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OT!M No. 1: Jesse Bishop

http://otemporano1.blogspot.com/2008/06/jesse-bishop.html

Chubby makes me sound like a dog. From the North, the idea chewy. As cetology. Mother insisted I scamper. With skinny kids from cul-de-sacs. Stickball was a game for boys whose mommies. Made them dance around bases until dark. Everyone else went home, racing around corners. Mother said, play ten minutes more. As though my fat would fall with daylight,. Seep into cracked asphalt, relieve her of faults. During the ten minutes of my childhood. I played like the B-side of a record nearly everyone. Axes and w...

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Masthead

http://otemporamasthead.blogspot.com/2008/01/o-tempora-team.html

Has studied at the University of West Georgia and Masaryk University. His poems have appeared in DIAGRAM. And elsewhere. He is a two-time finalist for the Agnes Scott College Writer's Festival Award and is a former Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets fellow. Nick has worked as Editor-in-Chief for the AWP award-winning journal Eclectic. And as Editorial Assistant for both Lifewriting Annual and. A current Fulbrighter, Nick lives and teaches literature in the Slovak Republic. And the Garfield Lake Review.

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OT!M No. 2: Michael Milburn

http://otemporano2.blogspot.com/2009/03/michael-milburn.html

When it stops I'm grateful,. Both for the sudden quiet. And for the girl singing next door. Whose voice rends the air. As if the air had begged for it,. But in a languorous way,. Not the helpless way. Quiet goads a chainsaw. The girl wields her voice. Like the man his chainsaw,. But recklessly, without fear of it. Mutilating whatever it bites into. She flings it into my yard. It slices me clean through. Posted by Nick McRae.

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O Tempora! Magazine: Issue No. 2

http://otemporamagazine.blogspot.com/2009/02/issue-no-2.html

Issue No. 2. Photo by Brett Wright. S: My Life in Poems for You. Posted by Nick McRae.

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OT!M No. 2: Kenneth Pobo

http://otemporano2.blogspot.com/2009/01/kenneth-pobo.html

Everything was a domino—. Or a theory about them. I played dominoes. In my bedroom, fun for twenty minutes,. Till I wanted to see Miss Jane chase Jethro. On The Beverly Hillbillies. In dominoes too: Viet Nam, Laos,. Cambodia, Thailand—then—. Mt Prospect, Illinois, Ho Chi Minh’s men. Hiding explosives in dime-store lockets. A helicopter left Saigon. A decade had gone. I was in college, stadium rock and Camus. Dominoes found me asleep. In my dorm, snuck in the window,. Pinned me, prevented screams.

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OT!M No. 2: The Last Predicta

http://otemporano2.blogspot.com/2009/03/last-predicta.html

Southern Illinois University Press, 2008. Review by Rebecah Pulsifer. At once a swaggering sensory jumble, a renewal of the urban pastoral, and a wise illumination of the everyday commercial ritual, Chad Davidson’s The Last Predicta. Invites its readers to find beauty where they least expect it: the franchise, the gas station, the cheerleader. In The Last Predicta,. In some ways, The Last Predicta. 8230;I’d like to. Slip out and slide to the spout. End of that buoy throatwise. We picked up our futures, w...

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OT!M No. 2: Carolyn Helmberger

http://otemporano2.blogspot.com/2009/01/carolyn-helmberger.html

Uncle Herb’s House. In the painting,. The three Peony bushes. In front of the house. The eaves are brown. As in reality, but the door. Was more cobalt than slate. At any wind, as we ran. Circles, chasing fireflies. We hid behind the. And raw knees. Dirt was. Just a layer of clothing. For my sisters and me. We made small forts between. The hedges, and disappeared for hours. The shade from the house grew. Moss instead of grass. And it soothed our bare feet. That sizzled from the asphalt driveway.

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OT!M No. 2: Damon McLaughlin

http://otemporano2.blogspot.com/2009/01/damon-mclaughlin.html

My body prepares for the fall of planets. By holding one imaginary globe. In place of another. Its brain. So that also has something to consider, the pleasure of last twilight,. Into memories of birth the knees smile. Like mitts into slow-balls, the femurs, fibulas, tibias. All sticks that must persist the burning of souls. In their pit outside King’s Canyon, the sap sizzle, the pop. On Yucca Mountain, genes like ash clouds deposit. In case survivors—. That doesn’t ask for resignations but positions.

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News: Here We Go

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Saturday, July 26, 2008. Issue No. 1 of OT! Is now live. Many thanks to everyone who submitted and otherwise supported us during these formative stages. We hope you enjoy these poems, stories, essays and this review as much as we do. If you do, tell your friends and colleagues about us. If you submitted and haven't yet heard back from us, don't worry. Your work is being considered for Issue No. 2. And if you haven't submitted yet, why not? Thanks again, folks. Posted by Nick McRae.

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OT!M No. 2: Dear Apocalypse

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Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2009. Review by Rebecah Pulsifer. In Dear Apocalypse,. Both mourns and rejoices in. Relies as much on sound as image to welcome in the reader. Many poems offer delicate rhymes that are as unexpected and necessary as rays of light, as in “The Way of All the Earth” (which will be included in The Best American Poetry 2009):. When the winter of dust. Blustered sixty-four million years back,. And the great beasts who stalked the land suffered. Might, through that din, be still.