Author: Ray Romine

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Veteran(?) Speaking

The poem was started a week ago–
Today I’ve lost the mood;
I’d like to finish it, don’t ya know:
I sweat, I think, I brood.
But I cannot capture the theme, and so
I’m afraid I’ve lost the mood.

And all through our lives it’s the same darned thing:
What held us yesterday
Leaves us as cold as a last year’s fling,
If we take it up today.
So don’t put off until June to spring
The verse you conceived in May,
But finish the song you would like to sing
While the flavor SEEMS there to stay!

by Ray Romine Friday, March 24, 1944

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Veteran

He gave a leg
That you and I
Might have something for which to be thankful.

“I’m thankful,” he said,
“That it’s no worse.”

I’m thankful, too, God,
Not alone for our country
He’s helped us to hold,
And the Flag he’s kept aloft,
And our honor he’s caused to glisten,
But for this boy himself, the man he really is,
And letting me know men like him,–
I’m thankful–so very thankful.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 26, 1945

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Very Well Spent

They’ve television
And a car
That’s new, and we
Are on a par.

They built a home ,
And we’ve kept up ,
Even to
Their cocker pup.

The end’s in sight,
Alas! You see ,
They ‘ve got dough-
And so had we.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 13, 1950

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Vernal Paradox

O month when winter’s grip relaxes,
And man’s lets go too–income taxes–
You’ve girls with skates, and little boys
Complete with marbles, kites, and noise;
Icy blasts, and slush and snow;
Grass that tries in vain to grow.
You proffer spring, and to our sorrow,
Jerk it back again tomorrow.
Mud below and sun above–
A month of contrasts, still I love
You, March, for all your hocus-pocus-
Yesterday, I saw a crocus!

by Ray Romine Saturday, March 5, 1949

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Vernal Epic

The winds of spring blow gently now,
Perfumed with living chlorophyll;
Secretively, they tell us how
They did, with kindly weapons, kill
The snow collected by the hedge;
How ice-clouds at their giddy source
Were slain with laughter’s ringing edge–
And winter fled, his only course!

by Ray Romine Friday, September 7, 1951

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Vernal Battle

Die-hard snowbanks escape the sun
To skulk in shadows spring things shun.
Determined, they hold fiercely fast
Till reinforcements come at last,
Riding, on a colder day,
White parachutes against the gray.

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 11, 1951