Category: Poems

Ray Romine Poems

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Lines Stammered At Chance Encounter

I meant to write, but lacked the stamp;
Or wire, but gosh the streets were damp;
I would have called, but your Aunt Lizzie–
And when I phoned, your line was busy.
So pardon me, if I’ve seemed shy,
(Incidentally, what’s YOUR Alibi?)
or: (Now, how about YOUR Alibi?)

by Ray Romine Wednesday, January 10, 1951

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Lines On Watching A New Electric Line Going Up In A Neighbor’s Yard

Because they bring us heat and light,
We do not ask if it is right
That we must view unsightly wires
That sag in sorrow from the spires
Of what, before man made them these,
Were proudest, stateliest of trees.
Nor do we mind raw metal guards
On guy wires decorating yards;
Or what this modern living brings:
Those grotesque roof-top gallows-things
0f unsightliness the most unsightly
Which bring us television nightly.
We tolerate, let us confess,
What suits US–even ugliness.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 3, 1953

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Lines On Our House

Things– except up in our attic–
Are filed away so systematic.

or….

Things, unless we’re speaking attically,
Are filed away so systematically!

(Written at W.&T.’s* one night,
and which, they insist, is Post material;
I shall write “POOH” in here just as
soon as back comes The Rejection Slip .. )

Pooh 9-16-46

[*Walt and Trella Haldeman]

by Ray Romine Friday, August 30, 1946

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Lines On Me–to Florence

I possess a longing
I can’t comprehend,
To be a gentleperson,
Everybody’s friend.

But another longing
Toward the evil side
Shows me filled with malice,
Selfishness and pride.

You can’t understand me,
Delightful little elf–
I’m too complicated–
Even for myself!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 22, 1946

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Lines On A Monster

I hate the wind–
The cold and bitter wind,
The winter wind
That shakes the house’s foundations,
That cuts like a piece of paper edgewise,
And chaps the hands.
The winter wind disturbs my soul;
The winter wind makes me want to fling myself at it
And get even.

It is just the thought
That winter wind
Provides the impetus
To the seasons–
That it is bowling April back to me–
That gives it an excuse for being.
I can endure it.

by Ray Romine Thursday, January 31, 1946