Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.018 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.

Pauline's Air Fryer Blues

by Richard

−0.2749 − 0.1965i

Drawing the boundary…

War Is Kind

by Stephen Crane

−0.2716 − 0.2138i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Pauline's Air Fryer Blues

by Richard

Pauline's got a gadget but she ain't impressed
Got an air fryer sittin and it gives her no rest
Eighty-five years and she's seen it all
But this contraption's the bane of her hall

Every recipe's a mystery wrapped in smoke
She's got no patience for this modern bloke
Knobs and buttons makin' her feel weak
She misses her stove that's genuine antique

Pauline’s air fryer givin her strife
Stirrin up trouble in her peaceful life
She’s a classic lady in a techy world
Old-fashioned ways make her feel like a girl

Rememberin the days of a trusty old pan
Long before machines made meals so bland
With every beep she rolls her eyes
Wishing for simpler times under the skies

Neighbors rave about this modern might
But Pauline keeps waging her personal fight
She's got no love for this fancy toy
Her fried chicken now brings no joy

Broken recipes and burnt mistakes
Every air fryer meal her heart it breaks
She's a culinary queen from back in the day
Now this gizmo makes her kitchen a fray

War Is Kind

by Stephen Crane

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom—
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son.
Do not weep.
War is kind.

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