The boys crept into the back alley and then the gate inside, crawled through a small window high above the stairs, passed through the ground with centuries-old beams covered with dust climbed the wooden ladders covered with tons of dung droppings the inscriptions scratched into the plaster passed sometime in the early twentieth century,
when they got up to the dome of the town hall tower, below them the whole city of their childhood, one of them took a dry pigeon's body and dropped it in the middle of the busy middle street below them.
They then returned home after dark.
It was nothing at all.
/From,, Dinner at Minski" /2016/ Year when story happen was...1986./
Written, recorded, photographed, loaded and recorded on April 3, 2011 on Masaryk Square in Karviná, for You.
Lyrics in english :
next ,please.
lubomír tomik
breakfaSt nagasaki ages in time, may i ask for a dance ?
Odin waits for the eye to sLip into the pit of the face,
head.
eVe without adam,
thE stray shrapnel.
three grandmothers sitting together by a cave,
sitting at
plucking the feathers of archeopteryx,
galleons moored at the mouths of tropical rivers.
Žhnoucí maso Evy.
/Pro Tebe /
Lubomír Tomik
Při rituálu Otvírání úst
jsi do mne vložila maso Evy,
žhnoucí maso Evy.
Po nestvůře již jsi sedlala jela krotila zůstaly stopy ve sněhu,
stále jsi parkovala vevnitř,
Šarlatová žena s očima času,
z minulosti stále upřenými na mne,
doširoka otevřené,
podle staré magické tradice vidím ve svém protějšku sám sebe.
Vidím Tebe.
Alchymisté vkráčeli v
Rudých hábitech
Symbolu, větru kvílejícího kolem korouhví
Pevný stisk
Hladovosti
Intimita
Levandule
Oheň
Slova opředna v Artemidě
Odysseus v antarktidě
Poblázněné včely letí úvozem před zaplavením
Hledání přístavů
Isis Loukoťová
Cílem byl rozpustilý
Androgyn,
cílem bylo Všechno,
chutnalo,
žhavé maso Evy.
The glowing flesh of Eve.
/For You/
Lubomír Tomik
During the mouth opening ritual
you put Eve's meat in me,
the glowing flesh of Eve.
After the monster you sat down and tamed the traces remained in the snow,
you still parked inside,
Scarlet woman with eyes of time,
from the past still staring at me,
wide open,
according to the old magical tradition, I see myself in my counterpart.
I see YOU.
Alchemists walked in
Red robes
Symbol, the wind howling around the banner
Past
Hunger
Intimacy
Lavender
Of fire
Silent ,the words of the order in Artemis
Odysseus in Antarctica
Pour bees fly by the ferry before the flood
Search for ports
Isis of the Wheel
Calendar
Androgyn,
the goal was Everything,
tasted good,
hot meat of Eve.
Where is my heart? exclaimed Tikitak. / For You / Read 8.4.21 at the Social House in Old DARKov Spa.
Where is my heart? exclaimed Tikitak.
Lubomir Tomik
- Where's my heart? - cried Tikitak,
some hands pushed him onto the catwalk,
Psyche sat in the front row,
primarily
and other models shook and tumbled,
hungry peeking,
but he stood
with his head down.
- Where's my heart? - cried Tikitak,
she turned the key in the ignition,
the engine rumbled,
someone always turning the key in the ignition,
Tikitak clung to the rear bumper with his fingernail,
the car was picking up speed,
he held on
it was about everything
until the gears spilled from his chest along the way, like unused returned coins,
the car disappeared into the distance.
-… -heart? -said the dying Tikitak,
outstretched hand dropped to the ground,
extinguished
and his heart
lay in the back seat of the car,
with which you set out to meet the dawn,
overflowing cup of life.
Tick Tock.
Gears.
Tick Tock.
Didn't fit in.
Tick…
Written yesterday, read and recorded today, interesting situations when reading in front of the Social House ..., one of several versions, maybe you will like at least one of them. But you know. / For You / Read 8.4.21 at the Social House in Lod DARKov Spa.
Death of books.
Lubomír Tomik
In the case of library fires,
plagues,
conquistadors in unlubricated armor,
enchantingly
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
are WORDS
they warm
heals
they tear meat from bones.
In the case of library fires,
plagues,,
conquistadors in unlubricated armor,
You smell enchantingly with a lotus,
YOU ARE.
Třísky ze šibenice. / Pro Tebe / Čteno 8.4.21 u Společenského domu ve Starých lázních Darkov.
Written yesterday, read today, interesting situations when reading in front of the Social House …, one of several versions, maybe you will like at least one of them. But You know.
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,
uninjured.
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,
slides,
missing from terrible beauty scopes.
Gallows splinters/ For You / Read 8.4.21 at the Social House in Staré Darkov Spa.
Napsáno včera, čteno dnes, zajímavé situace při čtení před Společenským domem…. , jedna z několika verzí, snad se Ti aspoň jedna z nich bude líbit.Však víš.
In the shadows. Read and recorded 19.1.21 in KovoSteel Staré Město kovosteel.cz Inside the exposed non-functional aircraft L-610In 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:
Nothing,
than beauty
nothing but pain
tummy of the thumb passing through the sharpened edge of the razor.
Now,
coast,
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.
Dinner at Minski´s. Read and recorded once for You, in Studio Shaark
Dinner at Minski´s.
Lubomír Tomik
She put her hand under the table on my thigh,
still looking in front of her, talking to someone opposite,
I didn't know him.
the burnt meat of an Ethiopian tiger on plates,
we both observe ourselves in the attitude of Aphrodite,
We watch the sweet asses are presented to the golden rain
I will use seven or eight tablespoons
servants bring on polished trays swallowing in Italian.
She put her hand under the top floor narrowing it down,
it was a penguin's claw slowly sliding it inside,
a salivating search inside the chest pressed against the lungs
She ran over the ribs, the grooves of her spine
it vibrated between a fan of air bubbles
there was nothing
suddenly, buch buch buch
not mine came up in the sky,
emerged from a hole in the moon from the veins of blood spewing blood,
stripes of earth in shades of steamed sweater
the clay grave is an indifferent time around
it just fails,
pieces of green flag torn in the morning
walled together in a narrow dream of exorcising the devil
Minski is coming.
Opens his mouth bites pieces of torso ,
asks what it is time ?
impersonal connection caress leaning against the metal wall of the toilet
YOU
EATING ME.
She withdrew her soaked hand I opened my mouth
let everything be scanned,
that real sorrow deep down when it then rushes to the surface tears you to pieces,
feast of worms in the endless footsteps of the goddess of war,
the squeal of little pigs somewhere in the distance
under the sky obsessed with the farting of thunder.
And she covered my eyes with the same palm,
I was just another run
for dinner at Minski´s.
/from ,,Dinner at Minski´s and other poems ", 2016/
ďábelské útesy.
lubomír tomik
slova jsou
ďábElské
úTesy, na nichž sní kolumbova santa maria,
mudrCi světových stran putovali loukou
vybuchující vůněmi v explozích Opojných pylů,
slAdkých jako ty,
Ganéša si poposedl
rUce zavířily v ladných pohybech
Levandulové záblesky
pAlba myšlenek,
ďábElské
úTesy, na nichž spí kolumbova santa maria,
Cizokrajná spřežení na nebi,
hOlubice v barvě okru,
isis okovů zbAvená
leGendami opředená
pUlsující životem,
Líbající otevřená ústa ústa ústa
sAsanek,
ďábElské
úTesy, na nichž kolumbova santa maria dlí,
troskotajíCí znovu a znovu,
burrOughs se zubí za kormidlem,
hejnA kačin , robotické hlavy letí na měsíc kočárem taženým labutěmi,
melinda Gebbie
malUje a tančí,
pLátna plná
životA.
