Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.045 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.

Smile, Smile, Smile

by Wilfred Owen

−0.1334 + 1.5771i

Drawing the boundary…

Dawn

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.1573 + 1.6157i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Smile, Smile, Smile

by Wilfred Owen

Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned
Yesterday's Mail; the casualties (typed small)
And (large) Vast Booty from our Latest Haul.
Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned;
For, said the paper, "When this war is done
The men's first instinct will be making homes.
Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes,
It being certain war has just begun.
Peace would do wrong to our undying dead,—
The sons we offered might regret they died
If we got nothing lasting in their stead.
We must be solidly indemnified.
Though all be worthy Victory which all bought,
We rulers sitting in this ancient spot
Would wrong our very selves if we forgot
The greatest glory will be theirs who fought,
Who kept this nation in integrity."
Nation?—The half-limbed readers did not chafe
But smiled at one another curiously
Like secret men who know their secret safe.
This is the thing they know and never speak,
That England one by one had fled to France
(Not many elsewhere now save under France).
Pictures of these broad smiles appear each week,
And people in whose voice real feeling rings
Say:  How they smile!  They're happy now, poor things.

Dawn

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Streak upon streak of turquoise in a sheet of heavy gray, 
A space of shining silver where the clouds are torn away,
Stars growing pale in heaven o'erhead, and, lower down,
A fringe of amber touches the roofs of the sleeping town. 
Shadowy wains and waggoners steal slow and softly by, 
There is no sudden swish of whips, there is no carter's cry. 
Upon the lips that cease from speech, the lids that fain would rest, 
A little wind comes whispering out of the lightless west.
Lamps in the road are quenched and die because the day's begun, 
Although there's half an hour to wait ere men salute the sun. 
Steps of a homeless woman sound hollow down the street, 
Laugh of a man rings noisily where man and woman meet, 
And change with languid eyes and lips a fire of idle words, 
A cry of foolish laughter. Then silence; and the birds. 

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