Adelaide Magazine No15




LITERARY CONTESTS FICTION NONFICTION POETRY HAPPENINGS BOOK REVIEWS INTERVIEWS NEW TITLES ART & PHOTOGRAPHY

ADELAIDE Independent Monthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Mensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

 

AT THE TEMPLE OF THE MUSIC GOD
by Felix Purat

 

 

 

Memories of Baja California in Crete

Above the submarine chamber of Aegean Atlantis
Rugged slopes of the Sierra Giganta rise
My friend back then was indeed Anubis
An actual friend, always welcoming my arrival
With humble fanfare befitting friends

Succulent clams and octopus resurrect Loreto,
Old California’s beating heart
But here Orthodox shrines decorate Minoa
As Virgin Mary’s became my second mother
Beneath the shadow of the Sierra Giganta

In Café Ole we sipped upon lemonades
Watching the Pepsi plane fly by
A block away sat California’s corner stone
Salvatierra’s work completed long ago

How modern this is in the land of the Greeks –
They generate memories too precious for pithy reflections
Subtracting the dumbbells of time (and therefore value)
I see that I am young and foolish and so is my country

 

 

 

 

At the Temple of the Music God

As tunes flow through my waiting ears
The sun paints Apollo’s portal
The pigments of Helios shine

Ear hairs shrink from poignant solitude,
Too much noise in the big wide world

The rhythms of island and coast
Give faith to flesh and its offshoots
Satyric drumbeats moisten rocks

Banalities minimized for once
Into Olympian dimensions

For this I thank Apollo fair –
Nice guy even mortals did spite
How envious they must have been

Never plucking once a flat serenade
Then or now, a lyre never lies.

- Naxos, 2016

 

 

 

 

Minotaur, Where Art Thou?

O Moving Minotaur
So summarized by Pablo
Lay down your weary cart
And come get me!
How you must tire of
Stale, bland Athenians:
Their city is grimy now
Ugly and unphilosophical
Come out from your labyrinth,
Allow me to behold your
Courageously ugly beastliness
Instead of this cowardly beauty
In my artificial era where plastic is commendable
And no one person can claim
To walk safely upon any trail
I wish to feel the full depths of fear
To walk the path towards indomitability.

 

 

 

 

Waking up In a Strange House, Shaking

Exposed to the elements
Of hot Cretan weather

Too much makes me tremble
My nerves malfunction

The price of a penchant for solitude
In an extroverted nation

 

 

 

 

About the Author:

Felix P.

Felix Purat is the author of A Drinking Horn of Accumulated Expiries and a microchap titled Epicurean Ruminations from Turin & Beyond. He has been previously published in Two Thirds North, Orbis Int’l, Ink Sweat & Tears, Allegro Poetry Magazine, Pulsar, Poetry Salzburg Review and Vox Poetica, among others. Originally from Berkeley, CA, he currently lives in Slovakia.

 




 




 

 

 

     
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