The Unexplorer
There was a road ran past our house
Too lovely to explore.
I asked my mother once—she said
That if you followed where it led
It brought you to the milk-man's door.
(That's why I have not travelled more.)
Poem fractal
0.040 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.
0.5616 − 0.3999i
Drawing the boundary…
by Richard
0.5507 − 0.4379i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
There was a road ran past our house
Too lovely to explore.
I asked my mother once—she said
That if you followed where it led
It brought you to the milk-man's door.
(That's why I have not travelled more.)
by Richard
Please, Jolene, take him from me,
Make your move and set me free,
He's got no dream, just drags his feet,
Can't keep a job, or cook a sick treat.
I'm tired of his lazy whiny ways!
Wanna see the sun with brighter days…
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene,
I’m begging you, take him off my hands,
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene,
He’s a burden I can’t stand.
Your pretty face and charming ways,
Would do well to keep him at bay.
He’s clingy, needy, and oh so weak,
A weedy nerd, a total freak.
Take him, Jolene, I won’t be sad,
You’d be freeing me, and that ain’t bad.
I’ve got my eyes on someone new,
So Jolene, it’s time he’s stuck with you.
He’s got no chest, and can’t lift a weight,
Leaves dirty socks, and never stays up late.
His whining voice drives me insane,
So Jolene, take him, please don’t refrain.
He’ll bore you with his Star Wars chat,
And can’t even cook, imagine that!
He’s always broke and always late,
So Jolene, save me from this fate.
Jolene, Jolene, you’d be my queen,
If you’d take this man, sight unseen.
Set me free, let me find my way,
Take him, Jolene, and save my day.
So Jolene, you see my plight,
Endless nights I've had to fight.
Your help would be a gift so grand,
Please, Jolene, lend a helping hand.
One last time, I'm asking you here,
Take him away, make it crystal clear.
A fractal is a shape that keeps its pattern when you look closer. Coastlines, trees, shells, and weather do this. The large form and the small form are the same kind of thing. A poem can be drawn that way. The shape of the whole comes from the shape of the lines.
Primunia is the name for the source of that order: the pattern under the pattern, already there in a tree, a shell, and a verse.
The number under the picture is the poem constant. It is read from the build of the lines: their length, how uneven they are, the size of the stanzas, the share of vowels, and the way the lines end. A new word moves the number when it changes that build. The same poem always gives the same number.
Drawn on its own, that number sits in a quiet part of the plane, and most poems would look like the same soft disk. So the number is carried outward along its own direction until it meets the edge of the Mandelbrot set, where the shape turns sharp. The picture is the Julia set of that meeting place.
Each point on the canvas is folded again and again by one small rule. Points that stay near the rule form the dark interior. Points that rush away become the coloured bands. The hue comes from the poem constant, and the brightest bands turn toward gold. Change the length of a line, the stanza, or the vowel share, and both the number and the picture move.
Branching draws the poem as a tree. Each turn follows a line, and every smaller branch repeats that pattern. A longer line reaches farther. The letters at the start of a line bend the next turn. A higher share of vowels opens the branches wider.
The trunk takes its colour from the poem constant and warms toward gold at the tips. When the poem has more than one stanza, gold forks leave the trunk. Each fork is a stanza beyond the first, up to three. The tree divides where the poem divides. One stanza remains a single trunk.
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