Well, that's easier said than done for a reader who has been gobbling up mystery novels for 50 years or more, so I have stacks of books here and there, on chairs and shelves and tables and floors.
My husband has seen me peering at the spines of the books, picking a book up and moving it to another pile, and hasn't once asked what I'm doing. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. Either he knows me well enough to know why I'm doing it, or he doesn't know me at all and has no clue what I'm doing.
All I have achieved from weeks of piling up books may be seen below. Not quite two poems, just two little bits of doggerel.
And the dog? She's not interested in my doggerel at all, but I'm posting it here for Open Link Monday at the garden nevertheless.
the first rule: no nice girl swears.
something beautiful this way comes—
such a strange lady, half asleep in frog pajamas,
a night to remember!
les jeux sont faits
five red herrings, sitting on a salt spring, talk to the hand,
add a dash of pity to a god unknown,
a taste for death—
strong poison in the teeth of the evidence