bottle of my pills. Death grimaces through a glass of cold rice milk.

Death falls out of your phone, your jacket, your Screen Actors Guild card.

You wanted to sprinkle Hollywood fairy dust over a blood stained prison room. The black raven smirked.

You still like your weapons. A true Roman officer would be useless without Ruger and Smith & Wesson pistols. Death still dances amidst iron and steel.

The black raven ate your Browning rifles and laughed, satisfied with himself.

But blue has always been your favorite color. Neither Praetorian black nor Martial red, but the color of a clear sky and calm sea.

Or perhaps it was wing-footed Eos who -- so frivolously -- bestowed so many rosy kisses on the raven, her light
turned his murderous blackness into the dazzling deep blue.

Just for a fleeting moment. An echo.

And the blue-robed raven whispered to you: ''Give her a dragonfly pendant with a piece of turquoise for her birthday.''

''A blue jewel was all she ever had for courage in a straightjacket of St Catherine's rich red robes inside an executionary golden halo."

You took me to the sea.

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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Sea Turtles and Death

I imagine death should be like
A gentle Great Barrier Reef sea turtle
Diving into azure clear water
Then islands of souls
Of bleached white coral
Then an awful, awful descent down
The bottom of the sea
Towards the blue coral forest
Now a big shiny black fish
Is wearing your face too
Your antiquarian New Guinea dance mask
Now you are a wrathful deity in flames
Guarding a white lotus

Maybe a demon
Maybe a gate
Chapter and verse thrown in

And I am still sailing, sailing
Towards green islands
Sea turtles and death

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019

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The Villa of the Mysteries

“At the end of the ritual/Up comes a goblin” (Ted Hughes)
The blood moon is your ally tonight
It still singes the red strands of my hair
Brother-lover, am I your new baby 
Born in blood?
I feel antediluvian monsters 
Laugh at the plankton of my cells

I still love the mantle of darkness
You gave me
Yet my curses and storms disturb you

I am not your experiment, I am not your precious 
Porcelain doll. Your barbed wire is still
Stuck in my throat. Your dog Latin 
Is still lost in translation
Your love still makes me want to die 

Century after century
Body after body
That other thing has grown stronger
In my blood

It fed on the unstoppable machinery
Of the world and time, blue ribbons and all

It fed on many unfathomable star arabesques
Meteoritic iron and azure ocean waves

It fed on Wagner interludes and the hydrogen bomb
It fed on volcanic plateaus of desolate Auvergne
And the savagery of Australian sunsets

With each cut on my skin
I crush your Brotherhood like a walnut
Across time and space

Even my frailty terrifies you, doesn't it
I still wear white, I prophecy, I burn cheap Nag Champa sticks

There will never be a world
Where I love you

Copyright © Diana Thoresen | Year Posted 2019