Poem fractal
0.063 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.
−0.7311 − 0.1648i
Drawing the boundary…
by Richard
−0.7305 − 0.2274i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
Under the long, dark boughs, like jewels red
In the hair of an Eastern girl
Shine strings of crimson cherries, as if had bled
Blood-drops beneath each curl.
Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings
Three dead birds lie:
Pale-breasted throstles and a blackbird, robberlings
Stained with red dye.
Under the haystack a girl stands laughing at me,
With cherries hung round her ears—
Offering me her scarlet fruit: I will see
If she has any tears.
by Richard
By the ocean's edge, where waves meet the land
I hear Earth's pulse in the surf and sand
A rhythm as old as the planet's birth
The first heartbeat of our ancient Earth
The heartbeat of Earth, in waves slow and strong
Echoes through time, life's unending song
From primordial seas to consciousness vast
The pulse of existence, from first to last
Cambrian waters, life's fertile ground
Where arthropod hearts began to pound
Silent contractions, in exoskeletons strong
Guided by tides, both gentle and long
Through scales and fins, the beat grew clear
In vertebrate chests, drawing life near
From sea to land, each evolutionary stride
Carried the rhythm of the primal tide
From single cell to complex mind
All life connected, all intertwined
The pulse that started so long ago
Still drives us on, in ebb and flow
Now human hearts, with their lub and dub
Echo the ocean, from shore to sub
The beat goes on, through calm and strife
Waves and heartbeats, the dance of life
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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