Two books your readers might enjoy, Scott... both edited by the amazing Garrison Keillor. "Good Poems" and it's successor, "Good Poems for Hard Times." Both are a wonderful "entry level" intro to the world of poetry as well as terrific constant companions... like when you're stuck waiting for an oil change, toss down a verse or two, eh?

Or perhaps we should all just enjoy the work of Mr. Albert Markovski?

"You rock, rock,
the rock just sits,
and is..."

(heh heh, couldn't resist...)

I second Jeff's recommendation of "Good Poems," and Jeff, I find your description very apt!

Great suggestion, Jeff. One of the ways I started learning about poetry was subscribing to the free daily email service from Garrison Keillor's "The Writer's Almanac." And Billy Collins, whose poem I featured in this post, has been a guest on "A Prairie Home Companion" before.

Beautiful. Like the nod to Proust. Like the fact that he's defining love without ever saying the word.

It's great of you to encourage the reading of poetry. As you point out, there are lots of comparisons between poetry and screenwriting, not the least of which is the fact that everyone feels they can do it.
As Keillor says in one of his intros about bad poetry, it's like used condoms on the beach--it's clear someone's had a meaningful experience, but it doesn't do you any good.
Anyway, your point about the storytelling reminds me of a favorite poem of mine, Riven Doggeries by James Tate. Here's an excerpt:

"The dog had leapt
from my seventh-story apartment
into a Police helicopter
that had been hijacked
by some well-meaning murderers.
But it was for dogs
they entertained no mercy."

James Tate - great poet. At the risk of name-dropping, my wife and I actually met Tate at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival back in late 80s. He was there with my friend Kurt Brown, another poet. IIRC, Tate had just won some prestigious award.

You couldn't have impressed me more if you had dropped Spielberg's name. Takeaway line from the Poets.org bio--'domesticated surrealism'--love that.
Here's another one that feeds my soul and I'm damn sure you never met the author because it's from the Sanskrit:

A ray is caught in a bowl,
And the cat licks it, thinking that it's milk;
Another threads its way through tree-branches,
And the elephant thinks he has found a lotus-stalk.
Half asleep, a girl reaches out
And tries to rearrange the moonbeams on the bed
To share the warmth.

It is the moon that is drunk with its own light,
But the world is confused.