Yvette Mimieux in Time Machine / 1960 /
devil's cliffs.
lubomír tomik
the words are
dEvilish
cliffs on which sanTa maria dreams,
the sages of the world traveled through the toxiC meadow
explOding with odors in intoxicating pollen explosions,
sweet like jehovA,
Ganesha sat in a virtual position
the hands swirled in gracefUl movements
Lavender flashes,
Album of ideas,
dEvilish
cliffs on which santa maria sleeps
Classic sledges in heaven
in Ocher color,
isis dreAms left behind,
leGends are real,
pUlsing life
kissing Living mouth
of Art,
dEvilish
cliffs on which sanTa maria waiting for tomorrow,
shipwreCked again and again,
burrOughs behind the helm,
a flock of ducks, robotic heAds flying to the moon in a carriage pulled by swans,
melinda Gebbie
paints pUre and dances,
Lost
in beAuty.
Disappeared time.
Lubomír Tomik
Joseph Merrick peered into the backyard of the alleys at dusk,
saw a man in a top hat
and tracks in Carfax,
similar to pudding kisses, laid wonderfully quietly,
laid completely silence,
stunningly laid on a teak,
as a tapeworm of ideas,
eating whispering.
Merrick disappeared.
Like this.
/ followed by an elegant snapping of the fingers /......
Turnip. From the collections of poem ,,Noční stěhováci. “ / 2019 /
Turnip.
Lubomír Tomik
I sent You two hundred years old,
Byron's romantic letter,
maybe I should have stabbed myself in the heart with a knife,
send pieces of the body with a crushed carriage,
with the driver cracking whip,
in an envelope with two detectives on lips.
ADDRESS:
YOU,
Deep Lakes.
And around the corner of the castle someone crucified Christ,
again,
not long ago today
shouldn't he be lying in the grave anymore?
And around the corner of the castle someone crucified Christ,
again,
not long ago today
shouldn't he be lying in the grave?
He shouldn't have dreamed anymore,
dream your dream
in which lies at Her feet,
when You he first meet?
Blasphemy,
which sounds so beautiful.
A za rohem zámku.
Lubomír Tomik
A za rohem zámku někdo ukřižoval Krista,
znovu,
neměl dnes už dávno,
neměl už ležet v hrobu ?
A za rohem zámku někdo ukřižoval Krista,
znovu,
neměl dnes už dávno,
neměl ležet v hrobě ?
Neměl snad už snít,
snít svůj sen ,
v němž leží u nohou dívko,
leží u nohou Tobě ?
Rouhání,
které tak krásně zní.
Úplně se mi psaní článku vymklo z rukou, jen …Ty….zpět, …kašna.
Next Please.
Lubomír Tomik
breakfaSt nagasaki ages in time, may i ask for a dance ?
Odin waits for the eye to sLip into the pit of the face,
head.
eVe without adam,
thE stray shrapnel.
three grandmothers sitting together by a cave,
sitting at
plucking the feathers of archeopteryx,
galleons moored at the mouths of tropical rivers.
Další , prosím.
Lubomír Tomik
Snídající nagasaki stárne v čase, smím prosit ?
Odin vyčkává až oko vkLouzne do důlku, Vědoucí.
Eva bez adama, ten zbloudilý šrapnel.
tři báby sedí spolu u jeskyně, sedí při škubání peří archeopteryxe,
galeony, kotvící v ústích tropických řek.
…pokračování….jinou formou. SOLVE…suddenly in czech…in english. Words are virus, no just shit Covid.
Dívka s rentgenovýma očima.
Lubomír Tomik
Nevěděla si rady.
Nevěděla si rady.
Až nám Slunce jednou spálí oči ,
až se změní v rentgeny,
připomenem si,
jak jsme směšní,
shluky kostí v ulicích,
šepot jazylek.
Pocity vzpomínky domněnky koncentrované myšlenky,
pryč.
Až se Slunce jednou stane keřem růží,
přivítáš popínavými paprsky plnými trnů
má zápěstí,
jak jsou poddajná,
smaragdovou zelení plné flakony jedu,
v zaprášených laboratořích.
Myšlenky vzpomínky pocity domněnky,
pryč.
Nevěděla si rady.
Nevěděla si rady.
Dívka s rentgenovýma očima.
Girl with X-ray eyes.
Lubomír Tomik
She didn't know what to do.
She didn't know what to do.
Once the sun burns our eyes,
when it turns into X-rays,
we will remember
how ridiculous we are
clumps of bones in the streets,
whisper of tongues.
Feelings of remembrance of the presumption of concentrated thought,
away.
Once the sun becomes a rose bush,
you will greet with climbing beams full of thorns
my wrist
how flexible they are,
emerald green full bottles of poison,
in dusty laboratories.
Thoughts memories feelings assumptions
away.
She didn't know what to do.
She didn't know what to do.
Girl with X-ray eyes.
Láska.
/ Pro ... však víš. /
Lubomír Tomik
Láska je barva kterou jsi nalila do černobílého filmu,
znachověla jsi úsměv Bely Lugosiho šarlatem a
obalila Nocí jeho pelerínu,
žlutí bílá bělma vlků,
rudá srdce položená do sněhu,
celý svět,
ruka uvnitř hrdla,
třepotání myšlenek,
filmových rekvizit kdysi černobílého filmu,
uvnitř krku,
spěchem žen,
hledíš do odlíčené tváře bestie,
každý den,
zavřené oči milenek,
stírání rosy.
Béla si přitáhne plášť ke karmínovému úsměvu,
rozpoutá šavlový ,
rozpoutá
šavlový tanec očí.
Láska. Napsáno dnes, čteno a nahráno právě teď, 13.15, v pokoji Rehabilitačního Ústavu DARKov. Dnes jsem dostal lekci, nakládačku od Marciana.
Nahrávka el.kytary je má, jen tak, z první, minulý rok ve St.Městě.
Love.
/ For ... You know. /
Lubomír Tomik
Love is the color you poured into a black and white film,
you marked Bely Lugosi's smile with scarlet and
covered his cape with the Night,
yellow white white wolves,
red heart laid in the snow,
the whole world,
hand inside the throat,
flutter of thoughts,
props of a once black-and-white film,
inside the neck
women's rush,
you look into the beautified face of the beast,
daily,
closed eyes of mistresses,
wiping dew.
Béla pulls her cloak to a crimson smile,
unleashes a saber,
unleashes
saber dance of eyes.
11/28/2020, Lenka Karhanová / pseud. Magdalena Verneová / reads in Her studio.
In the distance a lamp on the shore.
/ old navy /
Lubomír Tomik
In the distance a lamp on the shore
johoho
in the distance the lamp is lit.
johoho
through the fog through the heavy rain
johoho
in the distance the lamp is lit.
So rudder twist, old bro
johoho
rudder twist, you're here for it!
When you hear it crackling,
when you hear the curse,
all of us
johoho
all of us
johoho
not here for a long time,
johoho.
…from the my collections of poem ,,Dinner at Minski´s “ / 2016 /
Hitchhiking in Tangier, 1974.
Lubomír Tomik
Getting up and falling asleep with You is not a concern,
it's like buying a whole Tangier for one dinar,
put it in my pocket and
to have him with me all day.
Mercury with Prometheus,
the whole good old bunch of gods,
I will give two dinars,
maybe they'll leave You in the morning
drive a solar truck for a while,
speed at dawn of the day,
unlimited.
Do you take hitchhikers , during coronavirus?
