A Poem about Shacks and Rigs and Ham Radio

The Little Black Box of jewels and rocks

with lanterns that flicker and glow,

make lighter the gloom in my little back-room

where often I hasten to go.

An anthem it peals of whistles and squeals

and voices so ghostly and dear

that you'd never decry, should you chance to pass by-

what a brotherhood foregathers here!

Each separate tone has a soul of its own;

each voice is the voice of a friend.

United through space in this gathering-place

at the radiant signal's end.

Reverberant sounds ride the wave that rebounds,

like the waves of the sea from afar,

reporting the doings, the comings and goings

of brothers... wherever they are.

A curious band, spread over the land,

yet joined from equator to poles

disperses the gloom in the little back-rooms

by this magic communion of souls.

I could part with a lot of the things that I've got,

but I'll carry my love to the tomb,

of that little black box and the joys it unlocks

... when I enter that little back room.

(published in QST magazine sometime 1965.)

Thanks to Jeff Murray for alerting us to this. I had not seen it before. It really got me -- I am working in my little back room on a box with jewels (jeweled movements!) and rocks.