Bob Downes © 2012

Far from home
I travel alone and seek for solitude
To ease my anguished mood

In the deep valleys that stretcht beneath me
I'll find the Key
From all the ails that greet me

Despite Hail and Gail
That is in my wake
I'll strive forward
No matter what it takes
Bob Downes © 2011

A man can never Love a woman,
like a woman Loves a man.
He may try and try and try and try.
But a man can never Love a woman,
like a woman Loves a man.
Bob Downes, ©2011

Whether the weather is good
Or whether the weather is bad
Be glad
My lad
If YOU don't feel bad.
Bob Downes ©2009

The Allotment
A home from home
Where solitary thoughts are sown
Ideas grow, and the roots of problems unearthed.
Bob Downes © - 1993


The wind upon the moor
Where no other sound is heard
Cool grey mist, sweeps a searching face.
Soft green moss,
A careful silent tread (not to wake the dead)
The coming darkness can be seen
A figure looms ahead
An increase of fear, as it comes near
A stifled cry, as it passes by
The wind upon the moor...

The wind upon the moor...

The wind upon the moor...
Bob Downes © - 2005
(Dedicated to the memory of Vincent Price)

I stare dead centre until glaze eyed at a mound.
Matt black and brown corpuses crawl carefully over it's surface,
creating for me the effect of a circular heat haze.
Stooping, I select a small stone.
Reaching gingerly forward I once again stare dead cenre until glaze
eyed at the seemingly moving mound below me.
The stone drops.
The mound shimmers.
The matt black and brown corpuses are activated.
The stone is rapidly approached and examined by a few of the
inhabitants of the now seemingly vibrating mound.
The invader is considered not to be a danger.
Life and work return in a blink of an eye to normality.
Bob Downes © - 1993

"A Hawk that connot land" poem I wrote in 1973.
I began it whilst waiting for the last Tube Train home
from Piccadilly Circus. A couple of months later I continued
with the writing in a Hotel room in Edinburgh.
It was completed on "Take off" on a flight which was to take
me to South America.

The cold warmth of winters weak shimmering sunshine gleams thro'
cascades of tall naked trees of pine, ageing on the slopes of steel blue
iced valleys, glancing upon moist darting eyes.
Chill waves of winter's wind circle, climb and arrow into rhythmic
shivering flesh and protruding bone.
Gliding, hovering in the cubic world of city vultures, a weary form
in mind and body, streams its reflections through shadows of jagged wing;
disturbed air currents sway and swish the buoyancy of a hawk that cannot land.
"Climb and claw, proud headed creature of winter's torment,
reach for heights of tranquility!"
Scorched eyes and twisted soul wrench against a caged mind, rivers
of rippled muscle fail to unbend the bars. Vines are cast from the blood that
pulsates through purple, bulbous vein.
Wings flay in their ever tortured journeyed circle of a prisoned valley.
As night draws her dark cloak across winter's frozen suspended sheet-
like cloud, a pointed white light, glinting as if a dying star approaches
from Earth's fading day. The hawk's instinctive eye flickers apprehensiveley
towards this oncoming sacrifice of the setting sun.
Now, quite still, hanging as if from an invisible thread, attached to winter's
frozen sheet-like cloud, the hawk awaits the limp flight of the dove.
Torn and ragged, the once sleek and resting plumage of this creature
and symbol of universal peace, no longer lights the sky with it's
feathers of pure white; a lone lost voyager with broken wing and
broken soul, urges forward to its destiny of death.
Talons spread, wing tips quivering, the hawk awaits for the dove
to fly below its now eager straining body.
The moment of ripening arrives, the hawk plummets downwards,
ice winds, searing, screaming, with it's message of winter
thro' razored claw, sleek brown body.
Curved chisseled beak strikes unguarded throat, talons bury deep,
deep into soft young flesh. Blood of bright red bursts like a
shooting star - only to congeal and drop as petals from a windswept rose.
Winter's cold grasp is forgotten as the hawk ravages with curved
chiselled beak over this once beautiful joy of nature.
Blooded bones, head and feathers fall and float onto the slopes of the
steel blue iced valley.
Thirst quenched, the hawk climbs the grey steps of winter's frozen,
suspended sheet-like clouds, to hover, and await another dawn,
another prey, another winter's torment, to remain...
a hawk that cannot land.
Bob Downes © - 1973

