A space to grow is a rose in bloom.
A place where my heart is true to roam
The mysteries of wires and all they connect
Is a chamber I’ve chosen with utmost respect.
A workshop and play land is my home.
Of late I do favor Radar Room.
Radar Room is a state of mind,
A way of life and sacred ground
For a techie detective exploring Ohm’s Law.
I’m at home with my soul in the midst of it all.
Tinkering tools and passion abound
With gadgetry of every kind.
Fried salmon and onions… sea salt and solder…
The air is a crispness embracing the dew.
The antenna rotates and radiates well.
The local oscillator rings like a bell.
When something needs fixing, I make it anew.
Were it not so, there would be nothing odder.
Frequency surely is the key
To aligning the transceiver known as self.
What others see on their displays
Should alter not my chosen ways.
I place all loneliness on an empty shelf
Then tune myself to higher ‘me.’