Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.025 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.

Ocean's Pulse

by Richard

−0.3070 − 0.2864i

Drawing the boundary…

In March

by Patrick Reginald Chalmers

−0.3316 − 0.2859i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Ocean's Pulse

by Richard

Waves crash on the shore, a rhythmic beat
Sand between my toes, the earth beneath my feet
The ocean's pulse, it calls to me
A primal song of unity

We're born of the sea, you and I
Our hearts beat in time with the tide
Inhale, exhale, like the ocean's swell
In this moment, all is well

The desert meets the sea, two worlds collide
Ancient rhythms flow, impossible to hide
My breath syncs up with nature's tune
Connecting me to sun and moon

Eternal waves, but fleeting are we
Like drops that rise and fall, returning to the sea
Through cloud and river, we make our way
Back to the ocean, where we'll stay

From the depths we came, to the depths we'll return
One with the water, one with the earth
This endless cycle, it sets us free
We are the ocean, the ocean is me

Waves crash on the shore, a rhythmic beat
The ocean's pulse, it calls to me

In March

by Patrick Reginald Chalmers

There is cloud and a splash of blue sky over-head,
And the road by the common's the brave road to tread; 
You miss all your neighbours, 
And hear the wind play 
His pipes and his tabors 
Along the king's way. 

From the elms at the corner the rooks tumble out 
To dance you Sir Roger in clamorous rout; 
For all honest people 
There's gold on the whin, 
And bells in the steeple, 
And ale at the inn. 

The brewer's brown horses, they shine in the sun, 
And each of the team must weigh nearly a ton. 
They stamp and they sidle. 
Their great necks they arch, 
And snatch at the bridle 
This morning of March. 

For Winter is over, you see the fine sights — 
The geese on the common, the boys flying kites, 
The daffydowndillies 
That stoop on the stem, 
And my pretty Phyllis 
Who's gathering them. 

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