Stopování v Tangeru, 1974.
Lubomír Tomik
Vstávat a usínat s Tebou není starost,
je to jako za jeden dinár koupit celičký Tanger,
vstrčit ho do kapsy a
mít ho celý den u sebe.
Merkur s Prometheem,
celá ta stará dobrá parta bohů,
dám dva dináry,
snad Tě nechají po ránu,
na chvíli řídit sluneční vůz,
rychlost na úsvitu dne ,
neomezena.
Bereš v době coronaviru, stopaře ?
The compass needle points North.
/ For Jaskiers /
Lubomír Tomik
The compass needle points North,
to a place,
to something you can't understand,
no country can hold so much horror,
compass needle points north,
to the place
to something, what sucks the faith out of everything from everyone,
to something that does not make sense,
compass needle points North,
direction Babí Jar,
Babí jar.
Babi Yar – Wikipedia Two words …. a password in Wikipedia … but it’s not, it must not be forgotten.
The compass needle points North. Read and recorded under the bridge, under the remains of Hitler’s highway in the Czech Republic. When I wrote this, I was in Ukraine, as the crow flies about 100 km from Babí Jar. Zástřizly, Czech republic. Remains of Hitler’s highway. This year, 2O21. As the dead fell apart in the ground, the concrete torso still stood , after all this years, a reminder of the pain.
Torches are burning and gunmen are pulling the catapult back.
Lubomír Tomik
The torches are burning and the cave continues,
You press your hand against her wall,
in thousands of years, someone will put their modern palm on and feel nothing,
dry double strips of skin
ten fingers wide and almost two meters long,
the torches are burning and the creature is climbing the vertebrae inside,
from the stomach through the heart to her head
where it explodes
torches burning
the other world opens the soul shatters
to all other universes
torches burning
gunmen pull the catapult back.
The walls stretch
as far as the eye can see.
Squeezed pear juice
it drips down from the kitchen counter and that's how it ends.
and like this,
it ends.
Pochodně hoří a zbrojnoši táhnou katapult zad. Čteno a nahráno ve Studio Shaark pro Tebe, má lásko.ze sbírky ,,Večeře u Minského a další básně / 2016 /
Ona je středem vesmíru. / Pro Tebe, však víš /
Lubomír Tomik
Sádelnatý mnich , žádný proutek,
přihodil do ohně dva špalky dřeva svírající v mastných upocených rukou ,
nařasené faldy kůže a špalky byly právě takové,
jantarem říznuté,
v barvách plamenů, lesklé šperky vyhřeznutých očí
odlesky ohně tančily nocí , praskal, plápolal ve větru,
volání po lásce zaniklo v řevu duší kolem
panoráma hranice , barvy i stíny, vše bylo dokonalé,
nebýt toho že mne upalovali, docela by se mi to i líbilo,
klíčem k hoření je nehořet,
klíček k čekání je nečekat,
klíčem k Tvému srdci je klíč nemít,
spolknout ho,
ztratit a znovu ho najít,
nevěřila by jsi jak je to úžasné,
v barvách blesků jsi středem mého vesmíru
a má Achillova pata,
vír galaxií který mne vtáhnul do sebe,
ohnivý maelstrom rotující ve středu mého vesmíru,
neměnný,
ve středu všeho,
ve středu mého vesmíru jsi Ty,
naučila jsi mne,
že každá vteřina JE velký třesk,
každá vteřina
a všechno znovu začíná.
Oba se na svých vratkých kocábkách plavíme realitou,
žijeme příběh,
je potřeba víc ?
She is the center of the universe. / For You /
Lubomír Tomik
A fat monk, no twig,
he threw two logs of wood into the fire, clutching in greasy sweaty hands,
ruffled leather folds and logs were just
amber cut,
in the colors of flames, shiny jewelry with protruding eyes,
reflections of fire danced at night, crackled, blazed in the wind,
the call for love vanished in the roar of the souls around,
panorama borders, colors and shadows, everything was perfect,
if it weren't for burning me, I'd quite like it,
the key to burning is not to burn,
the key to waiting is not to wait,
the key to your heart is not to have,
swallow it
lose and find him again,
you wouldn't believe how amazing it is
in the colors of lightning You are the center of my universe
and Achilles' heel,
a vortex of galaxies that has drawn me in,
a fiery maelstrom rotating in the center of my universe,
unchanging,
in the middle of it all,
in the center You are
You taught me,
that every second is a big bang,
every second
and it all starts again.
We both sail the reality on our shaky little ships,
we live a story
is more needed?
Amazing Old Stones.
Lubomír Tomik
for You
for Eilish Sinclair, Lady of the Lake ,
for Alena,
Amazing Old Stones
laugh in our faces,
I walk through love
as Dante descended to hell
and Virgil doesn't lead me,
is that You,
Amazing Old Stones
laughing at people around,
to lunch or breakfast dukes,
raiders from the steppes.
The measures have been tightened up,
love is not just a word, cheap quickie.
Believe me.
Wonderful Old Stones
will continue to be in their places,
we're leaving,
he has us for lunch,
Duke of Time.
Báječné Staré Kameny.
Lubomír Tomik
pro Tebe,
pro Eilish Sinclair, Lady of the Lake,
pro Alču
Báječné Staré Kameny
se nám smějí do ksichtu,
procházím láskou
jako Dante sestoupuji do Pekla
a nevede mne Vergilius,
jsi to Ty,
Báječné Staré Kameny
se smějí lidem kolem,
obědvajícím či snídajícím vévodům,
nájezdníkům ze stepí.
Opatření zpřísněna,
láska není jen slovo, levné techtle mechtle,
věř mi.
Báječné Staré Kameny
budou na svých místech dál,
to my odcházíme,
nás obědvá
čas.
Under His gray wings.
Lubomír Tomik
Empty dance hall,
was a new dimension of the heart,
under His gray wings,
With a reflection of flickering lights,
hanging nearby,
waiting for smiles, caresses and touches,
under His gray wings,
floating nights on muddy cobwebs,
elegantly,
like a swarm of circling manta rays,
and your arms,
under His gray wings,
Your eyes Your eyes Your eyes
lighthouses on the coast of desire
Your eyes Your eyes Your eyes
when it is extinguished in the hall,
they come to life and light up,
under His gray wings.
Under His gray wings. Written , take a picture, read and recorded For You in DARKov, Karviná, today,my love. It is For You.
Pod Jeho šedými křídly.
Lubomír Tomik
Prázdný taneční sál,
byl nová dimenze srdce,
pod Jeho šedými křídly,
S odleskem mihotavých světel ,zavěšených opodál,
čekajících na úsměvy, pohlazení a doteky,
pod Jeho šedými křídly,
plovoucí nocí na blanitých pavučinách,
elegantně,
jako rej kroužících mant,
a Tvá náruč,
pod Jeho šedými křídly,
Tvé oči Tvé oči Tvé oči
majáky na pobřeží touhy
Tvé oči Tvé oči Tvé oči
až se v sále zhasne, ožijí a rozzáří se ,
pod Jeho šedými křídly.
rty roní slzy zapálíme si není to nádherné cítit něco víc
slzy roní rty svalíme se něco k někomu cítit
náměstí v náměstí v cítit
Telči hotel Telči hotel
v podloubí
Ty a já zdánlivě
ač je to
ne
mo
žné
není to nádherné, něco cítit?
Grind in poem. Read and recording in Studio Shaark once, For You.
Grid in a poem.
Lubomír Tomik
lips shed tears we light up it’s not wonderful to feel something more tears roll down our lips we roll something to feel someone square in the square in the feel Telč hotel Telč hotel in the arcade
Read and recorded right here, in this shelter, in the winter, in the snow, but for You.
