A quiet notice V2Melody closes at midnight on , Spanish time.

A note from Richard

V2Melody will close at midnight on 31 December 2026

This site has been a retirement project in musical poetry: poems chosen with care and set to music, offered freely for as long as it felt right to keep the garden open.

After the death of my mother, the work no longer holds the place it once did in my life. I have gone as far with it as I wish to go. Like a sand mandala, it was made to be completed and then released. I am not attached to its permanence, and I do not believe any of it needs to last beyond the time it was given.

My wife and I are simplifying our days. The server, the monitoring, and the residual obligations that come with keeping a site alive no longer fit the quieter life we want.

Until midnight on 31 December 2026, Spanish time, everything remains available exactly as it is. After that, the server will be switched off and the site will disappear.

Thank you to anyone who found a poem, a track, or a quiet moment here.

The pleasure was in the making.

Richard



Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.081 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Sweet Suffolk owl

by Thomas Vautor

−0.8933 − 0.2304i

Drawing the boundary…

An Invitation

by Francis Ledwidge

−0.9116 − 0.1519i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Sweet Suffolk owl

by Thomas Vautor

Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight
With feathers like a lady bright,
Thou singest alone, sitting by night,
Te whit, te whoo, te whit, te whit.
Thy note, that forth so freely rolls,
With shrill command the mouse controls,
And sings a dirge for dying souls,
Te whit, te whoo, te whit, te whit.

An Invitation

by Francis Ledwidge

Come where the hills are heaped together
For the winds are glistening with wings,
And Autumn's dull flowers droop and wither
Where, down by the North, the last leaf swings.

I know where a bright well gurgles up
Looping the ferns with a shining tress,
And the wild convolvulus reaches her cup
Out on the bee-glad sunniness.

And there we may learn of flower and wing
The true delight of her seasons four,
As the last leaf down on the north wind swings
And the south throws open her warm blue door.

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