A Beautiful Place Poem by Seamus O' Brian

I experienced a vision today
On Goodlette-Frank Road
Which is itself an unusual event—
The occurrence, not location—
At that point in my coffee
Where it's too cold for enjoyment
Yet too voluminous to ignore
With any real satisfaction.

Yet to the point, my vision
Was of you, good writer,
As you held out your looped
Wand of poetic creation
Spinning in the light of your
Poetic muse, great bubbles
Of glistening verse forming
Voluptuously, clinging to
Your wand as you spun
Then releasing to shimmer
In the sunlight, and drift high
Glimmering shards of
sunlight-infused beauty
piercing all who beheld.

And then another scene,
An event of some import
Indicated by the rigid
Regimentation of black
Cloth knotting the necks
Of those who exhale
Vacuous flattery with
The effortless comfort
Of a smoldering cigarette.
A solemnity reinforced
by the tink-tink of champagne flutes
dancing the histrionics of the
melodramatic embrace,
and something more than
Rigidly submissive breasts of chicken.

Right—to the task—good poet,
I shall, for there you were, and I,
Sharing the thunderous acclaim
Of the culturally advanced, erudite set
Artfully accomplished, but fickle at best
That glint in your eye bid my ear to your lips
'I am here on this stage,
For the kind words you spoke
Aroused in my heart the strength of belief
That my art was a craft of worth to pursue.
Thank you, kind sir.'
'The favor returned, if you'll lend me your ear
For, as you are where you are is why I am here,
For the love of your craft, the stroke of your pen
Aroused in my heart a desire to create
Something more than flat words
asleep on the page
to walk in the realm of language on fire.
Thank you, kind lady.'

Now far from the vision
of that glamorous fare,
Far from the din of the
Self-congratulating, non-deprecating
Intentionally obfuscating
Tangential at best,
Erudite crowd,
I see my fair artist
At work at her desk
'I've published no books,
Won no awards, yet you
Still take the time to
Read all my verse,
Scribble kind words
In reply to my work.
Thank you, kind sir.'
'Nay, fair lady,
With each word from your heart,
With each dream that you gently
Pluck from the air
And pin to the page
With the gift of your pen
You have touched the wide world
With the gift of your art.
So dance with your muse,
Raise your wand to the sky
Let the light of the sun
Pierce through your heart,
And glimmering shards
of your magical verse
Will fall to the page
As the world becomes,
Word by word,
A more beautiful place.

'Thank you, fair lady,
thank you.'