September’s poets, one believes,
Are men of leisure. I bequeath them
A month when I must rake my leaves
To cut the grass which lies beneath them.
by Ray Romine Saturday, September 27, 1952
Category: Poems
Ray Romine Poems
Double Feature
My balding dome
Less care? What bosh!
Less hair to comb-
More face to wash.
by Ray Romine Monday, November 13, 1950
Double Duty
There’re some who like spring, and still others take autumn
In spite of the lesson experience has taught ’em,
For here at our domicile both seasons burn us
When we must mow lawn while we’re firing the furnace.
by Ray Romine Thursday, February 8, 1951
Don’t Write–telephone
Those folks who have so much to say;
Who use the line for hours each day
To gossip, exchange recipes,
Discuss the ways to put up peas,
The UN, Harry, how to dress
The baby, certainly can mess
The wire for everyone, doggonit–
Except, of course, when I am on it.
by Ray Romine Friday, November 30, 1951
Don’t Tell Me
The date I didn’t keep last night;
The letter I forgot to write;
The horse they tipped me couldn’t lose;
The invitation I refuse;
The fountain pen that cannot leak;
The cuff link I must always seek;
The postage stamp that ought to stick;
What’s left when I’m told “Take your pick”;
The stubborn friend I cannot move–
A lot of little items prove
The cockeyed world in which we live
Is positively negative!
by Ray Romine Monday, August 13, 1951
Don’t Tease The Eagle
Although we’re a nation of “haves,”
With a penchant for gadgets and new things,
Other nations who plot sometimes find it’s not
By halves that we usually do things.
by Ray Romine Saturday, October 27, 1951
Don’t Take This Wrong, Dear
I’m busy as a bee, this spring–
I mean at home, and not for money.
The bee and I thus have one thing
In comnon, sure: we work for Honey
by Ray Romine Friday, November 30, 1951
Don’t Stamp That, My Good Man
When it comes to nerve, the POD*
Has no peer in its class–
It demands I have a sidewalk,
Then it cuts across my grass!
*Post Office Department
by Ray Romine Friday, April 17, 1953
Don’t Shoot, Mister
Of the friends considered sappy,
None of them makes me foment
Like the cad who’s shutter happy
At my every awkward moment.
by Ray Romine Thursday, August 30, 1951
Don’t Say how Natural You Look!
My friends have all insisted I
Be photographed–I don’t know why.
My normal, natural sitting style
I learn at once, is off a mile;
The way I hold my mouth, forsooth,
Has suddenly become uncouth;
And just the way I cock my head
Fills this connoisseur with dread.
He blinds my eyes with ringside lights,
Covers his head to align his sights,
And “RELAX!” he says. His nerve I love,
But when I get a vision of
My wallet like a punctured blimp,
I don’t relax–I just go limp.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 16, 1951