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

Closes

A note from Richard

V2Melody will close at midnight on 20 January 2028

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.

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.

I want a simpler life, without the hassle of being online. The work of maintaining a server, the monitoring, and the residual obligations that come with keeping a site alive no longer fit the life I want.

From 4 November 2026 I will not be adding new poems or musical poems to the site.

Until midnight on 20 January 2028, Spanish time, everything remains available exactly as it is. That is when my VPS server contract comes to an end, and it will not be renewed. 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

0.016 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.

An Extempore Elegy

by Samuel Johnson

−0.1058 − 0.7757i

Drawing the boundary…

The Builders

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

−0.1039 − 0.7920i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

An Extempore Elegy

by Samuel Johnson

Here's a Woman of the Town,
Lies as Dead as any Nail!
She was once of high renown,—
And so here begins my Tale.

She was once as cherry plump
Red her cheek as Cath'rine Pear,
Toss'd her nose, and shook her Rump,
Till she made the Neighbours stare.

There she soon became a Jilt,
Rambling often to and fro'
All her life was naught but guilt,
Till Purse and Carcase both were low.

But there came a country 'Squire
He was a seducing Pug!
Took her from her friends and sire,
To his own House her did lug.

Black her eye with many a Blow,
Hot her breath with many a Dram,
Now she lies exceeding low,
And as quiet as a Lamb.

The Builders

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

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