The rain lets up. Bright shafts of sunlight
plunge through shiny leaves of birch and white oak.
I turn off the lamp on my desk as the birds
...
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I'm blind to this sort of 'poetry'. I like the sentiments but don't feel I'm reading poetry. Poetic notions, yes - poetry, no. It's poetic prose. Does it matter? Depends what you're looking for. Whatever, it's nice writing and leaves a nice taste in the mouth. I particularly like the one about cooking an omelette.
A poem is valid if it leaves the reader waiting for the other shoe to drop. This does.
Me again. It strikes me that my last comment (" I'm blind to this kind..." ;) kind of resembles the poems of John Aaron! No, I'm not saying I can write like him - just that it's possible to write 'poetry' of this kind by accident. Particularly by finishing with a short gnomic phrase. At the end.