End of all words. Read and recorded For You , 29.1.21 on the frozen Lake of Balaton, Nový Hrozenkov. just while before I saw You with wet hair after showering.
End of all words.
Lubomír Tomik
And for all those centuries,
crowds of oysters risk hugging mouths
and burst in,
silky curled lips beams
and barely resistant to The Wild Hunt of the Ghost of Love.
Soon,
hit me,
squeeze my heart and
launch a cannonade of words,
Beauty.
…from the forthcoming collection of poems Map of the Continent of Your Heart, for which the foreword was written by Pavla Jonsson from the band Zuby Nehty and for which Alan Moore approved the use of one of his sentences.
The one and only Alan Moore. The dreams come true.
Nafoceno, nakresleno a vytvořeno v Nemocnici UH , Oddělení Rehabilitace, na němž jsem hospitalizován, 20.3.21. Krátká báseň ,,Jehňátko“ z mé sbírky ,,Noční stěhováci “ /2019/ Čteno a nahráno pro Tebe, kousek od onoho domku v džungli za strašlivého větru.
Pro Tebe.
Photographed, drawn and created in the UH Hospital, Department of Rehabilitation, where I was hospitalized, 20.3.21. Short poem „Lamb“ from my collection „Night Movers“ / 2019 / Read and recorded for You, not far from that house in the jungle in the terrible wind.
For You.
/ The English text will be added after the premiere of the video, the surprise should not be revealed in advance./
Úžasy Orientu kouzla zbavené.
Lubomír Tomik
Jedinečný velký mág získal nechtěně báječné místo s výhledem,
mezi dvěma zločinci,
krev byla všude na rukou kůži střence nože,
stékala po želvím krunýři,
kutálejícím se v z vrcholku Golgoty,
otočil hlavu na kříži,
ale hřeby,
držely pevně.
Mysl plná obrysů lyry,
hladoví supové se rvali o mršinu želvího tělíčka,
vykotlaná kost,
Ježíš odvrátil zrak,
Hermés nedbale zapózoval,
zmáčkla jsi spoušť fotoaparátu,
cvaknutí snímku vyplašilo nenažrané bestie, poodlétli do dálky,
a usadili se,
v očekávání hostiny,
ovšem už žádné další kusy masa,
dnes ještě ne.
Úžasy Orientu, kouzla
zbavené.
Golgotha.Hermes vyrábí první lyru z želvího krunýře.
Astonishments of the Orient spell deprived.
Lubomír Tomik
The unique great mage inadvertently won a wonderful place with a view,
between two criminals,
blood was everywhere on the hands of the skin of the knife handle,
ran down the turtle's carapace,
rolling in from the top of Golgotha,
he turned his head on the cross,
but nails
held tight.
A mind full of lyre outlines,
hungry vultures were fighting over the carcass of a turtle's body,
broken bone,
Jesus looked away,
Hermes posed carelessly,
you pressed the camera shutter,
the click of the picture startled the uneaten beasts, flew into the distance,
and they settled down,
in anticipation of a feast,
but no more pieces of meat,
not yet today.
Astonishments of the Orient, magic
deprived of.
Her smoke.
Lubomír Tomik
Under the squeak of the moon bitten by a serrating dog,
in the haze cracks in the clouds,
She blew Her smoke into me,
Your smoke.
My lungs gasified with You,
every pore of my burnt throat
he shouted after You,
I always wanted it.
I always wanted YOU.
Koberečky s paměťovou pěnou.
Lubomír Tomik
Chtěl jsem žít bez Tebe,
už vím, že to nejde,
jak se omývají mrtví v saxofonovém světě ?
Stahuje mne do hlubin Tebe ,
stahuje mne vír přídě Titaniku,
střelci do slunce stále míjejí terč,
zasahují jen Tvé srdce,
jeho otisk,
všichni jsme jen koberečky s paměťovou pěnou,
náručí a momentky postav,
lásek,
náručí plné paměťové pěny ,
otisk Tebe.
Rugs with memory foam.
Lubomír Tomik
I wanted to live without you,
now i know it's not possible
how do they wash the dead in the saxophone world?
It pulls me into the depths of You,
the vortex of the bow of the Titanic pulls me away,
shooters into the sun still pass the target,
they affect only your heart,
his fingerprint,
we are all just memory foam rugs,
arms and snapshots of the characters,
love,
arms full of memory foam,
Imprint of You.
Právě teď...pro Tebe... jsi a budeš se mnou
Kvůli použití zvukových efektů prosím doporučuji poslech ve sluchátkách. Due to the use of sound effects, I recommend listening in headphones. A zavřít oči, prosím, vážně…díky and close your eyes,seriously, thanks.
Rozšlápnul jsem vysušenou ptačí kostru.Read and recorded FOR YOU LOVE in Studio Shaark
I stepped on the dried bird’s skeleton,
Lubomír Tomik,
and the tiny chest cracked, I limped someone put a bottle in my trail.
she pounded me with dolphin skin, THE MAGIC beauty of His being, someone asked:- A shot?- answer: -Tomorrow, or in eleven days.-
It started to rain, the car chuckled uncertainly water splashed out of the exhaust, then he rode in the rain, in the distance over the mountains it flashed,
he drove and thought of the man, who burned his poems in the boiler room of the steamer Orizaba, rolling black smoke covered the sea long mourning ribbon.
from ,,Dinner at Minski´s “ …i write this in 2016…….and now is reality.
Queue in the supermarket. Read and recorded for You in 2021 , For You. I write this in Year 2O16. Strange.
Queue in the supermarket.
Lubomír Tomik
the beauty stood there thinking about the people in line in front of her
there stood a guy thinking about the people in line in front of him
I was standing there
I remembered a beauty and a guy telling me what they were doing
in line at the supermarket
I remembered it and thought about the people in line in front of me
On the twentieth day of March, thirteen hundred and forty-five,
it looked like a sale of plague bacteria.
Good buy, man.
For You You You You Read and recorded in Studio Shaark
He was born without bones.
Lubomír Tomik
He was born without bones and his first feeling
was the elasticity of the soul,
the heart traveled up and down the body
in a transparent liquid,
resembling the reflection of silicones in the setting sun
the interior of the body lined with desire
the clumps of the brain touch
the earth and
the cold of the grave
lulled him to sleep.
Long summer before the end of the world. Read and recorded for You in Studio Shaark
Long summer before the end of the world.
Lubomír Tomik
When I ran my hands over the greasy clay of You,
wrapped in a drying peel of mud,
burned from within with your own breath,
long summer before the end of the world
we just hugged,
there was no time for anything more.
There was no time
was not
time
Long Margaret.
Lubomír Tomik
- according to folklore about the heart eater / biting is ONLY sound /-
Oh, Long Margaret, I'm here
Oh, here I am
I have not yet entered this world
and you want me now
Oh, Long Margaret
Oh, here I am
I still can't see my mother's face
and rot in your stomach all the time
O Long Margaret
Oh, here I am
another heart was missing
and the work is done!
Eat the saliva of the witch .
Eat at the saliva of the witch
and the heart will not grow again
the grimacing beast withdraws
the needle is waving its wand
,,vjechtica"
opens the chest
it will pull out your heart and crush it in its teeth
dust from it then falls on her neck, on her shoulders
on her arms, on her beautiful breasts
in her lipstick smile
the teeth will turn into knives beforehand
eat the saliva of the witch
and heart
again GROW.
The Loooooong MargaretEat the saliva of the witch.
Dainty.
