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. The poems were already here before I arrived and began to experiment with them. They will still be here when these musical experiments, and indeed myself, have been swept away, like the sand of a mandala. Nothing has been lost.

I want a simpler end to my life, days of simple love and enjoyment with my wonderful wife of 20 years. The work of maintaining a server, the monitoring, and the residual obligations that come with keeping a site alive no longer fit that life.

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.

The Mandala Is Finished explains this more fully.

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

0.030 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.

Neurotics

by Philip Arthur Larkin

0.0879 + 0.2250i

Drawing the boundary…

Poverty

by D. H. Lawrence

0.1101 + 0.2458i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Neurotics

by Philip Arthur Larkin

No one gives you a thought, as day by day 
You drag your feet, clay-thick with misery.
None think how stalemate in you grinds away, 
Holding your spinning wheels an inch too high 
To bite on earth. The mind, it's said, is free
But not your minds. They, rusted stiff, admit 
Only what will accuse or horrify,
Like slot-machines only bent pennies fit.

So year by year your tense unfinished faces 
Sink further from the light. No one pretends 
To want to help you now. For interest passes 
Always towards the young and more insistent,
And skirts locked rooms where a hired darkness ends 
Your long defence against the non-existent.

Poverty

by D. H. Lawrence

The only people I ever heard talk about My Lady Poverty
were rich people, or people who imagined themselves rich.
Saint Francis himself was a rich and spoiled young man.

Being born among the working people
I know that poverty is a hard old hag,
and a monster, when you're pinched for actual necessities.
And whoever says she isn't, is a liar.

I don't want to be poor, it means I am pinched.
But neither do I want to be rich.
When I look at this pine-tree near the sea,
that grows out of rock, and plumes forth, plumes forth,
I see it has a natural abundance.

With its roots it has a grand grip on its daily bread,
and its plumes look like green cups held up to sun and air
and full of wine.

I want to be like that, to have a natural abundance
and plume forth, and be splendid.

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