Arthur

He was an occasional, a drop-in of sorts

an audience of one, till he exited for home

A comment-maker, a jokester of sorts

he spiced the gathering kibbitzing me

We met between words, in a play of words 

like Stew-art and Art and Sure and smiles

We met 'tween words he rarely spake

between the lines the poets' spoke

midst sound of poets and their metered rounds

Attentive to laughter, attentive to modes

a holiday of sound filled the room with glee

the evening enriched by a convention of lips

With palms encased one hand in another

I bowed in silence, curtsying to his soul

the grammarian-air breathing his joy

till we meet again in the arbor of poets

*...human beings have less psychological freedom than is generally believed, but that spiritually they are infinitely more free.

-Jean Sulivan