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.

In Old Age

by Frederick Tennyson

−0.1650 + 0.5584i

Drawing the boundary…

The Ants Go Marching One By One

by Richard

−0.1626 + 0.5335i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

In Old Age

by Frederick Tennyson

Ah, what is beauty to the sick man's eye?
Unto the spirit wintry with despair
The promise of the spring? The azure air,
The winged pomp of Heaven passing by
Into the topmost summer's golden sky?
The west-wind breathing in my face is young
As once I was, when in my heart there sprung
Primrose and violet joys that soonest die.
Therefore I think upon my days of prime,
Unfailing strength, unquenchable delight,
The voices that I heard in that far time,
Of love and truth, the eyes that once were bright,
And the long vision of the past appears
One summer morn, a morn of merry years.

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!

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