Category: Observations

This constant cry, amid the strife,
Yearning for the simple life
Is one towards which I might be lenient
Once I’m convinced such life’s convenient.
Start proving simple life has mettle, or
This complex one I’ll herewith settle for.

by Ray Romine Friday, October 12, 1951

I know the proper sort of life
Though I may not be living it;
So don’t waste your advice, my friend,
Unless you love the giving it.

by Ray Romine Saturday, December 2, 1950

Heat-squawkers, you will find, are few,
If you’ll stand off to view them,
Among the folk with things to do
Who go ahead and do them.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, August 15, 1951

She can pretend a headache nightly;
But man must lie much more forthrightly.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 22, 1950

One day is as good as another–
That is, it should be that way:
Could you have the heart, though, to tell me
Tomorrow’ll be as bad as TODAY?

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 17, 1943

While man prefers his buildings tall,
His speeches short, or not at all,
His tea and coffee always hot,
His milkshakes and martinis not,
His horses fast, his sleep hours slow,
His night-life high, his paid-outs low,
His music soft, his heroes hard,
His Christmas white, his traitors tarred–
He knows, no matter how he frets,
There’s what he likes–and what he gets!

by Ray Romine Thursday, November 23, 1950

Why is it that the boss who is the big supporter of, if he
isn’t actually at the head of, the Community Fund,
Has the same regard for the welfare of his employees as might
a Charter Member of the Bund?

The boss who realizes Charity
Begins at home is something of a Rarity….

by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 9, 1947

I envy those who sit and play
Piano as I would croquet.
Then my style’s copied, on the lawn,
By non-croqueters, later on.

I envy Roger, Herb and Joe
Their knack of stacking easy dough;
While they in turn make jealous cracks
About the way I can relax.

I envy all the folks who paint;
Who write; who golf; who sin; who saint;
Who swim; who dance; who skate; who fly–
And some of them wish they were I.

This definition’s not a bum one:
A talent’s what you envy someone.

by Ray Romine Sunday, July 9, 1950

The music drifted, sad but sweet,
To strangers passing in the street
Who marvelled, and in envy sighed.
“To play like that!” their egoes cried.

Inside the house, the music stopped,
And from the bench Young Genius hopped
To wander to the window, where
He envied those who passed him there.

by Ray Romine Monday, February 4, 1946

It seems that Washington and I
Cannot fib. Of course, l try.

by Ray Romine Sunday, June 18, 1950