Pauls Page


Gives the required
Magnetic pull
For happiness
This provided
There is nothing else
In the garden
Provides a pole
In its own pool
Of opposite force
And that it sees
Nothing amiss
In the map of this.

An Ancient Faith

I am an ancient faith
Buried under a modern town.
I form it’s structural truth,
The walls of classic stone.

I outlast steel stanchions
They but single resistance
To give or slight response
When earth’s crust opens.

I will not crack or crumble,
Under me curved parallel
Is bed-rock over iron ball.
I am justly supportable

To any not catastrophe
That will all this go away
By what one word will say…
That including even me.

I have no atoms that combine
Rust or flee that I weaken.
There is nothing not mine
Near of which I am not one.

If ever asking me alive
By what we can survive.
I say Abraham’s travel
Placeless faith made able.


That was my heart

At staunch Jericho.

It was your appeal

Blasted its demand

At defensive fosse

And partitioned wall

Shaking them loose,

Pushing stones off

Rattling them to go:

Which, in long remand

(Ageless, rigid duty)

Up-ended, rolled around

In unchecked freedom

On the green ground

So ready to welcome

Each hard detainee,

Expelled and settled again

Naked in your new sun.

Under A Rock

No one can lurk
Long under a rock.
Want chaotic dark?
Don’t break a lock

It’s on a cam shot
Right away public:
Looting as protest
Made legitimate

Without a critique.
I’ve wrung these verses
Out of a rock
Passionless to curse.

In the old sense awe
Would be a shock:
Order and law
Under a rock.

The rock-breaker pounds,
Repeats it’s gossip.
Pieces of the minds
In bed-rock erupt.


The Streets Of Rechavia

The streets of Rechavia
Immerse me in love
While I immerse them
In return with love
Unconsciously I expend
Until we don’t know
From where the love
Originates and to where
It’s unnumbered bands
Radiantly expand.
Can the cause be
Small as a heart
Funneling infinity?
Even stones with hearts?
That seems to fit
The feelings I emanate.
The trees are alight,
The shinning green anointed.
The iron gates bow
For you to pass, submissive.
The reflecting windows
Exchange poetic meter.
Credulity is everywhere.
Kindness descends with salve.
You may perhaps doubt
A passer by’s sincerity.
But you are more likely
Without censure to forgive.


Death Stalks

Death stalks our time
With minuscule ship-mines
With their explosive eyes
On the ends of antennas.
Only they don’t wait calm
For you to ram them.
They glide in squadrons
On the air currents
Fetching up in a nose
Or on the naked lips
(what germs these lips have kissed)
Dive in a blood-flooded gash,
Land in a patch
On damp adhesive skin.
Touch their floating colony
And they’ll overflow
You finger or toe.
Ignited then you’ll blow.
We are hoping tensely
For the coming of St. Vaxine
To banish them disarmed
To their airanautical ocean
Unconfined and borderless…
But if he comes powerless?

Moving To My Own Place

While packing I realize
This is the last time.
I am moving to live
In my own archive.

Let my heirs research.
This is my true grave
Where all the memories
Are allowed to revive.

And like a good investment
It only grows in value
Expanding in the instant
Above a timeless level.

This is when I cried.
What I thought valueless
You thought redeemed
And decided to house.




You don’t have to taste
Pepper in every taste
To know the taste of pepper
In the mouth will endure.

Their are lumps in dishes
Your mouth just cannot chew.
Gummy tastelessness repulses.
You look for places to spew.

The meal cannot be disguised
With even the riches sauces.
For some the taste proves tasteless.
The kitchen can not be revised.

“Eat your porridge Stanley.”
With over-genteel nasality
They are liable to bray.
While Stanley in his puddle lay.