Connecting Izmir via trams, buses, cars, bicycles and… and words.
(Photos are my own photos)
"Every morning
the world is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again.
and fasten themselves to the highest branches
and the ponds appear
like block cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead-
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you ever dared to pray. "
(Morning Poem by Mary Oliver) Link: http://www.michaelppowers.com/wisdom/morningpoem.html
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both.
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference…"
(The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost) Link: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44272/the-road-not-taken
"One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save. "
(The Journey by Mary Oliver) Link: http://www.thepoetryexchange.co.uk/uncategorized/the-journey-by-mary-oliver/