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

0.147 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.

Piers the Plowman

by William Langland

0.0576 + 1.6873i

Drawing the boundary…

Battle Song

by Ebenezer Elliott

0.0301 + 1.5427i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Piers the Plowman

by William Langland

For trewthe telleth that loue . is triacle of hevene;
May no synne be on him sene . that useth that spise,
And alle his werkes he wrougte . with loue as him liste;
And lered it Moises for the levest thing . and moste like to heuene,
And also the plante of pees . moste precious of vertues.
For hevene myghte noughte holden it · it was so hevy of hym-self,
Tyl it hadde of the erthe . yeten his fylle,
And whan it haved of this folde . flesshe and blode taken,
Was neuere leef upon lynde . lighter ther-after,
And portatyf and persant . as the poynt of a nedle,
That myghte non armure it lette . ne none heigh walles.
For-thi is love leder . of the lordes folke of hevene,
And a mene, as the maire is . bitwene the kyng and the comune;
Right so is love a ledere . and the lawe shapeth,
Upon man for his mysdedes . the merciment he taxeth.
And for to knowe it kyndely · it comseth bi myght,
And in the herte, there is the hevede . and the heigh welle.

Battle Song

by Ebenezer Elliott

Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark;
What then? 'Tis day!
We sleep no more; the cock crows—hark!
To arms! away!
They come! they come! the knell is rung
Of us or them;
Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung
Of gold and gem.
What collar'd hound of lawless sway,
To famine dear—
What pension'd slave of Attila,
Leads in the rear?
Come they from Scythian wilds afar,
Our blood to spill?
Wear they the livery of the Czar?
They do his will.
Nor tassell'd silk, nor epaulette,
Nor plume, nor torse—
No splendour gilds, all sternly met,
Our foot and horse.
But, dark and still, we inly glow,
Condensed in ire!
Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know
Our gloom is fire.
In vain your pomp, ye evil powers,
Insults the land;
Wrongs, vengeance, and the cause are ours,
And God's right hand!
Madmen! they trample into snakes
The wormy clod!
Like fire, beneath their feet awakes
The sword of God!
Behind, before, above, below,
They rouse the brave;
Where'er they go, they make a foe,
Or find a grave.

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