Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
Ray Romine Poems
Good thing, I admit, I’m no Indian:
I wouldn’t be “Ray”. No, instead,
I’d be to the braves, at their sober conclaves,
“Long-Time-Stayum-In-Bed.”
It’s not that I’m lacking ambition–
I scalpum my share–but it’s just
Hunting wampum, this chief finds plenty of grief
In this world if I rise when I MUST!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, March 31, 1953
God, keep me so that every dawn
Which I watch walk across the lawn
May bring to me in every way
The thrill this one has been today.
By three small hushed notes from a bird
The lazy growing morn was stirred.
He opened slow one dew-decked lid
And sighed–the poplars said he did–
And yawned and stretched arms wide to take
The dreams of blossoms half awake.
As both his eyes were opened wide,
I tossed my metaphor aside
And watched in ever-fresh surprise
One more new way to light the skies.
Though I am bowed, with whitened hair,
Through circumstances foul or fair
My youth and I shall sit withdrawn
And see another, fairer dallll.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, May 15, 1945
We ‘re moving to the country.
And we’re to have a cow;
And I shall learn to milk her
When daddy shows me how.
I guess I’ll farm as farmers do
And be a sort of milkman too!
by Ray Romine Sunday, January 13, 1952
“Open Wide!” My dentist cries,
Risking life and limb;
Someday, someone will swallow
The other half of him!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 14, 1949
It’s true an active boy’s whole day is marred
If he can’t do those things he ought not do;
But parents, whom the years have changed, regard
The things for fun as everyone taboo.
And parents will reverse themselves again
Upon becoming Grandfolks–if and when!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, November 16, 1949
He owns a hefty power-mower
Whose lawn is roughly two-by-fower.
While I, with lots and lots more land,
Must cut the growing grass by hand.
by Ray Romine Saturday, September 2, 1950
The Senate’s economy boom
Will die in the bud, we assume,
Because of the row
Deciding just how
To cut what and how much from whom!
by Ray Romine Friday, June 15, 1951
The poems he left unspoken,
The thoughts that he left unsaid,
Leave a silence forever unbroken–
My friend, the poet, is dead.
by Ray Romine Saturday, December 11, 1943
Yellow ash and red-leaved maple;
Trimmings fancy, nothing staple;
Orange berries on a bough;
Hills that blaze in splendor now.
Nature’s Fall Show-special booking–
And I’m the only one who’s looking!
by Ray Romine Thursday, October 2, 1952
A matchstick for a body,
And six long jointed pegs
That point in all directions
Make him mostly arms and legs.
He is brown, and moves as slowly
As our syrup when it’s thick;
Small wonder that this fellow
Is called a “Walking-stick!
by Ray Romine Monday, January 12, 1953