Nikephoros II Phokas
Actuator has
designed a devise
that is used to increase the television reception in his area.
it is a shere that is placed high in the air
if other in the community
had one
it would increase reception throughout the whole area.
The devise would be mounted on roofs
trees
and antenna poles.
Only two devices needed to connet
it's perfect for all areas.
Free tv again and no
damn complaints!
amplifier
Auto Gain Control
FM Trap
to modulate
the transistor
active element
The Developing World
Incredible scientific growth, real futuristic
Development is an unstoppable progress
Millions of achievements, human creativity
I had a tape recorder, in the eighties,
and vacuum tube and transistor television
But now? Microchips drive satellites in the sky
Forty years only, it is nothing in the time
My mobile phone is a micro hi-fi system,
a television, a post, a library, an office,
a studio, and a lot of high-tech things
I can’t list everything. I can’t imagine.
What will phones be like after a hundred years?
Quote: Bring forth the music dear lover of soul, she's waiting for a drop
A Conducter's baton fills the air with caresses of passion and zest
as a black patent leather shoe taps gently on a varathane wood plank
it sends a sensory cortex vibration to a deaf infant child, pure elation.
With a suave wave of his delicate hand the conductor brings the music
to a regal Orchestra who is finely attuned to a child's ears like fine sand.
Waltzelettos to the heart, the child doesn't hear not does she cry
when a salt and pepper haired man raises his tuxedo sleeves in the air,
the heart pumps blood and resurrects her once more.
Staccato notes each detached and separated from the other,
the newborn listens, lost in a paradise of movement and sound.
Infinite notes from a seasoned Maestro,
head is sewn to the carpet next to a transistor radio,
the toddler remembers louder days
He was a German Maestro/composer and his name was Carlos Kleiber,
today he sleeps in a quiet memorial room, in beautiful Slovania.
day ends in a shanty town
When crossing the bridge to the shanty town
The day was almost over, blank and tired
and due to pollution, the light on the bridge had a hue of aureate
The huts in the township were utterly miserable
consisted of bricks, stones, plywood and corrugated iron
were the roof of all the shacks
a roof that keeps out the rain but bursts your eardrums
In small spaces in the back of hovels, women were preparing the evening meals
How can people live here, washing on a line said it was possible
Children ran around playing cowboys& Indians
for them, poverty was a word that did not exist as long as they got fed.
The night came suddenly to the tune of music from a transistor radio
the night belonged to yellow cures and rats
Run down the mountain
The night did compile
The animals ran wild
Walked above the snow
Now I know
You sensed our energy
As you listened quietly
Water below
Left our echo
My Father transistor
Heard you whisper
I shall take you to many places
Where you will see our hidden faces
The water bear did play
He even blessed our day
Touched many trees
Without many leaves
Ready to bloom
As the bride greets her groom
Sounds of peace
The Heavens released
A blessing so pure
Among the wisdom endured
Spiritually divine
Seen the signs
Felt the Lord chill
As we ascended the hill
snowstorm related
she drowned trying to glide across the lake
violets are thrown in the center
her favorite perfume still lingers in the air
i remember her transistor radio
i remember her potable 8 track player
i remember her walkman
i remember her thingaamabobetta to play 45s on
my favorite was her hidden collection of vintage 78s
rainstorm worn
she drowned while trying to float while breathless under the lake
lilacs are thrown leftmost symbolizing her specially talented hand
here decorated wheelchair is now a landmark of upliftment
i remember her collection of needles
i remember her muilfaceted threads and yarns
i remember her 'brown sugar drawings'
i remember her baby blue sewing machine
my favorite was here hidden collection of vintage quilts
the Mostly Appreciated Parts were the pleasure of their company's inspiration
i sit indian style in loving memory of Them Both.....
