Category: Money

It matters not how hard I try,
It seems quite evident that I,
With prices, taxes, going higher,
Will never set the world afigher.
In fact, with pants in rags and patches,
Where could I carry bombs or matches?

by Ray Romine Friday, March 16, 1951

We put a little by each pay
Against the future rainy day
Which hits us, I confess with pain,
Just before I’m paid again.

by Ray Romine Friday, December 7, 1951

It ended up the usual tie:
My money’s spent. And so am I.

by Ray Romine Thursday, May 18, 1950

Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: Controls again!

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 7, 1950

Financially, I guess, you might
Describe me as “bereft.”
I have a job, which is all right;
I live on what is left.

by Ray Romine Friday, August 24, 1951

Let others carol, or carouse;
Let Santa come; this cynic vows
His joyful time will be delayed for
That day when last year’s fun is paid for.

by Ray Romine Friday, November 30, 1951

Strain,
Brain?

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 16, 1951

We know the Average Man;
The places he will go;
The home to house his clan;
His car for to and fro.
We check him pro and con.
He keeps one secret, though:
Just how the average John
Annexes all that Doe.

by Ray Romine Friday, November 4, 1949

I drive me to the market with
A ten-spot in my pocket.
The car goes to the pawn-shop next–
To eat, I’ll have to hock it.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 28, 1951

Folks who measure life with money
Are Just funny,
Price for me one happy day:
How much would I have to pay?
Appraise the smallest winking star;
Tell me what the sunsets are
Worth in terms of money?

Place me, Fates, between the greedy
And the needy.
If each day provides its bread,
Clothes, and shelter overhead;
Nature’s show for eye and ear;
Friends to know, and loved ones near,
I cannot be greedy.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 26, 1947