Category: Marriage

Jonesy has a lot to say:
This is Jonesy’s wedding-day.

Let him have his short-lived fun;
Let him prize his putrid pun;

Let him love his little laugh;
Let him chew his cheerful chaff;

Let him to his mirth succumb:
Tomorrow Jonesy will be glum. (dumb?)

His orations, then I fear,
Will condense to “Yes, My Dear.”

Let old Jonesy have his say–
This is Jonesy’s last free day.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 30, 1945

I do my best to please the wife;
I follow out her plan;
I paint the lawn chairs, and the fence;
Disguise the garbage-can;
I trim the bushes, mow the lawn,
And lift the garden’s face–
And thus make sure, for days at least,
No one comes near the place!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 7, 1951

The woman, normally sincere,
Can’t have her whole heart in it
Who says “Just keep it running, dear,
I’ll only be a minute.”

by Ray Romine Friday, June 8, 1951

I find I’m very seldom right
When you and I indulge in fight;
The reason’s there for all to see–
My opponent’s also referee.

by Ray Romine Friday, March 16, 1951

She’s living on a cloud, they say;
She sweeps it carefully each day;
She dusts and mops, and scrubs the floor,
And when it sparkles, scours some more.
She washes, cooks, and sews and cans
And budgets, markets, shops and plans.

I hear her singing gaily there
On her rose-colored spot of air
Until, at four, this housewife fades
To turn up glamorest of maids
Who, at five, tilts lips tender, proud,
Up to the guy who built her cloud.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 22, 1952

The button factory where I
Spent most of every day
Was livened by a redhead who
Sewed just across the way.
I worked all day in stitches then,
Laughing gleeful-lee
Until the day I married her–
Now how she needles me!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 7, 1951

He worked and struggled all his life
To die, and leave unto his wife
A fortune. While she laughed at him
Through life, she spends his dough with vim.

A telescope with unlimited range will
Show McTim as a thwarted Angel.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 8, 1947

Recall, dear, how we would debate
Upon that point, or this’n?
Those days are gone; perhape it’s Fate–
Today you talk: – I listen.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, April 24, 1945

She oversees our home affairs
From basement floor to attic stairs;
She does the shopping, tends our ills;
Minds the budget, pays the bills;
She works along rebellion’s border ,
Creating system from disorder;
She cooks for, clothes, and picks up after
All of us. Her ringing laughter
Picks us up again, and makes
Light of most of our mistakes.
Hers the tender guiding hands;
Hers the heart that understands.
From basement stairs to attic floor,
She’s manager and staff–and more;
So where’s the man who’d be depriving
Such a wife of back-seat driving?

by Ray Romine Monday, October 2, 1950

I am the sort of husband who
Almost never misses,
After a day of strife, to greet the wife
With sundry hugs and kisses.
Candy and flowers would also keep her
Happy, but my way’s much cheaper.

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 25, 1951