Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.028 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.

Every Little Ache

by Richard

−0.2276 − 0.8939i

Drawing the boundary…

Whose are the little beds

by Emily Dickinson

−0.2547 − 0.8890i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Every Little Ache

by Richard

Little twinge my head is aching
Think my pulse is slowly breaking
Heart's a thudding I am shaking
WebMD is all I’m taking

Every little ache I fear
Exaggerate it year by year
Doctor's office always near
Hypochondriac I'm clear

Chest is tight can't catch my breath
Every cough feels like a threat
Troubles here I place my bet
I won't see the day’s sunset

Legs are stiff can't feel my toes
Caught a chill I’m sure it shows
Stuffy nose the panic grows
To the ER off I goes

I feel a twitch
It’s probably just a glitch
My anxious mind
Always in a binding hitch

Whose are the little beds

by Emily Dickinson

Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled—
And no one made reply.

Perhaps they did not hear, I said,
I will inquire again—
Whose are the beds—the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?

'Tis Daisy, in the shortest—
A little further on—
Nearest the door—to wake the first—
Little Leontoden.

'Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster—
Anemone, and Bell—
Bartsia, in the blanket red—
And chubby Daffodil.

Meanwhile, at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied —
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.

Hush! Epigea wakens!
The Crocus stirs her lids —
Rhodora’s cheek is crimson—
She’s dreaming of the woods!

Then turning from them reverent—
Their bedtime ’tis, she said —
The Bumble bees will wake them
When April woods are red.

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