Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.024 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.

Good Business

by Edgar A. Guest

0.0209 − 0.4236i

Drawing the boundary…

Stupidity

by Amy Lowell

0.0144 − 0.4466i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Good Business

by Edgar A. Guest

If I possessed a shop or store,
I'd drive the grouches off my floor;
I'd never let some gloomy guy
Offend the folks who came to buy;
I'd never keep a boy or clerk
With mental toothache at his work,
Nor let a man who draws my pay
Drive customers of mine away.

I'd treat the man who takes my time
And spends a nickel or a dime
With courtesy and make him feel
That I was pleased to close the deal,
Because tomorrow, who can tell?
He may want stuff I have to sell,
And in that case then glad he'll be
To spend his dollars all with me.

The reason people pass one door
To patronize another store,
Is not because the busier place
Has better silks or gloves or lace,
Or cheaper prices, but it lies
In pleasant words and smiling eyes;
The only difference, I believe,
Is in the treatment folks receive.

It is good business to be fair,
To keep a bright and cheerful air
About the place, and not to show
Your customers how much you know;
Whatever any patron did
I'd try to keep my temper hid,
And never let him spread along
The word that I had done him wrong.

Stupidity

by Amy Lowell

Dearest, forgive that with my clumsy touch
I broke and bruised your rose.
I hardly could suppose
It were a thing so fragile that my clutch
Could kill it, thus.

It stood so proudly up upon its stem,
I knew no thought of fear,
And coming very near
Fell, overbalanced, to your garment's hem,
Tearing it down.

Now, stooping, I upgather, one by one,
The crimson petals, all
Outspread about my fall.
They hold their fragrance still, a blood-red cone
Of memory.

And with my words I carve a little jar
To keep their scented dust,
Which, opening, you must
Breathe to your soul, and, breathing, know me far
More grieved than you.

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