Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
Ray Romine Poems
“Due to modern medical science, man’s life span is increasing yearly…” News Note.
While every ailment finds a cure,
Making death a bit unsure–
The other half of this team waxes
Fat: we’re sure, at least, of taxes!
by Ray Romine Saturday, April 8, 1950
No time this, for levity or indecision,
The occasion wants tactful and instant precision.
The tray looms; my hostess is slowing for me-
She’s putting That Question: “Coffee or tea?”
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 13, 1949
It may be hard work will not kill,
But I, without preamble,
Am prone to spurn, when it’s my turn,
What may be but a gamble.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, December 11, 1951
Our Defense Program begins to loom
As something that really could boom
If the Congress and Harry
Would end thrust and parry
Over which rights go rightly with whom.
by Ray Romine Friday, April 6, 1951
His camouflage is something; his brorm tweeds
Match with perfection frosted grass and weeds.
His ears pull flatter; not a muscle moves–
He’s caught a scent of which he disapproves,
And looming overlarge to his small ken,
There thunders past much armament and men.
Somehow he knows that he who hides in fear
The next few days may live another year.
by Ray Romine Monday, July 26, 1954
The hired man, pinched in town, said, “It’s true
It was tea I was sipping, not brew.”
“Tea, is it?” said Clancy,
Well, me club Is real fancy–
Would you like it with one lump, or two?”
by Ray Romine Thursday, April 1, 1954
Far be it from me
To ever complain;
But with points back on pork,
We can all beef again.
by Ray Romine Sunday, August 13, 1944
You say there’s proof? You’ve found me out?
There’s not the slightest bit of doubt?
In that case, then, I will admit
I did exaggerate a bit.
by Ray Romine Saturday, October 21, 1950
I shall write a little poem
To my daughter, Sandra Jean,
And she can have the fattish meat,
And I shall eat the lean;
And she has cutish little dimples
Just above her chin;
And a great lacunae
Where her brain has bin.
Sometimes, it seems, I must confess,
That she is smart in school;
And yet at home, full all the time,
I think she is a drool.
…
Love the little pot I oughtter–
After all, she IS my daughter.
by Ray Romine Friday, September 1, 1944
Commenting upon
My wife’s new raiment,
Credit her for the taste,
Me for the payment.
by Ray Romine Saturday, July 22, 1950