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.

After the death of my mother, 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.

My wife and I are simplifying our days. The server, the monitoring, and the residual obligations that come with keeping a site alive no longer fit the quieter life we 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

0.140 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.

Cobwebs

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−1.0244 − 0.3712i

Drawing the boundary…

Walls

by Hervey Allen

−0.9187 − 0.2793i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Cobwebs

by Nora Hopper Chesson

The cobwebs late so finely spun
By cunning spiders in the sun,
Hang glimmering, fringed with shining rain
Round drops of molten silver form,
Flash, fall, and slowly form again,
The last, lost children of the storm. 

All down the flowerless garden walk 
The cobwebs hang from stalk to stalk. 
Full-fringed with rain: the pink is knit 
To the tall rose that neighboured it 
When June was at her height of noon, 
And skies of evening knew no whit 
Of mist that wraps the hunter's moon. 

The sunflower to the phlox is bound 
By silken chains of filmy stuff, 
Soft as the seed-sheaths underground 
Waiting till winter's skein is wound 
And Earth of frost has had enough. 

Then rose and phlox and pink shall rise 
Unchained, that now with cobweb-ties, 
Unwilling neighbours, wait the pyre 
Of dead leaves and the cleansing fire.

Walls

by Hervey Allen

The wall of his environment,
Altho' Chinese was not so high
He could not see tiled roofs of kings
Like dragon-backs against the sky.
And so spurred on by discontent,
An eagle pen that lent him wings
Transported him across the wall
To tea in gardens with the Mings.

Thus staged, his long but static fall
Made drama for ancestral ghosts,
Whose proud transgressions raised the wall
Of ego, which with echoed boasts
Had in past epochs starved their souls
With windy oats of self-applause,
Till they had met great grandpapas
Twit-tittering on the seething coals.

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