Lubomir Tomik
Eyes glowed with orgasm,
that's ragnarok thought to me,
it's a rognarok,
it's a regnorak,
it's a ragnarok ,
and Fenrir is already wagging his tail.
He would like a dainty.
read and recorded Dainty for You in Studio ShaarkPoem is from:
Read nad recorded for You in Studio ShaarkWhen you get to the end of the scene.
When you get to the end of the scene.
Lubomír Tomik
when you get to the end of the scene
the celluloid melts
pours over the edge of the table
flows down on you
I draw shapes with my eyes on him
pupil prints
in the area just below the ribs
in which electric shocks burst dry
the other woman suddenly looks me in the eye
in my hand Your breast in a cloud of fragrant smoke
WE are at the end of the scene.
Stand for coffee and wait. Postavit na kávu a čekat. Read and recorded for You, my darling in Studio Shaark
Stand for coffee and wait.
Lubomír Tomik
murderous creaking of worms in furniture,
clinking triangles into men in fractions,
choirs down the streets,
a river of souls flowing around a quiet door
sometimes it freezes
sometimes it is dry
and only sometimes,
rare,
comes out of the trough and sweeps everything in front of .
Stand for coffee and wait.
On the gun carriage E.P. Read and recorded for You in Studio Shaark
On the gun carriage E.P.
/for You/
Lubomír Tomik
On a carriage of ghosts of running water glued to the red tail lights of death,
E.P. leaves and I wander through Venice,
the gondolas collide,
they shatter easily like couples in love in the early evening,
just like that,
it would be said.
just like that
/and E.P. is ...of course.... ...Ezra. /
„Who’s there, my God, who’s there?“ Read and recorded for You in Studio Shaark
"Who's there, my God, who's there?"
Lubomír Tomik
Ernest Hemingway knocked out a phone booth,
it was only afternoon,
guy in an old STB secret police coat
with a leather bag and an injured spine entered a roundabout,
the cars stopped indecisively and the drivers didn't know what to do,
the guy in the orange overalls was walking on the railway embankment,
for a moment he even seemed to be able to control the tracks and sleepers
but then he looked at the track in front of him
he stared until his eyeballs fell out
and on the gleaming tracks they rolled toward the unknown,
head to all the tattoo ink,
Ernest Hemingway knocked out a phone booth,
the handset fell to the ground,
coins spilled,
on the other side of the line was Ema Destin
and she cried :
,, Who is there, O God, O God, who is there? "
The sullen man. Read and recorded For You in Studio Shaark
The sullen man.
Lubomír Tomik
Before he lay down under the sign No. 😯
called some Reynolds
the soul was winking and was almost on the edge
before he lay down under the sign No. 😯
And here it is, he thought. Read and recorded for You, in Studio Shaark
And here it is, he thought.
Lubomír Tomik
And here it is he thought,
it was like a whiplash,
creaking skin,
blinding light,
the bow passes over the remnants of the silhouettes of the pig casings
Her hips curl,
she tasted all that,
young heart,
young with a gnaw of darkness.
And here it is he thought,
it's here and he felt her teeth pierce his flesh.
Completely attack.
Lubomír Tomik
under
the blows
of hands
tearing
me
to
pieces
stomachs
broken
gushing
vermilion
in
the palms
of the wreckage
of the eyes
completely attack.
from the collections of poem ,,Dinner at Minski´s „/2016/ For You.
Boiler full of necks.
Lubomír Tomik
the boiler full of throats overflows
and the characters as from Durer's woodcut,
they disappear and appear
above the surface of the saddled goulash of blood,
wooden spoon disappears somewhere in the clouds
feet appear
the image is suddenly colored,
is red, smudges of green, black to brown
full of movement and lamentation:
Halving a bull in a poppy field.
Just another fix. Read and recorded for You in Studio Shaark
jUst anoTHER fix.
lubomír tomik
sleePing powdEr
théNarDier has his pockets full
lobsters whine softly
they smile eccentRically
rhythmicAlly padded cell next to the room
it looks unusual in her eyes
he spent five minutes viGorously in china
than he lived ONly the life of cats
before there are one more of us
he stares into his eyes
and they removed the skin from the headless hull
grotesque performance
he is one of those priests
you had to put it on.
a guy driving in the fog across an abyss
behind igraine scattering from the cloak
letters of the alphabet.
There is always time for a kiss, Lulu thought.
Lubomír Tomik
And so she twisted her ass in the slow rhythm of the music,
rippled hips,
but it was useless, the bar was empty.
She reached into her back pocket and found,
she didn't even have any money.
From….collections of poem. ,,Dinner at Minski´s
It really happened … only the music was different … I don’t know what was playing when I was there … but the sadness in the tones of the accordion is accurate.
Between the graves. Read and recorded in Studio Shaark
Between the graves.
Lubomír Tomik
Between the graves you can smell cologne,
-Hi Your feets!- I smile,
between the graves you can smell cologne,
the heart bursts under the onslaught of baits,tits,etc,
paperback,
between the graves you can smell cologne
several african american guys leaning on a tree
in the hot heat,
goes through a ghetto somewhere in Ostrava
opens the door you're there,
you are naked and you are lying on the table
as if nothing was happening.
Then you just say:
-You do five things at once. You have to concentrate.-
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.comSomeone else’s poem about me. Read and recorded in Studio Shaark
Someone else's poem about me.
Lubomir Tomik
the forest is the sun of my soul
dark falls is my forest
my soul is a forest set dark
is
soul
sun
My
forest
my soul is a dark forest
above which the sun sometimes sets
and hunters?
They can't get rid of the feeling
that it won't turn out well.
From the collectons of poems ,,Dinner at Minski /2016/
A the ball at the opera. Read and recorded in Studio Shaark
At the ball at the opera.
Lubomír Tomik
Plastic silicon dolls dancing at a ball in the opera and a hungry man,
in the middle of a bombed-out block of houses,
he sniffs an eye from the dead man's burnt skull.
Spread your arms,
Death,
your time has come.
Impressive asparagus soup.
/For You /
Lubomír Tomik
part one.
back to the scum in the traps of outgoing women,
I tilt my head,
closed eyes soak inside
through the breathing tube they travel to my heart
she stares at him in amazement
he sees withered blackened bits of sorrow
and hatred
Hate.
Sadness.
But it was a long time ago.
part two.
dreams furrowed by ghosts flying sukkub attacking breasts,
saliva leaving the mouth ajar,
quiet delicious dripping
I'm heading for the harbor
barge full of white snow
I'm heading for the morgue
I cross thousands of lips blackened with opium tincture
I walk through the crowd of demimondens with crooked hats
I grab the Maguey worm in my teeth
the real soul of every human being
it is hidden in its own darkness
in that unkind girlfriend of us all
it is not advisable to look into this abyss
you have to try:
dreams furrowed by ghosts torn pajama by cocks,
in which no one dreams those dreams anymore,
furrowed by You
we swim in an impressive asparagus soup, all around,
over and over.
From ,,Dinner at Minski " /2016/
Nicolas Poussin: Selene and EndymionSeléné pobídla koně. Nahráno ve Studiu Shaark, ve Bzenci.
Selene spurred the horse.
Lubomír Tomik
The moon bit through the Earth
he left a cheese hole so big in it,
that all the locomotives of the World passed through it
with purple roses on the front bumpers,
they pounded with their silent silhouettes of the chimneys of Santa Fe,
remnants of communist ,coquetters ,continents
Europe disappearing in smoke and hissing sparks sparks sparks sparks sparks sparks sparks
body
they are stored in their positions of mortality
you stroke their faces
they lie down and cover them with dust
open me and take my beating heart in your hands
massage him with a fist
try to revive me
Selene spurred the horse.
