Gallows splinter.

Třísky ze šibenice.

Lubomír Tomik

Třísky z královské šibenice v Montfauconu
podnikly výlet za obzor,
vítr je nadzvedl a zanesl nad Paříž,
ještě nebyla plná uprchlíků
a podél Seiny jsme spolu mohli jít,

Třísky z královské šibenice  v Montfauconu
shlížely na svět pod sebou,
vítr si s nimi pohrával a zanesl je v ukrutném nekonečném  poryvu 
nad Váš dům,
kde se snesly do ticha,

jako kulky do hrudí,
kulky do hrudí arcivévodům,

chybějící strašným krasohledům.

Gallows splinters.

Lubomír Tomik

Splinters from the royal gallows in Montfaucon
took a trip beyond the horizon,
the wind lifted them up and carried them over Paris,
it was not yet full of refugees
and we could walk along the Seine together,

Splinters from the royal gallows in Montfaucon
 looked down on the world below,
the wind played with  and carried them in a cruel endless gust
over your house,

where  fell into silence,
like bullets in the chest,
bullets in the chest of the archdukes,
missing from terrible beauty scopes. 

Gibbet of Montfaucon – Wikipedia

Death of books. Smrt knih.

Smrt knih.

Lubomír Tomik

Při požárech knihoven,
conquistadorech v nepromazaných brněních,

voníš lotosem

nespálíš mé čichové buňky
nevyléčíš smutek
nevložíš olej do švů mého brnění

uhrančivě voníš lotosem,

Naučil jsem se rozumět.

Smrt knih je věc jedna,
přece dobře víme,
že jediný vir
jsou SLOVA,

rvou maso z kostí.

Při požárech knihoven,
conquistadorech v nepromazaném brnění,

uhrančivě voníš lotosem


Death of books.

Lubomír Tomik

In the case of library fires,
conquistadors in unlubricated armor,

you smell a lotus
you are

you won't burn my olfactory cells
you will not cure my sorrow
you shall not put oil in the seams of my armor

you enchanting with a lotus,
you are.

I learned to understand.

The death of books is one thing
we know very well
that the only virus

they warm
they tear meat from bones.

In the case of library fires,
conquistadors in unlubricated armor,

you smell enchantingly with a lotus,


In the shadows. / In the L-610 /

In the shadows. Read and recorded 19.1.21 in KovoSteel Staré Město Inside the exposed non-functional aircraft L-610
In the shadows.

In the shadows.

Napsal, pro Tebe, Lubomír Tomik

She took another wet bloody patch of meat,
she rubbed it on both sides with a mixture of pain, desire and confusion,
sea urchins, porcupine needles,
packs craving the smell of prey,
reach into the heart, whisper:

Rusty wolf,
very beautiful
gateway for the defeated,
swaying censer,
photo trigger of my eyes.

Give up darling, tribute to poetics,
because what keeps us alive than our fantasies crumbling to pieces
outlines of reality:

than beauty
nothing but pain
tummy of the thumb passing through the sharpened edge of the razor.

coast of mind in flames,
every thought of you is a viking raider waving an ax,
tasting with a ladle from the cauldron of Macbeth’s witches,
a glass of wine from the walled cellars,
love of verses,
thousands of scents of Arabia.

PS LT: In the shadow it is called because a girl who rubs a mixture of thistle and other herbs pieces of raw meat, while depicting a trap for a pack of wolves, stands on the edge of the forest, in the shadow. Even in the shadow of thoughts, trying to separate reality from fantasy, but everything merges into one.
PS LT II: I try to write here in English as well, because I still believe in the possibility that you can take a brief look ,YOU … and because of that I will do my best if it happens.