Chronoscopes 111, 121, 131

John Walser


Adam Regan

Adam Regan


Past midnight drunk wind
calls the moon a lover’s name:
White Owl of My Heart

CHRONOSCOPE 121: At almost three

Birds stamped evergreen base craters
small like XX       XXX:

three weeks of flight and landing:

even the January wind has not smoothed them:
cannot smother it:

at almost three: the muting already starting:
so little color: so little light: so little glow:

at almost three: broad shadows shoulder the sidelawn:
blue sidewalks and snow: like dragged spruce branches
angled from every corner, every curve, every overlap:

Fifteen hours of darkness: I say out loud:
like I’m snowbound already talking to myself:

only the neighbors’ windows oranging:
against the almost nothing of afternoon:

It would be easier but sadder: I say:
to count the daylight.

CHRONOSCOPE 131:  The haze moon

The haze moon: gauze dirty:
is a fish eye – and a pleasure:

The milk swirl stain winter sky
is the edge of town where the moon
lands at night in the country
only to be picked up and stacked
at the farm edge, at the field edge:
until the next time it is needed:

sometimes at noon :
but mostly at night.

John Walser, a professor at Marian University in Wisconsin, holds a doctorate in English and Creative Writing from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Nimrod, Spillway, Connotation Press, The Pinch, december magazine, the Superstition Review and Bird’s Thumb, as well as in the anthology New Poetry from the Midwest 2016. A Pushcart nominee as well as the recipient of the 2015 Lorine Niedecker Poetry Award from the Council for Wisconsin Writers, John is a two-time semi-finalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry. His manuscript 19 Skies was a finalist for Trio House Press’s 2016 Trio Prize. His manuscript Edgewood Orchard Galleries was a finalist in the 2016 Autumn House Press Poetry Contest.