The bathroom tap went drip-drip-DROP?
And daddy said it had to STOP!
He got a lot of wrenches out
And in a half-an-hour, about,
He had it fixed; and said that noise
Shut off much easier than boys!
by Ray Romine Monday, February 25, 1952
Category: Poems
Ray Romine Poems
Drifting
Every ship leavine port on the blackest of nights
Has a definite destination;
Every match that is scratched, just as sure has its sights
On a smaller or great conflagration;
Every open-jawed wave is a part of a plan,
And the surf has a shore that it seizes.
Everything has an aim and a purpose but man
Who the will has to do as he pleases.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 8, 1944
Draw
“Does the child look more like mom–or dad?”
We have our answer all fixed up:
He favors both. For, good or bad,
He ‘s a crazy kid–and all mixed up!
by Ray Romine Saturday, February 13, 1954
Drat Him (A Lament)
My husband at a party
Is more or less a smarty;
He’s witty, and possesses quite an air.
He is first with every hoax;
He knows all the latest jokes;
He’s outstanding, full of zoom, and debonair.
But his pep has seemed to roam
When he spends the night at home;
He’s a run-down sort of mouse, a haggard creep.
All his party manner’s spent-
And I wonder where it went?
I’d lecture him, but there–he’s fast asleep!
So wives sigh in sad conclusion-
(And without intent to heckle)
Any husband is confusion–
Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jeckyll.
by Ray Romine Thursday, December 28, 1950
Draft Dodger (untitled)
Please regard me, neighbor mine,
As slightly less reptilian;
The army says I’m MUCH too OLD
For something uncivilian!
**************
O neighbor, change your stare at me
To something less reptilian;
I’m 30–that’s too old to be
A THING, besides CIVILIAN!!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 12, 1944
Downy Woodpecker
Loathe to leave what he’s begun,
He is the systematic one.
But in his search, absorbed, intent,
His gourmand side is evident.
Could insects talk, be sure they’d say
That woodpeckers are here to stay!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 2, 1954
Down-fall Of Man
Southward, southward goes the sun–
Mid-afternoon, and day is done.
Nature’s checking her deep-freeze;
Jack Frost chaps uncovered knees.
Other knees, except on Sundays,
Wrap themselves in woolen undies.
Smell that reek of alcohol?
That’s the car, not cousin Paul.
Junior has again turned scholar.
Coal just upped another dollar.
Leaves are letting go of trees,
And scorched, pollute the evening breeze.
Here’s the surest sign of all:
I’ve the sniffles: it is fall.
Perhaps the devil (if we bought ‘im)
Could find some GOOD to say of autimn.
by Ray Romine Monday, October 25, 1948
Down, Boy
Your pooch won’t bite? Let me confess
That, while that’s very sweet,
His diet interests me much less
Than where he wipes his feet.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 23, 1952
Down To Brass Tax
Maybe, when they have our shirts,
They’ll stop saying “Give until it hurts”?
by Ray Romine Friday, February 23, 1951
Down In Front
The Schnoz is noted for his nose,
The President for deathless prose;
Red Skelton for his clever cracks;
And Crosby for his income-tax;
Joe Stalin has a way with fibs;
Adam owned some extra ribs;
Winnie wears a black cigar;
One Kaiser built a motor car;
Our country’s Father built a stack
Of reputation as a hack;
Joe Louis was a clever feinter;
Grandma Moses is a painter.
Each fellow-man, each obscure brother,
Seems noted for one thing or other,
But where’s the fame I have amassed?
I’m background stuff; i.e., contrast.
by Ray Romine Friday, February 29, 1952