Both Dioscuri smiled.
From collections of my poems Dinner at Minski / 2016/
Number 1.A by Jackson Pollock /1948 /I saw in number 1.A. Read and Recorded in Studio Shaark Bzenec. For You.
I saw in Number 1A.
Lubomír Tomik
Through a crevice in the fist in Figure 1A
I saw:
Cheshire Cat and outlines of whales
the body of a shipwrecked ant lifted
hedges of the French coast
contours of the breast in the middle
wolf eyes mainly two rifles for rats
pea pods falling to the ground during autumn
legs of an eighteen-year-old figure skater after training
coated with gear oil
on the upper left welcoming the citizens of the tragedy
bamboo from the pomegranate forests
fake geisha as in Japanese paintings
he stands by the river and discusses the long lines of ink for a long time
head of a laughing old man from the mountain
legions stretching through a snowy pass
Black Panther God
Pope with butterfly wings
man with mirror hair
owls crooked
couch on which sits a Chinese porcelain doll
fish with an open mouth sitting staring at you
statue of a napoleonic soldier
one-eyed dog creeping in the grass
two figures in animal furs pressed infinitely together
a pile of fallen broken red heels,
I saw through the crack in my fist
in Number 1.A.
Alesteir CrowleyRecorded in Studio Shaark, Bzenec. From collectionsof poem Dinner at Minski´s /2016/
Crowley's personal boy.
Lubomír Tomik
how many ice floes in the shape of protozoa,
swaying on the freezing stream of the river, probably february,
dripping condensed breath,
how much blood flows in the veins,
how many generations of the unborn pass through the vas deferens.
On the side of the road,
protruding intestin,
eyes full of tears ,
cat fur coat embedded in asphalt road.
Crowley's personal,
rusty boy.
The famous one, forests. Hvozdy. Read and recorded in Studio Shaark, Bzenec.
Forests.
Lubomír Tomik
On moonless nights flickering shadows,
the crowns of the trees obscure the sky,
full of dry hermit bones,
On yellow nights cheese eye,
with craters of outcasts,
These are the famous ones, forests,
Those beasts of horrors of our minds,
full of snarling monsters and tracks,
ending in the dark.
Jeď zlehka. Pro Tebe. Take it easy. For you. Recorded in Shaark Studio, Bzenec.
Take it easy, girl. /For You/
This is how he imagines the first settlers,
a mixture of troubadours and fools,
right hand carelessly caught with the thumb
face with meteor scars
burning like him
ride lightly, girl
ride lightly
the path is littered with the remains of the eyes
ride lightly girl
ride lightly
the road turns to Night
This is how you imagine your first lovers,
a mixture of shapes and superciliary arches,
right hand carelessly hairy over the thumb,
face full of smiles of saber-toothed tigers,
nothing has changed
nothing has changed
nothing has changed
ride lightly, girl
ride lightly
as long as it goes
it won't be like that forever.
Poem is from collection Večeře u Minského /2016/ a je pro Tebe.
Read and recorded for You at Malenovice Castle 6.1.21
Sabotage in the Port of Love.
Lubomír Tomik
The last port of love
block ships sunk at its mouth,
I break up at night
wrecks eaten by salt seawater,
and I land at the pier
where half-naked dancers patrol
under a starry tropical sky,
one of them is You,
You rattle with lava stones
like castanets,
You will hit me with your dance
more precisely than a bullet,
sabotage in the port of love
sabotage in the port of love
sabotage
in the last Port of Love.
The cellar where i read for You is down in the wooden door on the left … I read there just for you … an incredible experience.
News.
Lubomír Tomik
-We know how it is, with feeling and such. … before Sport-
the charming presenter smirked,
she blurted out - -An unknown perpetrator stole
thirty-two tons of honey.-
I smiled.
Followed by a live report:
An older fisherman stood on the banks of the Morava River in Kvasice,
the reporter asked him
which fish live there,
-Carp, pike, zander…- ,
the reporter will answer:
-And what do you fancy?
The guy thinks:-The duck with cabbage,
but I won't catch it here.
I smiled.
Suddenly she looked serious and said:
-We're interrupting the broadcast,
Intercontinental nuclear missiles have just hit, we're interrupting the broadcast.-
Our lives are on fire, I thought.
Zaujati.
/pro Yassy/
Lubomír Tomik
zaujati jsem stáli před umírajícím andělem
s polámanou páteří,
chrčivě oddychoval,
zkrvavený a zesláblý,
zdálo se , že chce něco řícit,
zašeptal jen: ,, ... Stiskni koleny koně a jeď za mnou."
zaujati.
zajati,
zaujatý Tebou,
zajatý,
lehl jsem si vedle něj,
nespouštěl jsem Tě z očí.
Interested.
/for Yassy/
Lubomír Tomik
we stood interested before the dying angel
with a broken spine,
he was breathing heavily,
bloodied and weakened,
seemed to want to say something,
he just whispered :
-,,… squeeze your horse's knees and follow me. "-
interested,
captive,
interested in you,
captive,
I lay down next to him,
I didn't take my eyes off you.
You, my angel.
Na obrazu J.P.
Lubomír Tomik
na obrazu J.P.
oči
a
možná žena v černé kůži
možná sedí v trávě a něco mi šeptá
možná je skoro tak krásná jako Ty
možná je všechno co chci
možná že jen na obrazu J.P.
možná že se rozprostírá
jako kapka do vody
kapka
krve
přímo ze srdce
přímo z Tvého
srdce srdce
srdce srdce
srdcesrdce
srdce
ze sbírky Večeře u Minského a jiné básně / 2016/
In the picture of J.P.
Lubomír Tomik
in the image of J.P.
eyes
and
maybe a woman in black leather
maybe he's sitting on the grass and whispering something to me
maybe she's almost as beautiful as you
maybe it's all i want
perhaps only in the image of J.P.
maybe it extends
like a drop in water
drop
blood
straight from the heart
straight from yours
heart heart
heart heart
heartbeat
heart
.
Jen čtveračivý úsměv Jí zahrál kolem rtů.
Lubomír Tomik
můžeš můžeš můžeš,
slyšel,
jako když ostré světlo vpadne
do tmy,
zapotácel se v přechodné závrati,
nesmíš nesmíš nesmíš,
slyšel,
jako když tma přikryje poslední záblesky soumraku,
jen čtveračivý úsměv ,
Jí zahrál kolem rtů.
Na skleněné ploše, rozzářil se démant,
démant noci.
z výstavy na hradě Buchlově.
Only a roguish smile played around Her lips.
Lubomír Tomik
can you can you can,
he heard,
as when a sharp light enters
into the dark
he staggered temporarily,
you must not you must not,
he heard
as when darkness covers the last flashes of twilight,
just a roguish smile,
on her lips.
On the glass, a diamond lit up,
diamond of the night.
Růžová brigáda. Pink brigade. Read and recorded for you, 29.1.21 on Lake Balaton, Nový Hrozenkov.
Pink Brigade.
Lubomír Tomik
In the blue sky, four lines of condensation, the scratches of a space wolf,
stretch down the street of striptease bars for nine dollars a piece,
he gnashes his teeth,
he growls,
a saliva dripping from his mouth,
mixed with blood,
the cloudless blue of the sky is poisonous,
poisonous like the chlorine of pool advertisements on everything,
the last white butterfly ending the summer a almost missing Her lips,
furiously lined with a half-smoked cigarette,
wearing a coat,
pulsing with a shy movement of a shot bead.
The Pink Brigade set off.
She measured everyone … with a sweet look.
from the collection of poems Bowl of Fictional Fish / 2015 /
Růžová brigáda.
