Poems by Triplane Builder - William (Bill) Woodall
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In former times it was the thing,
To cultivate one's voice.
To practice as Demosthenes--
It was the normal choice.
So when one spoke to gathered throngs,--
Ones voice would carry true,
And vocal chords would feel no strain--
One's message would get through.
Electrons-- then were duly found,
And the how to make them work--
They'd amplify the weakest voice--
(Though side effects might lurk)
When working well they are a joy,
Their clarity of tone--
Amplifiers shape and swell--
Vibrate the speakers cone.
But electrons-- they are stupid things,
And only do as told--
May regenerate what's gone before--
With screeches loud and bold!!
And wireless mikes are want to prove,
(When batteries are low),
That though one does what one should do--
Electrons may not flow.
And if one needs to make a change
(Of the source that gives them life)
It's best to follow certain steps--
(Unless one thrives on strife).
Be SURE the power switch is OFF--
On the amp or on the mike--
Cause if you don't you'll wake the dead--
With "THUNDERS" and the like.
So let's enjoy the progress made--
The ease with which we speak--
And humor find-- when things go wrong--
And we find-- not what we seek.
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