I watched a white cloud in a pool;
Then one tossed pebble changed its role;
So just a word can be the tool
That wrecks a life –or lifts a soul.
by Ray Romine Saturday, July 27, 1946
Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
I watched a white cloud in a pool;
Then one tossed pebble changed its role;
So just a word can be the tool
That wrecks a life –or lifts a soul.
by Ray Romine Saturday, July 27, 1946
I notice, and it’s upsetting too,
That throw rugs not only are, but do.
by Ray Romine Monday, September 5, 1949
Thanks
For our little talk!
I shall write better poems; and aspire a bit higher
For our little talk.
by Ray Romine Thursday, December 9, 1943
You have intruded on my heart;
You brighten up my dreams;
In my least thought you have a part;
You enter all my schemes.
Your face glows from the fireplace logs,
From billboards, and from flowers;
It lightens up November fogs,
And smiles at me from towers.
At movies, YOU’RE the current rage;
You’re every star that shines;
And even on the printed page,
You get between the lines.
But–warning!–trespass warily,
For you, let me confess,
Are quite the nicest part of me,
All but saying Yes!
by Ray Romine Thursday, May 22, 1952
Trees so red and yellow
Strike me strangely in the fall;
But when they’re nude, that’s different–
Just no sex appeal at all!
by Ray Romine Thursday, September 6, 1934
Where is the father, who, minutes ago,
Lectured on light bills to his sons and daughters?
Hobbying basement-wise, wouldn’t you know?– Under six light bulbs–all two-hundred watt-ers!
by Ray Romine Monday, January 22, 1951
Our Sonny’s day was rather bleak;
He wouldn’t smile; he’d scarcely speak.
Our mighty efforts left him cold:
That special story he was told;
The visit of his Uncle Jim
(He’ s always thought the world of him);
The pictures that his mother drew;
What father made with shears and glue-
But he cheered up in time for bed:
Sis just painted his toe-nails red!
by Ray Romine Thursday, August 31, 1950
Diamonds from hidden mines;
Fruit from exotic garden vines;
Vases born of ancient arts-
Priceless things, but lacking hearts.
Beside all these, my wants are few:
One kiss–so it comes from you.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, May 3, 1950
The road that rambles past our house
Cuts through the fields and thickets,
And never stops for cat or mouse,
Nor hears the singing crickets.
It goes right on through snow or rain;
It races in the noon light,
And flows across the silver plain,
A ribbon in the moonlight.
Exactly how it started out
I have no way of knowing;
But when I’m twenty-one, about,
I’ll find out where it’s going!
by Ray Romine Monday, February 25, 1952
He little suspects,
Who wants to play house,
She’ll be the housewife–
He’ll be the mouse.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 19, 1951