Author: Ray Romine

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A Rolling Stone Gathers No Detectives

Aloysius Q. Pott is a neighbor I’ve got
Of whose temper his wife lived in fear;
Of personal injury scared was she not,
For controlled was he, while she was near.

But away from her eye he was some diff’rent guy:
At the office, he’d rage, we are told;
On the street he’d get tough and be uncouth and rough;
He’d flare up, and temper unfold;

Which at last got so bad that the Mrs.’ dad
Suggested a shadow be tried:
The detective she hired was with duty inspired–
And Aloy sius by two multiplied.

The detective, thick-skinned, and so well-disciplined
With Aloysius for some time was teamed;
Then reported to Mrs., “‘Tis all love and kisses”–
The patient was cured, so it seemed.

So happy, so glad, Mrs. Pott, that her dad
The secret and wherefore uncoils:
“I figgered his sizzle, by watching, would fizzle,
For a POTT THAT IS WATCHED NEVER BOILS!”

by Ray Romine Monday, April 19, 1943

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A Preachment In 3 Easy Verses

1.
So you have fought for a round or two:
You’re tired, and you feel half-dead;
If giving up’s what you want to do,
Then don’t–for there’s more ahead.

Although you’re low, Just what is par?
You’re only down if you think you are.

2 .
You believe you’re lacking in this or that–
I ask you: What if you are?
There’s some one thing underneath your hat
That, developed, will take you far.

You may not be a phenomenal whizz,
But he’s only beaten who thinks he is.

3.
These knocks we face are to measure man;
They’re with us incessantly;
I’m here to do just the best I can
With what has been given me,

So pour it on, World, and I ‘ll receive it–
I’m only whipped if I believe it!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 24, 1945

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A Poet Sees

A poet sees, beyond the sky,
Beneath the skin, behind the lie,
The bad in good, the good in bad;
The fun that lies in every fad;
The humor in the alibi.

The colors of the butterfly
That you’ll look quickly, if you spy;
The reds of forests, Autumn-clad,
A poet sees.

The universe may be awry–
He is the fixer, on the sly:
He may not help it: still, he’ll try.
He sees, and jots it on a pad
For those who, blind, must think him mad.
These are the things, I testify,
A poet sees!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 18, 1944

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A Matter Of Age

Two little girls are hard at play:
Their scooters are big limousines,
All shining red with yellow wheels
That carry little pretend-Queens.

Their yearning minds are hard at work,
Straining for reality;
Their parents, sick with all that’s real,
Yearn just as hard for phantasy.

by Ray Romine Friday, August 31, 1945

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A Man’s A Man–and The Apes Rejoice

Love can be found among the strife,
But there is little in it;
Compared with all the length of life,
It lasts about a minute.

The other dreary seven-eighths
Of anybody’s span
Is lived immersed in all the hates
That set apart the Man.

It is his brain, and not his soul
That puts him on a shelf
A bit above a Simian role–
His “love” is for- -himself.

by Ray Romine Sunday, September 2, 1945

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A Man Is Not Without Honor

I’ve enjoyed some success, in the world of outside;
But at home, there is nothing but hisses.
Yes, you may be giant folks point to with pride–
But what are you, pray, to the Mrs.?

I’ve enjoyed some success in the world of
outside;
But at home I’ve encountered some hisses.
You may be a lion folks point to with pride–
But what are you, pray, to the Mrs.?

(revised 11-10-49)

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 18, 1944

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A Look Ahead

When I have seen the all that this world holds,
And plumbed its lowest depths and climbed its heights,
Have done its weary work and waged its fights;
When my old age its yellowed page unfolds–
What will my conscience say? There are two molds
That fit us all: one kind prefers the lights
Of cities gay; the other has its sights
Moved up so high it all diversion scolds.

Shall I, then, spend my last days deeply pained
Because of frolics missed for higher things;
Or rather shall I curse those pleasures gained
That cost one more potential saint his wings?
Still–I may be that rarity well-met:
One living out his days without regret.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 7, 1945