Author: Ray Romine

Posted on by

Trap

All his life he’d thought that Heaven
Was a place where he might write
Stories, articles and poems
Undisturbed by day and night.
Then he found him at the Portal
Where Saint Peter wished him well,
Gave him desk and reams of paper,
Said, “Now write!” –and it was Hell.

by Ray Romine Thursday, April 26, 1951

Posted on by

Transportation Problem

An inventory would have shown
He had a toy store of his own;
And yet, experience sad relates,
No child is happy without skates.
Anticipating skates hurts much
When one is young and longs for such!

And so, behold our prodigy
Skates in hand, awaiting me.
Now sonny skates–or sonny tries,
While father gets the exercise,
And finds himself anticipating
Son’s initial solo skating….

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 15, 1952

Posted on by

Transition

Always, at the end of June,
Nature to me changes tune,
Growing adult with a sterner voice
More funeral-march than croon.
There’s a salty sort of tear
In the muggy atmosphere
Showing summer’s dread already
Of the winter’s numbing fear.

And the grass-heads, turning brown,
On the vacant lots of town
Bring to summer’s gentle visage
Just the vestige of a frown.
Too, the bird’s nest hanging there
Owns a lost deserted air
Just to emphasize the mourning
That the season seems to wear.

In the leaves that sigh and droop;
In the martins as they group
To climb again their height again
And effortlessly swoop;
In the thistles’ rampant bloom
Bringing gentler sisters doom
There’s an undernote of dying
Unadulterated gloom.

But–July is summertime!
August has a comely clime:
Who am I embalming friends of mine
Before they reach their prime?
Let the battle, far from lost,
Walk right to the gates of frost
When, on looking back, I’ll wish in June
I’d left one bridge uncrossed.

by Ray Romine Sunday, July 1, 1945

Posted on by

Transformation

While humans slept, Dame Nature, with
The magic at her sure command,
Has turned the drab and rusty world
Into a crystal fairy-land.

The fence posts sport their furry caps
To please the curious chickadee,
And every sapling in the woods
Is suddenly a Christmas tree!

by Ray Romine Saturday, December 13, 1952

Posted on by

Trained

My little world is ringed about
With such restrictions and taboos
That things which I must do without
I automatic’lly refuse.
This I can stand; but how excessive
To wonder why I’m not aggressive!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 20, 1951

Posted on by

Train Ride

Poles and fences pass us by,
But all of them that I can see are
Rushing backward. Nothing else
Is going the direction we are.
But when we stop, with screech and fuss,
The world catches up with usl

by Ray Romine Monday, September 22, 1952