Category: Poems

Ray Romine Poems

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It Never Fails

Buffeted ceaselessly pillar to post,
Weary and tired, and more hopeless than most,
Longing for death, like the cold for a cure–
He’ll outlive his own generation, be sure!

by Ray Romine Sunday, November 4, 1945

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It May Be True

It may be true, for all I am aware,
That God is Love: His love is everywhere;
That Christ, His Son, was born, and died, and rose
Again; that nothing here that breathes or grows
But of His love can claim a rightful share.

And yet–consider now my black despair,
A burden sometimes more than I can bear;
Have I been overlooked? Perhaps–who knows–
It may be true.

But then, what have I done to pay the fare,
That He should pause and listen to my prayer?
Can I, in truth, expect relief from woes
If I affect an independent pose?
Have I then, Father, been a bit unfair?
–It may be true.

by Ray Romine Friday, January 21, 1944

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It Isn’t Hopeless

There Is Pardon Me, Thank You, and Please,
And Keeping Mum at Table–
Our kiddies are absorbing these
As well as they are able.

There’s Not Throw Food, and After You;
There’s May I, and Excuse me;
And I’ll Not Pout if I Can’t Do,
Or Mother should refuse me.

Sometimes, this father wants to say,
They’ll NEVER learn, and yet
THESE are the parents who’ll–one day–
Teach THEIR kids etiquettcl

by Ray Romine Saturday, September 20, 1952

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It Couldn’t Be Obstinacy?

Our supper is over and put to rout:
The delightful(?) odor of sauer-kraut
Is wafting out of the window there;
Give me my book and my easy chair.

With pipe all lighted and going STRONG,
My slippers a-foot (Where good slippers belong)
I grab that book that’s so fascinatin’–
I nod, and sleep–how aggravatin’!

I prod myself to attention then,
And doze, and pass right out again.
“See here, old Thing, this’ll never do:
You’re sleepy–BED is the place for you.”

I climb me into my striped pajamas,
With various yawnings and stutt’ring stammers,
And wisely, say, as I scratch my head,
“A fellow SO sleepy belongs in bed.”

I open the window and close my eyes…
A half hour later, I realize
That sleepy feeling just didn’t last–
I’m gettin’ wide-awaker fast.

Tell me, Fates–I am lost in wonder–
Break down, and give out–why in thunder,
With a spring-filled mattress and comfy bed,
I’d rather sleep in a CHAIR, INSTEAD?

by Ray Romine Saturday, April 24, 1943

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It Can’t Last

Congratulate me well upon
My triumph. It is plain
It may be years and years before
I do as well again.

Laud my small accomplishments
From cradle right to coffin,
For please recall that after all
They do not happen often.

Tell me I am wonderful,
But make it snappy, very,
While I’ve the knack; I’ll soon be back
To being ordinary!

by Ray Romine Monday, January 28, 1952

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It All Depends..

It’s too hot for working
(The mercury’s baking),
But just right for shirking,
And alibi-making.

It’s too hot for hoeing;
It’s too warm for weeding;
It’s splendid for going
Or staying–and reading.

I could work on the form
Of my golf; I could fish too,
For it’s NEVER too warm
To do those things I wish to!

by Ray Romine Thursday, June 26, 1952

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Isle Say!

I think I’d like to give a trial
To living on a desert isle,
Where palm trees sway
One’s cares away,
And any old sarong’s in style.

And then I think about the shops
With everything from maps to mops,
Electric gadgets, books, bandannas,
Complete with salesgirls, Dots and Annas–
The isle is OUT,
No slightest doubtl
(Anyway, I don’t like bananas)

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 16, 1951

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Isaly Store Meditation

Give me a night near the end of June,
With a beautiful girl and a big round moon;
I’d lose all the cares of this work and strife
On a south seas isle for the rest of life.

But there’s no use longing for all those things–
I suppose they’re reserved for queens and Kings.
So back now I go to my meat and cheese–
Is there romantic thought, now, in either of these?

by Ray Romine Monday, November 20, 1933