ONE OF MAN’S GREATEST SINS THE NEED TO WIN THE LUST TO CONQUER ALL THAT LIVES YONDER Bob Downes © 2012 Far from home I travel alone and seek for solitude To ease my anguished mood In the deep valleys that stretch 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 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 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) THE MOUND 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 cannot 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. A HAWK THAT CANNOT LAND 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 apprehensively 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 chiseled 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 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 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 TASTE THE FRUIT 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 OCEAN WIDE – OCEAN DEEP 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 safety 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 CAVE 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 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 HORIZON 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 MYSTICAL MOON 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 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 LANDSCAPE Almost motionless in its colour Almost silent in its distanceBob Downes © – 1993 SPACE RUNNER 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. (NASA?) Bob Downes © – 1993 THE SANDS OF THE DESERT 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 AFTERNOON SUN 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 SCOTLAND IS BEAUTIFUL 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 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 SHOOTING DEER I went into the forest to shoot deer but my camera wasn’t loaded Bob Downes © – 1982 |