How It Was
I had forgotten how to write of love,
Of hair as dark as clouds in May, or hair
As yellow as the poets say; above,
A face that is—what phrase?—ah, more than fair;
And breasts so pert in pink that words go blind.
All that once stopped me, stiff as Perseus
Had he no trick of putting things behind.
Yet, now it seems no more than youthful fuss
About new models coming in '08:
The contours great, how nice a drive would be!
But then, amidst an evening's passionate,
Preposterous chatter, you smiled at me
Across a table, spoke your quiet thought;
And anyhow brown hair, brown glasses, too,
Like things that I had known, but long forgot,
Were writing poems that I would give to you.
From: “An Ayn Rand: A Centennial”
“With you we walked through cities once higher
Than sunrise, seeing all we thought our birthright
Brought down because that brash hero with his fire
But earned his awful ledge and endless night...”
From: “A Ghost at Yalta”
“All who marshal history
To annotate their briefs
Demanding justice, tell me:
Where is peace for this spirit
Until the world remembers,
And deeds done here make Yalta
A word men use for evil...?”
From “Atlas Shrugged: The Fiftieth Anniversary”
“At this altar, no sacrifice, no knee bent;
I have scaled the mountains of my freedom
To bring to you a single mind's assent...”
From “Naked: A Play in Verse”
“What can we know of Aphrodite
If we but gaze into the sky?
Our glory is to lift our eyes,
Although she never make reply...”
From “A Sense of Life: A Story in Verse”
“Of course,” she said. “Because it's like the art.
You want someone because you want their world.”
“You love their world,” I said. “You love their world,
That's true,” she said, “you love the world together.”
She rose and naked still turned to the path."
