Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.053 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.

The Weather Prophet

by Banjo Paterson

−0.1020 + 1.0479i

Drawing the boundary…

The neophyte, baptized in smiles

by Dylan Thomas

−0.1487 + 1.0737i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Weather Prophet

by Banjo Paterson

''Ow can it rain,' the old man said, 'with things the way they are?
You've got to learn off ant and bee, and jackass and galah;
And no man never saw it rain, for fifty years at least,
Not when the blessed parakeets are flyin' to the east!'

The weeks went by, the squatter wrote to tell his bank the news.
'It's still as dry as dust,' he said, 'I'm feeding all the ewes;
The overdraft would sink a ship, but make your mind at rest,
It's all right now, the parakeets are flyin' to the west.'

The neophyte, baptized in smiles

by Dylan Thomas

The neophyte, baptized in smiles,
Is laughing boy beneath his oath,
Breathing no poison from the oval mouth,
Or evil from the cankered heart.
Where love is there’s a crust of joy 
To hide what drags its belly from the egg,
And, on the ground, gyrates as easily
As though the sun were spinning up through it.
Boy sucks no sweetness from the willing mouth,
Nothing but poison from the breath,
And, in the grief of certainty,
Knows his love rots.
Outdo your prude’s genetic faculty
That grew for good
Out of the bitter conscience and the nerves,
Not from the senses’ dualizing tip
Of water, flame, or air.
Wetten your tongue and lip,
Moisten your care to carelessness,
For she who sprinkled on your brow
Soft shining symbols of her peace with you,
Was old when you were young,
Old in illusions turned to acritudes,
And thoughts, be they so kind,
Touched, by a finger’s nail, to dust.

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