Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.033 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.

Dry-Point

by Philip Arthur Larkin

−0.5004 − 0.1326i

Drawing the boundary…

An Idol of Clay

by Nixon Waterman

−0.4774 − 0.1095i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Dry-Point

by Philip Arthur Larkin

Endlessly, time-honoured irritant,
A bubble is restively forming at your tip.
Burst it as fast as we can —
It will grow again, until we begin dying.

Silently it inflates, till we're enclosed 
And forced to start the struggle to get out:
Bestial, intent, real.
The wet spark comes, the bright blown walls collapse,

But what sad scapes we cannot turn from then:
What ashen hills! what salted, shrunken lakes!
How leaden the ring looks,
Birmingham magic all discredited,

And how remote that bare and sunscrubbed room, 
Intensely far, that padlocked cube of light 
We neither define nor prove,
Where you, we dream, obtain no right of entry.

An Idol of Clay

by Nixon Waterman

What did she give for her wedding-ring?
All that a woman may! 
What did the gifts to the giver bring?
Only an idol of clay. 
All the sweet dreams of her girlhood years,
All that a heart could hold; 
All of her hopes and all of her fears, 
All of her smiles and all of her tears.
For one little circle of gold.

Told she the world of the bitter cheat?
Ah, no! With a smiling face 
She clothed her idol from head to feet
With the garments of her grace. 
And no one knew of the tears she wept;
Her griefs they were never guessed, 
For hid in her heart of hearts she kept 
Her thorns of woe. And so she slept
With her hands across her breast.

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