Harry says he’ll go right on
Fighting Congress foes.
Could be we are in for some
Very dirty blows.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, May 16, 1950
Author: Ray Romine
Weather Or No
When nothing is left to talk about,
And boredom has us on its tether,
That’s when I’m very apt to spout
Some bright remark about the weather.
When parties grovr a little dull,
Amid the dying conversation,
I give ’em something new to mull:
Our shortage of precipitation.
And when I meet a friend downtown
Whose moniker’s beyond recalling,
I do not hem and haw and frown–
The weather has been too appalling.
Although not what you’d term a sport–
My outlook could be called myopic–
I’m seldom caught entirely short:
I’ll never be without a topic!
by Ray Romine Saturday, September 19, 1953
Weather
I castigate it if it’s hot;
I give it thunder when it’s not.
I pray for rainfall when it’s dry;
And when rain wets me, wonder why.
With snow I stand in firm cahoots
Until I have to pull on boots.
Continuously, I deplore it–
Until it’s perfect, then ignore it.
The weather must (if weather can)
Resent vagaries of this man.
by Ray Romine Saturday, November 10, 1951
We’ll Bet:
The guy who first dreamed carpets up
Never had to beat ’em;
And he who thought up breakfast foods
Never had to eat ’em;
The lass that cooked the girdle up
Herself is unconfined;
The Editor of “Parents” has
Kids that never mind;
The chap who first made dishes bloom
Made the Mrs. dry ’em;
He who invented auto tires
Wishes he could buy ’em;
The Principal of Business School College
Cannot write a letter;
He who started jig-saw puzzles
Can play checkers better;
The gal who started cooking schools
Lunches from a can;
And even Dorothy Dix today
Cannot catch a man;
No lecturer I ever heard
Could tell his wife a thing;
And Frank Sinatra in his home
Is not allowed to sing;
The weatherman predicted “fair”–
But he himself won’t heed it;
So WHAT, if I write stuff like this?–
I don’t have to read it!
All written 4-1-44, before
going to work…
by Ray Romine Saturday, April 1, 1944
We’d Test Guest’s Zest
“It CAN Be Done”, says Eddie Guest,
Secure among his dollars,
Because the Flop who did his best
Seldom ever hollers.
To pick a few successes from
The thousands who have tried–
Be honest- -does it really come
To proof, or is it pride?
by Ray Romine Sunday, September 2, 1945
We Went That Away
Small brother, you be Sammy Kaye;
I’ll be a tapper tapping,
For it’s almost the time of day
When father does his napping.
Or sing it loudly as you can,
That song that has no closing;
I’ll help by banging on this pan,
For father dear is dozing.
I’ll block the crossing with my train;
You’re in a car– keep beeping;
Or ride your cayuse on the plain,
For father dear is sleeping.
But wait–I think our noisy pup,
Or mother’s kitchen riot–
Well, SOMETHING’S wakened father up.
Let’s you and I be quiet.
by Ray Romine Thursday, February 4, 1954
We Must Arise and Go Now
Some mornings, now the year is new,
The car won’t start. Include me, too.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, August 16, 1950
We Might Raise Cow Pumpkins
Our pumpkins grew to giant size;
They are a sight to see;
But they’re as near to PUMPKIN PIE
As they will ever be.
For Florence simply will not touch
(Nor Sandy either, durn it)
A piece of pumpkin pie without
WHIPPED CREAM piled high upern it.
Now things have reached a pretty pass:
I have to rear a COW
To make my Victory Garden pay–
WHO WANTS TO BUY A PLOW?
by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 2, 1943
We Didn’t Mind The Initial Cost
My good wife opined that a white picket fence
Would dress us up sharp as a splinter.
It’s pretty; it’s white–with canny insight
We brought it inside for the winter.
by Ray Romine Friday, January 19, 1951
We Could Try It
Perhaps some future different spring
Of something lovely I can sing,
Like bees and buds and butterflies,
And tulips we so highly prize.
The robins building in our trees
Don’t seem to mind the wintry breeze
Like I do.
But April 21st is here–
In point of fact, the summer’s near–
And all the weather we have had
Has been the kind that’s mostly bad.
The milkman, whistling tuneless tune
Evidently doesn’t pine for June
As I do.
Sometimes, I think the fault is mine,
The lack of warm and dearth of shine:
For the more we kick and fret and fizz,
The worse the blank-blank weather is;
The weatherman, I’m sure, is sore,
For no one hounds him anymore
Than I do.
Yes, if I squawk for dry or wet,
He hands us just the oppo-set;
To moan about this ghastly spring
But brings us more same sort of thing.
Take heed: endeavor not to fan
The smouldering, fitful weatherman
Like I do.
Commend his cold wet snowy spring,
And, lying, all his praises sing;
Pour not invective on his head,
Vituperate on mine instead:
Then, if he fall into the trap,
We’ll have some spring in MAY—PERHAP!
( We USED to ! )
by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 21, 1943