Invisible Obsession

My Kindle is like a bus queue
and it’s one that’s very long;
it’s far too easy to purchase a book
when you’re hooked up to Amazon.
It’s now another obsession;
I need to sort it out,
but help for a Kindle obsession,
well, there isn’t much about.
But I may have come up with an answer
for this dreadful dilemma I’m in:
I will imagine every new book that I buy
and decide whether it’s thick or it’s thin.
Then I will give each one an appropriate space
on an empty bookcase shelf
and when it’s crammed right up to the end
I will have a good chat with myself.
I will say, Now look you here,
this really, really must stop;
just take all those books away from that shelf
and off to a charity shop.
But just a minute, I say to myself
as I scratch my empty head,
There are no books to take away!
I know! – I will make a donation instead!
And although that makes me feel better
the obsession’s still long as my arm,
but I think I will probably settle for this;
after all, it’s doing no harm.

All Will Be Well

All shall be well
and all shall be well
and all manner of things
shall be well
Julian of Norwich

All Will Be Well

I’m not sure where my head was
when I bought the books,
recipes to die for, illustrated,
when even a spoon can argue
its way out of grip.

I think there was a quiver of loss,
last-ditch attempt to hold on,
ache of desire and grief for what was;
sore fingers grappling rock
before the fall.

But wanting leads us down a path
of sufferance,  starves the spirit,
sucks it dry.
Time to let go, embrace a
new normal, accept what is,
here in the moment;
an exposition, prelude to the next phase,
knowing that

wind will still blow secrets to the birds,
sun tease with games of hide and seek.
Rain will still fall soft on arid soil
or pelt like Tungsten darts,
and night stay true to promise of the day,
dewy grass to loosen rooted fears,
new breath,
a hint of trust.