Phantom skaters in the park
turn, and glide, and never fall,
faces clouded, figures dark.
They are phantoms, after all.

Turn and glide with awful grace,
leave no measure, make no sound,
out of moment, out of place
all the earthly year around.

Phantom skaters on the lake,
known by no one else but me,
making figures for my sake,
invisibly, eternally.

 

Conrad Geller is an old, mostly formalist poet, a Bostonian now living in Northern Virginia.His word has appeared widely in print and electronically


NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to mbryant@classicalpoets.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here.

3 Responses

  1. John Kolyav

    Short is sweet! Yes! This poem is not only imaginative itself, but inspires it also. I wished I could also see those phantom figures! The art also is highly matching! Congrats!

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.