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Poems by Joy VK2EBX

Joy was an ALARA and CLARA member. We have several of her unpublished poems and 1 published poem with the kind permission of her daughter Janet King to put on our website.



Here I sit, pen in hand,
So much to know and understand!
I.C's, diodes, valves, resistors,
Chokes, capacitors, junction transisitors,
Impedance, reactance; What's the rule?
(wish I'd learn more maths at school!)
Circuits tuned and circuits not;
Resonant freaquency (Gee, it's hot!)
Skip zone, skip distance, propagation:
(wish I had more information!)
That transistor-can it be
N.P.N. .. or P.N.P?
Regeneration; Try to think!!
(I'd really love a long cool drink!)
Farads, Henries, Ohms and Amps,
Turns per volt and series lamps;
Deviation, rectification, circuit "Q",
Triacs, Mosfets, varactors too.
Now all finished, check it well,
What's the verdict? Hard to tell,
"Til I get that missive in the mail
To tell me if it's "Pass" or "Fail".
Says the OM with accents terse -
"You'll never pass if you just write verse!!"

(We are right with you , Joy. How vividly you express it!. ed)




I've finally passed the "big one",
Just heard the news today!
A lot of effort, a lot of work,
But at last I'm on my way.
No more burning the midnight oil
Until I'm going grey!
No more study, no more books
I'll give the books away.
Though, when I thnk of all I've still to learn
It fills me with dismay!
On second thoughts, its seems, perhaps
The books had better stay!





I have a little radio shack beside the attic stair.
There's a curtain on the window, there's a comfortable chair.
Certificates and QSLs adorn the white brick wall,
And I am running out of space in which to put them all.

My HF rig is on the bench, with log books strewn around,
And a box of bits and pieces 'neath the cupboard, on the ground;
When I have the time to do the things I've always wanted to.

There are coils and resistors, (some are old and rather bent),
And a Morse Code oscillator, (Well: I wonder where that went!)
There are diodes and condensers and an ancient valve or two,
Insulation tape, and solder, and half a tube of glue.

Shelves bulge with books and magazines, catalogues by the score,
A large world map is hanging on the wall beside the door.
Pens and pencils in a box, (the writing I don't shirk;)
But the pen I grab is always the pen that simply will not work.

My little Morse Key's ready to transmit each dit and dah,
There are meters, filters, tinfoil and some thumbtacks in a jar.
I've a floppy cushion at my back, a cat upon my knee,
Yes, this tiny room is really such a pleasant place to be.

And in my little radio shack the world is close at hand,
So many different accents as I tune around each band;
But - shock and horror: The OMs voice drifts through the open door -
"I think we'll clean this room right out and USE IT FOR A STORE"


One day this land will slowly sink
Beneath a mass of paper,
And disappear neath the waves
In a trail of frothy vapour!

Whatever you decide to do
It always is the norm,
For somebody to say to you
"Will you please fill out this form?"

There's forms to fill when we are born,
Again when we are wed;
And even forms to bury us,
And prove that we are dead!

And if we wish to own a dog
Or drive a motor car,
Or get a job, or build a house,
Or travel lands afar:

There's always someone standing there
With paper and with pen,
To take each detail of our lives,
And write it out again!

From every office in the land
It pours in endless stream;
In duplicate and triplicate,
Ream after countless ream.

I wonder how the world survived
'Ere paper was invented?
Did civil-servants tear their hair
In manner most demented?

And how did secretaries cope,
With just a block of clay
To chisel out a message on?
I'm sure it took all day!

I wonder will computers make
Form filling obsolete?
With many little reels of tape
To make our lives complete.

I can't just sit and ponder long,
It's no good to complain!
Just get my pen and paper,
It's taxation time again!