Pop open a bottle of old thought

There are always old roads on mountains that are a spiraling shelf for man to crawl...

The new ones, they don't flow so easily with the land. They have bartered more fiercely with the rolls and hills; they demand more, cutting in deep to "save our time". Why? Time is such a basic, restraining concept.
These old ones, the roads with the tattered edges, wine-like ages and as many tales as they are long; they are different. They are diplomatic and modest, taking only what they need and never more. They dip and glide, flourish and spin. They dance with the land.

New Piece

I know it has been long between posts, but here is a small piece I wrote for a topic activity in one of my university units. It is intended to be an attempt at realism, a genre I've never really dabbled in deliberately before.
You can find the writing in the Poet's Book, here: http://chanceapoet.blogspot.com.au/p/the-poets-book.html

Simple Meal Ideas #1

This was something I tried last night and had been wanting to all week. I realised that my mum and I were getting caught up in creating somewhat extravagant meat dishes in that we were trying to do too much to the meat to make it different.
In reality, all we needed to do was try basic flavour combinations with whatever meat we chose. As such, I chose to do the following recipe that I made up in my mind and I will outline here.

Herbed chicken:
- chicken thighs (I had 3 from a butcher, but buy as many as you think you need)
- butter
- olive oil
- salt and pepper
- fresh or dried herbs (I had thyme in my garden and dried oregano in the cupboard)

Melt butter in a pan, add oil, salt and pepper. With fresh herbs, cook them off for a minute or two before adding the meat. The meat can be cut as big or as small as you want. Obviously, cook the chicken until it's cooked through, but not tough.

It's insanely simple and easy to do, so why did I bother putting something like that on my blog when it would seem like anyone could think of that? Because sometimes they don't and it can be the inspiration for a another dish altogether.
As for how it was finished off, keep the butter and oil with the meat; it maintains the moisture and flavour. We roasted potatoes and sweet potato in oil in the oven (we usually add garlic, salt and pepper), and steamed a few greens. It generally makes for a decent meal.

Remembered...?

If you're living to leave a legacy, or to be remembered in some way, then you're living your life for the wrong person.

Live it for yourself. When you're gone, what does it matter if you've left a legacy or not? If you did not enjoy your life simply to be remembered, then you're wasting your time.

A little post

Love others when they don't know how to love themselves.

You don't have to devote yourself to them, but rather be a guide.
Show them the patience, kindness, mercy, joy, and compassion every human deserves. No person deserves it more; no person deserves it less.

The Simple Life

The other night, I had finished work as a waitress and I was reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" as I waited to be picked up. While I read on a small wall outside the bowling club, one of the patrons came out and asked me "What are you reading?" I showed him the cover and said it aloud. He asked me what it was about. I told him it was about a young girl by the name of Scout Finch, and the experience of having her father, a lawyer, defend a Negro man during the times when there was racial tension.
He then went on to tell me that I don't need to be afraid of life, that if something doesn't work, it's ok. He said a pretty girl like me who is smart and confident (and probably studying, which I am) will always find something, will always find a way. He apologised a number of times that he was drunk and talking to a pretty girl, and that it must be a bit weird, but I told him it was fine. He told me how the simple life is best, and I couldn't agree more. He told me of how he went fishing a few days before, that he had caught fish, prepared it and eaten. For free. And of his father berating him as a child if he stepped on an ant. "Weren't you looking? Be careful of the life that is around you" were his father's words.
He explained that his family were from Maitland, NSW. His ancestors had pursued careers as barristers and mayors. He didn't want that. And he said his family were proud of him, were happy because even though he didn't copy them, he was happy and living an honest life. A simple life.
As he told me not to be scared, that I would be ok as long as I didn't let anything get to me, I wondered what had made him stop to tell me that. I know he'd already said that I had caught his eye and that he thought I was pretty, but I wondered as I sat there listening and smiling at him what had given him the urge to say something. Why did he feel the need to tell me he was confident in me? I wondered in that moment what he saw as I looked back at him, wondered what he heard in my words when I spoke. What had he seen in me that gave him the impulse to speak up?
I suppose I may never know. Another mystery of life to add to the chapters, to look back on when I enjoy a simple life.

Thank You. I'm Coming.

I stood at the base of the change, my eyes following the natural track the earth had set for me. Though I was focused on this, my eyes saw other things too. It saw the magpies chasing each other, the flying ants and moths whirring around the overgrown grass that had never known the fear of standing tall enough to be chopped off. Beyond that, it gave way to a slow army of guardian trees. Although they stood stubbornly in the way of anything that wished to overrun the space, nature had left a little path for me to follow, as if I was a guest that had long been expected to visit.
“Thank you. I’m coming”