Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
Ray Romine Poems
Somewhere, fiercely, some man tries–
One more airplane in the skies.
An architect, ignoring pomp,
Sweats:–New homes in what was swamp.
A Poet tries to make words come–
One more tune for man to hum.
A doctor battles jungle pest–
A multitude of patients rest.
Whatever may seem wasted
Upon the long, hard grade,
Success is never tasted.
But there is effort made.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 10, 1947
I’ll contrive a Sunday drive,
A Mrs.-managed sortie;
Won’t loudly blow my horn, or go-
While passing–over forty.
I will not cry out to (or eye)
One equestrienne;
I will not try upon the fly
For one pedestrian.
Through jam and pack with skilful knack
I’ll take you, dear, today,
Without a crack if, once we’re back,
YOU put the car away!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 7, 1949
Robed, towel in hand, I do not mind
Contemplating long and vastly.
Who fathers families shall find
He is the one who bathes him lastly.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 31, 1951
Junior’s the unselfish kind;
His effacement’s unsurpassed;
And when it comes to work, I find.
He puts himself, as always, last.
by Ray Romine Saturday, July 8, 1950
I’d like to do one thing worth while,
Lika coin a phrase or swim a mile,
Or paint a scene, or build a road,
Or write a ringing, tearful ode,
Or lead an army on a charger,
Or grow a beard a little larger,
Or save a life, or own a yacht-It
wouldn’t greatly matter what.
(Perhaps, in 1953,
I’m quite accomplished, just to BE!)
by Ray Romine Monday, April 13, 1953
When wages chill and prices freeze,
Beware, my friend, the unfair squeeze.
You’ll be protected, there is rumor,
Unless, of course, you’re classed consumer.
by Ray Romine Friday, February 9, 1951
The winter wind would often sing
Through snowy branches, and in spring,
When warm winds reached us from the west,
Our elm tree held a new bird’s nest;
Still later, as the sun grew hot,
It made me such a shady spot
Where I would sit and read and play
Every pretty summer day.
It drops off colored leaves in fall.
I guess an elm tree, after all,
Is int’resting as it can be–
And friendly, too, when you are three!
by Ray Romine Thursday, February 7, 1952
She does not have the glamour
Of her sister months at all,
She is between the winter’s dazzle
And the golden glint of fall.
She is plain, and drab and greyish
With a mien sad and stark,
And her thirty melancholy days
Slip by without a spark.
Yet, since at each appearance
With her air of being bored,
She leads us straight to winter,
She can hardly be ignored.
by Ray Romine Sunday, August 8, 1954
It’s not that education
Is a thing which I have spurned;
It’s mostly concentration
Still unlearned…
by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 18, 1951
When I reach, on the ballot, “Congressman”,
I’ve determined to vote for neither one–
For of all sad words (when we dissect ’em),
The saddest are these, “I helped elect ‘im!”
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For of all sad words of pen or tongue–
The saddes are these, “Gad, I’ve been stung!”
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by Ray Romine Friday, October 16, 1942