Books and the Shelves that Contain Them

I haven't written anything in this here blog for a while so I'll tap the keys and see if anything happens.

There's not much interesting happening at the moment. Nothing much going on with me and poetry -- in either the reading or the writing of it.

I am, however, beginning to suspect that my poetry section is feeling a bit ignored. And I'm not sure if I read the sounds correctly, but the books that I just re-shelved after sitting on my dresser for over a month sounded a bit miffed. But not because I had re-shelved them. I think it more has to do with the fact that I looked at them for a moment and then left them in an untidy, crooked pile for over a month. They could neither feel the comfort of their bookshelf homes or help me with whatever enjoyment or knowledge I thought I could glean from them. I had no idea they felt that way.

Well, they're all back where they should be, though they were irritated by the prank Andy pulled on them recently. He sneakily placed some books that fell under a bunch of other categories into their empty spots on the bookshelf. I definitely heard poetical cries of displeasure. There was no mistaking those sounds! They especially showed contempt for my book on the Irish Potato Famine.

Now I can understand where they're coming from and that they felt disrespected and displaced, but I also understand the plight of my slender, insightful volume on the Irish famine and the other non-poetical works that fell victim to Andy's prank (yes, like the poetry books, they complained as well). And I even understand the need for proper organization. But hot damn! So very complainy are they!

Once again I need more shelves (and more space in the room for shelves) and time to pull a volume or two down more often (without leaving them defenseless for months against dust on my dresser).