I have documented all of my travels so that those interested in travel can read, and all of the people that we took away in escorted groups can see their group photos and stories, as a reminder of the good times experienced.
I started writing poetry with impulsive and compelling passion when I visited Greece for the first time. When you are so inspired that the words just literally flow from universe to pen. You realize that all the poets of the world have something in common, they have found the real exquisite reason for living. They have found the God given light of the world. Poetry gives vent to one’s innermost feelings of the love within you. It is when all the senses are filled to overflow that they manifest into words.
It is the only pure way to express the feelings and emotions of your heart. These written words are too precious to keep within.
One thing though I am passionate and sincere about is for the return of the Parthenon Marbles from the British Museum back to Athens Greece, I was moved to compose this poem, as it tore my heart out on behalf of the Greeks for their missing treasures from their beloved Parthenon. Also, as a mark of respect for Melina Mercouri the Minister for Culture and ceaseless campaigner for the return of the Parthenon treasures to their rightful place..
ATHEN’S LOST TREASURES
Oh! Athens, so white and square,
Beloved by all residing there,
A treasure to the pilgrim’s eye,
Who will love thee ’til they die.
That first glimpse of Parthenon,
Resting primal, on hill thereon,
Stirred this wondering visitor,
To marvel why, assailed by predator.
The Persians came, and invaded,
Destroying shrines, and temples raided,
Till now, just portico’s remain,
To show all plunder, has no gain.
Those ancient monuments still stand,
Built by man’s primeval hand,
To show the world down the ages,
Triumph reigns in many stages.
The Acropolis goes back in time,
Too far back for reason or rhyme,
But is said to be Neolithic.
Intrinsically belonging to the Attic.
Most vividly poignant be,
The sight of that lone olive tree,
Along side graceful Erechtheion,
Living proof, of time long gone.
It stands as witness to the prayer
Of gods and goddesses, who worshipped there.
Most sacred place on Acropolis,
An inspiration to Herodotus.
When viewed at night from atop the Pnyx,
Where colored flood-lights play strange tricks,
Showing ghosts from centuries past
Fleeing from that rocky vast.
Modern man came to loot and plunder,
Taking treasures from asunder,
Yielding up, for foreign museum piece,
Give back, put back, on to Acropolis.
Return these treasures to their rightful place.
Where now is stored, is a disgrace,
Here the heart, there the head.
Origin and intent all now dead.
Indigenous they should remain,
How wonderful if man came sane,
Enough to return to rightful place,
Those ancient treasures restored to grace.
To achieve just this, Melina tried,
But in so doing, the Diva died.
Let us seek her eternal gratitude,
By returning crafts to their rightful latitude.
Sculpted pillars must return to Greece
Instead of mere museum piece,
To once again face rightful sun,
Affirming man’s immortal run.
C Woodward © 2004
To see this poem and my other poetry see my blogspot http://collywolsmediterraneandreams.blogspot.com.au
But herewith on this website are the travel writings that began back with my very first trips that I hope will be of interest.
I begin with a book written by my friend Michelle Aukett and I in Corfu, a true story. “Margarita the Corfu treetop cat”