Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.026 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.

The Ants Go Marching One By One

by Richard

−0.1626 + 0.5335i

Drawing the boundary…

The Chances

by Wilfred Owen

−0.1484 + 0.5116i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Ants Go Marching One By One

by Richard

There's a parade in me kitchen, not of proud men in hats
But of tiny black insects, marching like bureaucrats
I've tried every trick, from spray to sticky traps
But these six-legged squatters, they're clever little chaps

Oh, the ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah
They've claimed me sugar bowl, and now they want me honey jar
I've waged a losing war, against this arthropod corps
But the ants keep marching, one by one, hurrah

I've laid out poison, placed boots 'round every leg
Of table and chair, like some mad peg-legged peg
But they build their bridges, with bodies of the dead
These kamikaze crawlers, have gone straight to me head

Now I've had an epiphany, as I watch them toil away
Cleaning up me crumbs, like a free maid service, hey!
So I'll put down me weapons, and with them I'll coexist
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em - I'm now a Myrmecologist!

The ants keep marching, one by one
In me kitchen, the battle's done
We've reached a truce, some might say it's daft
But at least now, the floor's spotless fore and aft!

The Chances

by Wilfred Owen

I mind as 'ow the night afore that show
Us five got talking,—we was in the know,
"Over the top to-morrer; boys, we're for it,
First wave we are, first ruddy wave; that's tore it."
"Ah well," says Jimmy,—an' 'e's seen some scrappin'—
"There ain't more nor five things as can 'appen;
Ye get knocked out; else wounded—bad or cushy;
Scuppered; or nowt except yer feeling mushy."

One of us got the knock-out, blown to chops.
T'other was hurt, like, losin' both 'is props.
An' one, to use the word of 'ypocrites,
'Ad the misfortoon to be took by Fritz.
Now me, I wasn't scratched, praise God Almighty
(Though next time please I'll thank 'im for a blighty),
But poor young Jim, 'e's livin' an' 'e's not;
'E reckoned 'e'd five chances, an' 'e's 'ad;
'E's wounded, killed, and pris'ner, all the lot—
The ruddy lot all rolled in one. Jim's mad.

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content