Way back in the mists of the 1950's
Transistor radios were really quite nifty
I saved for such a long time
Spent every last one of my dimes
Bought me a red crystal-set 'rocket ship'
A radio custom-built to take a long trip
Under the covers I'd dive about nine
The reception on WABC, New York, just fine
I'd stay up way past my bedtime
Thrilling to sportscasts in my secret shrine
You can probably guess how all this ended
My parents caught me, my secret upended
Yet they saw how I cried over how they'd pried
And pretty soon they too were so teary-eyed
They backed right down -- my dream hadn't died
~ Tears of laughter all three of us cried
January 13, 2021
The Good Old Days Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
gone fishing as kids meant
follow where train tracks went
and by putting an ear to the rails
listen for sounds of rumbling wheels
the river bank on one side of a bridge
was the only access down the ridge
then finally with baits in the depths
and a dry log on which to comfortably rest
on came a new transistor radio set
to hear our town station all we could get
country and rock echoed loud sounds
to be deafened by rumbling tracks above ground
going fishing now means more for hidden life actualities
innately deeper concepts than those of measurable realities
so while the stereo whispers follow easy relaxations
and listen to mellow jazz piano train tracks
hidden conceptual mechanics rising through depths of mind
become clearer defining life with respect a river called time
stan sand
her heart was shanghaied
captured on a sunny beach
with waves lapping happily
in a nineteen sixty-seven day
Beach Boys were singing
From a portable transistor
wind carried happy laughter
he had flecks of gold in his eyes
They were in love
So she let him
put lotion on her back
A brave move for these times
Emilia In Romagna
Somewhere a lost little girl
Is crying in her bedroom closet
Because she can’t hear
Her mama
Moving about anymore
She can see dim shapes
Mama stored stuff in here
Luggage scarfs tennis racquets
Croquet mallets
Boxes of old photographs
Useless
Rubbish
Apparently not water or food
She can hear the ancient
Transistor radio
Mama always kept on
Pavarotti is proclaiming
His love for another faulty insecure woman
In an opera that makes
As much sense as this
Her disconsolate glissandos
Ravaged juddered weeping
Rival the maestro
For now
Until later
We met at Ocean Beach Park,
so many years ago on a weekend,
where old rock n' roll songs
blasted from the transistor radios.
The beach was covered in density
with sunbathers claiming their spots
children and their pails running around,
you were the handsome lifeguard up high.
I purposely placed my blanket in front of you
as you looked down from your tower,
our eyes met and I was melting on the spot,
it was a glorious moment of instant love.
The surf called me to take a cooling dip
as I ran into its salty and alluring water,
all the time feeling your eyes upon me,
and then it happened a huge wave hit me hard.
The world turned black as I went underwater,
in the distance I heard a whistle blowing,
I felt strong and masculine arms around me,
saving me from drowning and swimming to shore.
I woke up and felt your lips on mine,
you were applying aritifical respiration,
coughing out the salty sea from my mouth,
was our first date which lasted a lifetime.
Glued to her smartphone
Gaping at it
Her mouth contoured in a WOW
She herself plugged in
A human transistor
Eyes glowing, ears antennae
Batteries fully charged
August 22, 2019
Wow Me Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Summer days
Great expectations
Torrid sun
Cool ocean breeze
Lounging on a sandy beach
Suntan lotion and bikinis
Scattered towels
Transistor radios
Picnic coolers
Fun and games
Flying frisbies
Bouncing beach balls
Laughter fills the air
Come on in
The water’s great
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.1~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Front Page Pick 2020
Posted on June 6, 2019
Some call it an interruption
I see it as a great opportunity
Some call it a dumb question
I see that it masks a brilliant inquiry
Some call it a discipline problem
I see a butterfly emerging from its cocoon
Some call my classroom boring
I see and say it's so boring it's ridiculous
I have better things to do with my time, and with their time
Than to force these young mind into artificial environments of dull
Here's to mandatory nature walks, tent-pitching, berry-picking
Latrine digging, campfires, marshmallow roasts and ghost stories
And not to neglect timepiece, transistor radio, long-nose rifle
electrical circuit, and motor assembly and disassembly--and woodworking*
Now we're talking Education
Now we're talking Creation, Imagination
*So much I left out, including: Cooking, Painting, Fashion Design, Architecture,
Basic Engineering,... Let us do what we can; the kids'll do the rest! ~ gw
Fields of stars blanket warm summer skies
Songs of crickets and cicadas overwhelm the senses
In reply, fireflies dot the lawn
Full of dandelions and buttercups waiting for dawn
Far away flashes of summer heat strike with no sound
Showing distant lands and tops of massive thunderclouds
Soft shadows decorate the walls
upon silent ears quiet murmurings fall
a transistor radio blares its tiny sound
of ballgames in concrete stadiums ,
bright lights and a pitchers mound
Overhead fans stir dark sleepy rooms
Screened in porches give way to fleeting cool breezes
Heavy lids with dreams in flight
Soften those warm summer nights
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