Lubomír Tomik
Na modrém nebi čtyři kondenzační čáry, škrábance vesmírného vlka,
táhne se ulicí striptýzových barů po devíti dolarech za kus,
cení zuby, vrčí, z mordy mu kape šlem slin, smíchaný z krví,
bezmračná modř oblohy jedovatá,
jedovatá jako chlór bazénových reklam na všechno,
poslední bílý motýl končícího léta o vlásek minul její rty,
zuřivě potahující z napůl dokouřené cigarety,
na sobě navlečený špatně padnoucí baloňák,
pulsující plachým pohybem postřelené perličky.
Růžová brigáda vyrazila.
Měřila si každého….sladkým pohledem.
ze sbírky básní Mísa vymyšlených ryb /2015/
…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.
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.
Peacock screams.
Lubomír Tomik
Someone was trying to write Her an email,
he had no time left,
the chatter of half-breeds grew into peacock cries of pride,
Someone tried to write Her an email,
about how beautiful and divine She was,
thought the script of his life would win an Oscar,
She smiled and took beautiful shoes,
beat him in the head with them,
again and again,
Cinderella's perfectly turned legs screamed with joy,
splashes of blood lightly tossed the plaster,
beautiful smudges.
Odraz.
Lubomír Tomik
Kola kočáru komíhala koketérií kolemjdoucí Kolombíny,
a Bifrost,
táhnoucí se nad cáry lesů hýřil barvami,
z posledních sil jsem se držel okraje,
už už
se znovu řítil tunelem do světla,
náhle se ozvalo zaMňoukání,
tlapky se zarazily v pohybu,
Tvůj opánek zaševelil jemným dotekem,
vedle mne se rozvinul žebřík z petrklíčů,
žlutý a nekonečný,
zašeptala jsi :
-Pojď-
Vítr Ti cuchal vlasy,
Kdo je paní mého srdce ?
Kdo se dotkne duhy,
je vtaženo do nebe,
do Tebe.
Čteno pro Tebe v kajutě plachetnice Naděje ,6.2,21, z připravované sbírky Mapa kontinentu Tvého srdce.
Reflection.
Lubomír Tomik
The wheels of the chariot fluttered with coquetry passing Columbus,
and Bifrost,
stretching over the lines of forests,
it was full of colors,
I kept my edge to the last,
already
rushed through the tunnel into the light again,
there was a sudden meowing,
paws stopped moving,
Your whispered with a gentle touch,
a ladder of primroses developed beside me,
yellow and endless,
you whispered:
-Come-
The wind ruffled your hair,
Who is the Lady of My Heart?
Who touches the rainbow,
is pulled into the sky,
into You.
…včera na plachetnici za noci jsem dokončil pro Tebe tuhle báseň. Mám právě puštěný song
přitom procházím soubory v pc a při poslechu ,,Enjoy the silence“ jsem začal číst, pro Tebe, co vzniklo včera. První verš ,,Vzhůru na palubu “ se objevil najednou, při kontaktu se sympatickou Martinou z marketingu firmy KovoSteel, řekla ho… spontánně …a zbytek….jsem psal jako ještě nikdy, za vrzání stěžňů a v kajutě, kde šla pára od úst, sedící na polštáři na pirátské bedně na okraji pohádkové dřevěné pece, myslel na Tebe a :
Vzhůru na palubu.
Lubomír Tomik
Vzhůru na palubu.
Naděje … střemhlavý pád do propasti, do polštáře Tvé náruče, prachovým peřím loď vyplula z přístavu,
život… kvapík na bělostném povrchu pěny vroucího mléka, nadšení, co k palubě přibito devítipalcovými hřeby není, jako by nebylo, za noci vrzajících stěžňů, nezbedného plachtoví a bezuzdného otáčení kormidelního kola,
Naděje… protažení pod kýlem, kde mne místo chňapajících vilejšů a cizokrajných monster svíráš v objetí Ty,
Viděl jsem věštkyně, Kassandru ,Pýthii i Sybilu, ve volné chvíli propichovaly jehlami mýdlové bubliny snů, přání a touhy, -Sybila -plop, Pýthie-plop, Kassandra-plop,- dětinské dovádění, řezy vášněmi.
Neztratili jsme kurz, jen země zmizela v dáli, v řádění viru, svíjení politiků někde v mlze, zmizela v odlesku na Tvé tváři, v slze.
Naděje…ovšem není cinkot sklenic v guvernérově paláci, je to dřina přístavních dělníků s pletenci svalů jako lodní lana, je to lotosový květ rostoucí z bahnitého dna otevírající se nad hladinou světlu barvám Tobě, je to poskakování na žraločích hlavách točících se v nekonečném kruhu dole pod prknem, na němž se procházíme, sladké kurděje.
Naděje je jasnější než tisíce sluncí, vede mne k Tobě.
Posádka uprchla na záchranných člunech, my čekáme v kajutě na zádi, schouleni do sebe.
Bezvětří nekončí, vzhůru na palubu, nastavit tváře slunci, vzhůru na palubu, nechť rozezní se lodní zvon, nastavit tváře Naději, vzhůru na palubu.
Pojďme- odvážněji houževnatěji, vydatněji, bezvadněji, jen už POJĎME!!!
Všechny Tvé střevíce.
Lubomír Tomik
Noční šapitó,
opuštěné a tiché,
protancuješ v něm všechny své střevíce.
All your shoes.
Lubomír Tomik
Night tent,
abandoned and quiet
you dance all your shoes in it.
Pro Tebe, právě teď….na lodi Naděje, v kajutě na zádi.
PS: A zvuk na závěr, oznámení …právě mi přišla zpráva, přesně v okamžiku, kdy jsem dočetl. Stává se mi to, skoro pokaždé, že se na diktafon nahraje něco zcela nečekaného.
The dead travel fast.
Lubomír Tomik
We are lost,
like wave after wave,
we're shattering the coast of death,
we are lost.
Oh, Queen of Pudding, spin your mourning coffee.
Oh, Queen of Pudding, give me your hand.
Ships far out to sea,
ash and dust,
faith in the resurrection,
dust and ash.
Oh, Queen of Pudding, we are lost only by hope.
Oh, Queen of Pudding, I have drunk all the coffee in the world and will never fall asleep again.
We are resurrected like wave after wave,
rotten bodies floating down the Ganges.
The dead travel fast,
or not ?
from the collection Reanimized Irish Bride or Digging in the majoun/ 2015 /
Yesterday I took a few photos, an audio recording of my poem, today I made a video of it, I want to publish it on YouTube at 12.00. I read on the remains of a highway from the 1940s, it was built by Tomáš Baťa, Adolf Hitler continued the construction, just concrete torsos in the middle of the fields. When I read under the so-called „white bridge“, I thought of reading with photos from India … dead in the Ganga, everywhere on planet, they travel fast, don’t they?
Mrtví cestují rychle.
Lubomír Tomik
Jsme ztraceni,
jako vlna za vlnou,
tříštíme se o pobřeží smrti,
jsme ztraceni.
Ó Královno pudinku, roztoč svůj kafemlýnek smutku.
Ó, Královno pudinku, podej mi ruku.
Lodě daleko na moři,
popel a prach,
víra ve vzkříšení,
prach a popel.
Ó Královno pudinku, jsme ztraceni jen tím, že doufáme.
Ó Královno pudinku, vypil jsem všechnu kávu světa a už nikdy neusnu.
Jsme vzkříšeni jako vlna za vlnou,
prohnilá těla plující po proudu Gangy.
