Recently published in Image Journal
Walking in Circles
by Richard Cole
I get lost easily, even now,
entering the dim, allegorical woods
preserved inside our city, always
the faint, white noise of traffic
somewhere beyond the trees as I wander
with diligence down a dirt path beaten
by others and myself. I’m on my way
I think, until I think I’ve been this way
before not twenty minutes ago. I’m never sure.
Nothing is a straight line
or even a labyrinth but a squirrelly maze
I trace and retrace almost every day
for whatever thoughts that might arrive
as I walk in circles, truer circles described
inside of circles, having learned
I need to get lost, a parade of one,
to find my calling, then lost again
to find my own way home.
Here’s one of my new poems, published in THAT Literary Review:
by Richard Cole
Perhaps in heaven, the blind
will still be blind, the lame
won’t walk, the deformed will not
be otherwise, and it won’t
make a difference. Not a bit. Perhaps
all of heaven is just two
inches away, the earth made
truly in the image of heaven. Hard
to say. If it’s heaven all the way to heaven,
then it might be hell all the way to hell. We see
glimpses in the eyes of the patient dead
walking among us. So too,
in a heaven filled with children
already here. Somehow, this is it. We have all arrived,
a dazzling, infinite world packed
neatly inside our capacity.
If only we could see with both eyes open
what we see with both eyes closed, and perhaps
we always have.
This is one of my latest, called “Mitosis.” Like my other paintings, this one talks about unity and division, the lines and demarcations that are overwhelmed by an underlying coherence.
This was a challenge. Well, most of them are. Too much like a Christmas flower. Then the magenta emerged as a kind of protective shield. So there you have it.
Next in the portal series. Oil mixed with sand. Like the other portals, the portal inside leads you to the space where you began.