From Saturday night on the sailboat „Hope“ until now

UP THE BOARD

Lásko , včera … – Midian Poet

 …UP ON BOARD



 Up on board.

 Lubomír Tomik


 Up on board.

 Hope ….let dive flight into the abyss, into the pillow of your arms,
 feathers, the ship sailed out of port,

 Life …dance on the surface of boiling milk foam,
 enthusiasm for not being nailed to the deck with nine-inch nails,
 as if it weren't,

 at night the creaking masts, the naughty sails
 and unbridled steering wheel rotation,

 Hope… stretching under the hernia,
 where instead of snoring villas and alien monsters
 you hug,

 I saw a fortune teller,
 Cassandra, Pythia and Sybil,
 in their free time, the soap bubbles of dreams,
 wishes and desires pierced the needles in their white fingers,
 -Sybila -PLOP, Pythie-PLOP, Kasandra-PLOP, -
 childish antics,
                                                            slices of passion.

 We haven't lost a course,
 only the country disappeared in the distance, 
in the rampage of the virus,
 the writhing of politicians somewhere in the fog,
 disappeared in the reflection on your face,
 in tears.

 Hope … but there is no clinking of glasses in the governor's palace,
 it's the toil of dock workers with muscle braids like ship's ropes,

 it is a lotus flower growing from a muddy bottom that opens above the surface of light to the colors of You,
 it's bouncing on shark heads spinning in an endless circle below the board,
 on which We walk,
 sweet scurvy.

 Hope is brighter than thousands of suns,
 leads me to You.

 The crew escaped on lifeboats,
 We are waiting in the stern cabin,
 huddled together.

 The wind does not end,

 up on board

 set faces in the sun

 up on board

 let the ship's bell ring,

 set faces Hope

 up on board.


 Lets go-
 bolder,
 tougher,
 more abundantly,
 flawlessly,

 just LET'S GO !!!




Written and completed 6.2.21 in the stern cabin, on the ship ,,Hope", under the lighthouse… read 9.2.21, in the Old Town.

Beauty.Krása.

Beauty.

 Lubomír Tomik

 And when he wrote to Her at midnight, 
he was a Turkish messenger to a castle, a castle, a castle,
 arrow and steel tip, 

the message roll unfolded like a black rose bud,

 the princess threw herself into the river 
and changed everything with her gaze,
 during which steam boilers exploded the hearts of skyscrapers lounging on a summer lavender meadow,

 i wasn't good enough for You 

... was not.

Beauty. Krása.
Recorded 6.2.21, on Saturday night, for You, in the cabin at the stern of the sailboat Hope, along the lighthouse, where the windows in the photo is lit. For You … I know I’m not good enough, I know.
Krása.

 Lubomír Tomik

 A když jí o půlnoci psal,
 byl to turecký posel do hradu, hradu , hradu,
 šíp a ocelový hrot.

 Rolička zprávy se rozvinula jako poupě černé růže.

 Princezna se vrhla do řeky
 a změnila všechno svým pohledem,
 při kterém explodovaly parní kotle srdce mrakodrapů lenošících na letní levandulové louce.

 Nebyl jsem pro Tebe dost dobrý…

 nebyl.