Mrtví přece cestují rychle,
nebo ne ?
ze sbírky Reanimovaná irská nevěsta aneb nimrati se v majounu /2015/
Včera jsem pořídil pár fotek, audiozáznam mé básně, dnes jsem z toho udělal video , chci jej ve 12.00 publikovat na YouTube, četl jsem na zbytcích dálnice ze čtyřicátých let 20.století, rozestavěl ji Tomáš Baťa, ve stavbě pokračoval Adolf Hitler, nakonec zůstala jen betonová torza uprostřed polí a lesů. Když jsem četl pod tzv ,,bílým mostem “ napadlo mne čtení doplnit fotkami z Indie…mrtví v Ganze, vůbec všude, přece cestují rychle, ne ?
From the upcoming collection of poems Map of the Continent of Your Heart, read and recorded on January 19, 21 in KovoSteel Staré Město, http://www.kovozoo.cz, in the exhibit of the L-610 aircraft, which was only ours, mine and Yours for an hour.
American Imperial Dynasty.
Lubomír Tomik
the bottom swirled with deposits of dead animal shells,
the shells of the American imperial dynasties,
as the latimetry sank and deeper
in shades of vanilla,
to the second birth
there in the middle of the rustling of treetops,
in the shadows of the Carpathians,
you are gorgeous in the quiet Brittany forest
she pulled on a silk kimono and set out
plunder,
plunder,
voraciously went down the throat of all the phoenixes,
impregnable sprinkled beauty from the sleeves,
when after all she was ordered to attack and
she went for coffee,
suddenly
crushed
her time
suddenly
she felt around her in the darkness
a little red,
a little detective library,
which she pulled over his head.
-Don't be angry!-
What did you lock my love, in the drawer of your memory? Lovely moments, laughter and tenderness, early cold and I …
can’t understand, I can’t do that.
From the upcoming collection of poems Map of the Continent of Your Heart, read and recorded on January 19, 21 in KovoSteel Staré Město, www.kovozoo.cz, in the exhibit of the L-610 aircraft, which was only ours, mine and Yours for an hour.
Kalibán a Sycorax.
Lubomír Tomik
Co jsi má lásko, zamkla v šuplíku své paměti ?
Líbezné chvíle, smích i něhu,
brzký chlad
a já …
pochopit,
to nedovedu.
Z chystané sbírky básní Mapa kontinentu Tvého srdce, čte a nahráno 19.1.21 v KovoSteelu Staré Město, www.kovozoo.cz , v exponátu letadla L-610, které bylo díky vstřícnému přístupu ze strany firmy , na hodinu jen naše, mé a Tvé.
PS: Honey, I'm publishing this article for you at 2 hours 2 minutes 22. seconds 2.2.2021...
Jejím sestrám. Čteno a nahráno pro Tebe , u zasněženého a zamrzlého Balatonu v Novém Hrozenkově 29.1.21. To her sisters. Read and recorded for You, at the snowy and frozen Lake Balaton in Nový Hrozenkov 29.1.21.
Jejím sestrám.
Lubomír Tomik
zápach vlečných sítí ze spleti ocelových lan,
rzí vzpomínek,
obroušený vlnolam,
když nádherná vystoupila z přílivu, šaty z mořských řas,
zanechány, na okrasu Jejím sestrám.
ze sbírky Veronica a jiné básně / 2018/
To Her sisters
Lubomír Tomik
the smell of steel wire rope trawls,
rust of memories,
ground breakwater,
when the beautiful rose from the tide,
the seaweed dress left,
to adorn Her sisters.
from the collection of Veronica and other poems / 2018 /
Just flaming in the evening.
Lubomír Tomik
Ganesha on the march
Ganesha on the march,
Throw the torch in my direction,
I'm standing right here,
and I smell gasoline
Ganesha on the march
Ganesha on the march.
Existuje svět II.
Lubomír Tomik
Existuje svět,
v němž
jsme jen
stíny na zdi.
There is a world II.
Lubomír Tomik
There is a world
in which we are just
shadows,
shadows on the wall.
...
from the collection Veronica and other poems / 2016 /
Kódy, báseň pro Tebe , i o dnešním dnu na Balatonu, nahráno na diktafon kousek od jezera
Codes.
Lubomír Tomik
Peter stood in the still,
key-um, key, key, unlocked a miracle,
they are content with the joy of the land,
naturally acclimatized with a certificate,
to the temperature of the riot.
The battlefield is ready,
Waiting for an order to attack, to follow Boudicea,
Burning airships fall from the sky shot down by projectiles of your beauty.
I wanted to tell You,
I want to be really nice,
Make you laugh, caress.
I buried the other guy in the woods,
In a cave under an overhang.
Tired in the cold, I warm myself by a pile of hearts,
again and again every morning I start beating,
I'm still losing him in the evening,
I go to sleep with an empty chest.
This story doesn't end there,
not even a light carrier,
not even an armourer,
With a smile, perhaps a smile,
a pensive face, a smile, perhaps a smile.
You were beautiful today, incredibly,
you opened me like a can of tuna,
tender meat,
spicy.
čteno pro Tebe dnes, tady,29.1.21, u jezera Balaton, v Novém Hrozenkově, bohužel,, není Balaton jako Balaton, přituhlo…….. read for You today, here, January 29, 21, at Lake Balaton, in Nový Hrozenkov, unfortunately, Lake Balaton is not like Balaton, it has tightened.
Kódy.
Lubomír Tomik
Petr stál ve strnulém šeru,
Klíč-ehm, klíčem, klíčem,odemykal zázrak,
Spokojeně lkají jsouce zemí srosteni,
Přirozeně certifikátem aklimatizováni,
Na teplotu vzpoury.
Bitevní pole je připraveno,
Čeká se na povel k útoku, následovat Boudiceu,
Hořící vzducholodě padají k z oblohy sestřelovány projektily Tvé krásy.
Chtěl jsem ti říct,
Chci být skutečně milý,
Rozesmát Tě ,pohladit.
Toho druhého chlápka jsem zakopal v lese,
V jeskyni pod převisem.
Znavený v chladu se ohřívám u hromady srdcí,
znovu a znovu mi každé ráno začně jedno tlouci,
večer o něj pořád přicházím,
chodím spát s prázdným hrudním košem.
Tenhle příběh nekončí,
ani světlonošem,
ani zbrojnošem,
Úsměvem, snad úsměvem,
zadumanou tváří, úsměvem, snad úsměvem
Dnes jsi byla krásná, neuvěřitelně,
otevřela jsi mne jako konzervu tuňáka,
jemné maso,
kořeněné.
She is the center of the universe. / For You /
Lubomír Tomik
A fat monk, no twig,
he threw two logs of wood into the fire, clutching in greasy sweaty hands,
ruffled leather folds and logs were just
amber cut,
in the colors of flames, shiny jewelry with protruding eyes,
reflections of fire danced at night, crackled, blazed in the wind,
the call for love vanished in the roar of the souls around,
panorama borders, colors and shadows, everything was perfect,
if it weren't for burning me, I'd quite like it,
the key to burning is not to burn,
the key to waiting is not to wait,
the key to your heart is not to have,
swallow it
lose and find him again,
you wouldn't believe how amazing it is
in the colors of lightning You are the center of my universe
and Achilles' heel,
a vortex of galaxies that has drawn me in,
a fiery maelstrom rotating in the center of my universe,
unchanging,
in the middle of it all,
in the center You are
You taught me,
that every second is a big bang,
every second
and it all starts again.
We both sail the reality on our shaky little ships,
we live a story
is more needed?
PS: Honey, I'm publishing this article for you at 2 hours 2 minutes 22. seconds 2.2.2021...
