A slow drift of doves--
frayed shreds of ribbon, edges
pulled thin by dim sky.
I wanted to post this poem written in my own hand, but my scanner wouldn't work, so I find myself typing.
I've been thinking a lot about process. I'd really like to incorporate as much of my process as I can into this blog, and this poem seemed like the best place to start since its roots go back eleven years. It came out of a seed of a poem that I wrote my freshman year of college:
I saw a stream of doves drift by,
a silver silk scarf, on the wind against the sky.
I liked the idea, but not the form, and it lay tucked away in one of my notebooks for years. I recently rediscovered it, and started toying with it, hoping to harvest a haiku from it. These are the drafts (if you're not interested in process, stop reading now):
Streams of doves drift by,
silver silk ribbons, wind-tossed
against a dim sky.
Streams of doves drift by,
shreds of ribbon tossed by hand [handfuls]
[fraying out/frayed edges]
against dusty sky.
[dissolved by dim sky]
A drift of doves streams,
A shred of ribbon, frayed edges
Pulled thin by dim sky.
A drift of doves streams--
frayed shreds [streaks] of ribbon, edges
pulled thin by dim sky.
Slowly the doves drift,
frayed shreds of ribbon, edges
pulled thin by dim sky.
In the future I hope to post scans of typed copies of my poems, followed by scans of the drafts/notes that led up to the poem. I have to get a new ribbon for my typewriter, though, and apparently a new scanner. Until then, I'll just by typing them here. It's easier, that's for sure.