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.

A Sense of Humor

by Edgar A. Guest

−0.5710 − 0.4633i

Drawing the boundary…

The Black Christ

by Arthur Shearly Cripps

−0.5995 − 0.4460i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

A Sense of Humor

by Edgar A. Guest

"What shall I give him now?" said God.
"He has the strength with which to plod
The ways of life, the love of right,
The gift of song when the skies are bright.

"Wisdom is planted in his mind,
This man shall be both true and kind,
Earth's beauty shall delight his eyes
And to its glories he shall rise.

"He shall know right from wrong, and he
Defender of the faith shall be;
What more on him can I bestow
Before to earth I let him go?"

Then spake an angel standing near:
"Wisdom is not enough, I fear,
Master, for all that he must do—
Grant him a sense of humor, too.

"Grant him to smile at petty wrong,
The changing moods which sway the throng;
When cares annoy him, show him then
How laughable are angry men!"

Years after, when his strength was tasked,
"What keeps you patient?" he was asked,
"What keeps you brave who are so tried?"
"My sense of humor," he replied.

The Black Christ

by Arthur Shearly Cripps

Pilate and Caïaphas
They have brought this thing to pass—
That a Christ the Father gave,
Should be guest within a grave.
 
Church and State have willed to last
This tyranny not over-past;
His dark southern Brows around
They a wreath of briars have bound,
In His dark despiséd Hands
Writ in sores their writing stands.
 
By strait starlit ways I creep,
Caring while the careless sleep,
Bearing balms, and flow’rs to crown
That poor Head the stone holds down,
Through some crack or crevice dim
I would reach my sweets to Him.
 
Easter suns they rise and set,
But that stone is steadfast yet:
Past my lifting ’tis but I
When ’tis lifted would be nigh.
I believe, whate’er they say,
The sun shall dance an Easter Day,
And I that through thick twilight grope
With balms of faith, and flow’rs of hope,
Shall lift mine eyes and see that stone
Stir and shake, if not be gone.

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