Bird spirits gathering at night,
gliding in their vacuum of death,
cry, tearless to each other with black gleaming eyes,
the agony of their plight.
Cursed are they, for once they were beings of men.
Bob Downes © - 1975

Young bird leave your nest
fly far away.
Young bird leave your nest
seek and ye shall find.
Young bird leave your nest
travel the oceans wide.
Bob Downes © - 1988

I go from bush to bush and taste the fruit thereupon.
With a disapointed palate
I go from bush to bush and taste the fruit thereupon.
With a sadness in my soul
I go from bush to bush and taste the fruit thereupon.
A miracle takes place, because in a moment
I reflect into my distant past,
as in the present I have discovered
the long lost flavour of the blackberry.
Bob Downes © - 1993

"I wrote these poems after I had composed and recorded
the Music for the "Dreams of Nature" CD.

Bob Downes

A dark mass of hollow iron sails towards it`s port of destination.
Sea waves bubble like sparkling wine against her prow.
Parasites cling tightly to her ageing skin.
A sky traveller searches hungrily across her quiet decks.
Sea creatures disturbed by her great shadow and throbbing heart,
dive swift and deep into the fathoms of their retreat -
some travelling to the relative saftey of the dense sea bed,
and there lie hidden, thankful of living in an ocean wide - ocean deep.
The dark mass of hollow iron continues on it`s voyage.
Eventually seen as only a speck... poised on the great arc... of ...
the ocean wide - ocean deep.
Bob Downes © - 1993

Enter the cave of three chambers
where water reflections glow and dance upon upon a stalactite roof.
Enter the cave of three chambers
where creatures scurry.
Enter the cave of three chambers
where ominous sounds lead to a final exit.
Bob Downes © - 1993

Passing clouds when they go by, they leave you with a clear blue sky.
Grey like thoughts are blown quite clear, from an overcast fear.
The sun shines through your troubled sky, and you again can fly.
Bob Downes © - 1993

A sound like that of an angry giant advances from afar.
Thin ripples of witheness race towards the earth.
A glow-worm passes by ...
A David waiting for Goliath?
A bat spins frantically on it`s own axis.
A violet darkness fills the air, and the horizon becomes a silhouette.
A flashing flag like waving light, races across the night.
A glow-worm passes by.
Goliath climbs horizon`s wall
and slowly fades away in spasmodic silences.
David is victorious.
Bob Downes © - 1993

Soon ... soon ... soon ... will appear the mystical moon
Get in tune ... tune ... tune ... with the mystical moon
Croon ... croon ... croon ... to the mystical moon
Swoon ... swoon ... swoon ... to the mystical moon
Mesmerized ... hypnotized ... dream sleep the night
But, look out at noon ... noon ... noon ... for the mystical moon
Bob Downes © - 1993

Nightfall... it can make you sad... when the day has passed...
Nightfall... it can make you glad... when the day has passed...
Nightfall... may bring out the stars... when the day has passed...
Bob Downes © - 1993

Almost motionless in its colour
Almost silent in its distance

Bob Downes © - 1993

Space runner
High above rhe clouds
Far from the madding crowds
Leisurely is his pace,
´cos he thinks he'll win that race.
With great bounding strides
he glides...like a giant, but quite pliant.
There is no other
like the space runner.

Bob Downes © - 1993

The sands of the desert are as if frozen,
reflecting yellow and gold.
The desert haze shimmers silently,
dying yet again this night.
Bob Downes © - 1975

I could see the afternoon sun, between two distant buildings,
A misted veiled crimson, large and still...
pretending to be the moon.

Bob Downes © - 1979

It doesn't matter if it rains
It doesn't matter if it pours
It doesn't matter if it blows
It doesn't matter if it snows
Scotland is beautiful.
Bob Downes © - 1980

Rippling rivers of sunshine, where are you?
Pass your rays of hope over me,
life's not what it seems to be
made to be.
Moonbeams are not enough to cast the worries from my heart.
Rippling rivers of sunshine, where are you?
Winter surely cannot last forever!

Bob Downes © - 1976

I went into the forest to shoot deer
but my camera wasn't loaded
Bob Downes © - 1982