Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
Ray Romine Poems
Argue with me, disagree;
Run me down, deplore me;
Criticize me openly,
But don’t, I beg, ignore me.
If you’ll cock an attentive ear
At the hackneyed glories
From my travels far and near,
I’ll hold still for your stories.
You and I achieve perfection, thus.
Whomever we bore, it won’t be us!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 8, 1950
Don’t take this wrongly, dear friends, please,
You’re part of life’s rich, full design;
But mention meat in my deep-freeze–
You row your boat and I’ll ROMINE.
by Ray Romine Friday, January 19, 1951
Block upon block upon piece after part,
Fiction is set up as tall buildings start;
Poetry’s stuff is the beat of the heart.
Articles written are so cut-and-dried,
With well-chosen words that are frigid inside;
Poetry springs, like a wild ocean tide.
Ministers threats, while the good shekels roll,
Weekly pretend that to “Save” is their goal;
Poetry’s rhythm descends from the soul.
Orators’ words, with their texture of soap,
Still– for the truth–have to fumblingly grope;
Poetry’s words are humanity’s hope.
Mankind is narrow; his perfidy jars;
His is the seamy side; his are the scars;
Poetry’s scope is the swing of the stars.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 10, 1946
Why is it boys who shout with glee
At home, your peace submerging,
Won’t say two words in company,
In spite of parents’ urging?
by Ray Romine Thursday, October 3, 1946
This outcry the Reds have been gushin’–
How their plane we shot down without blushin’:
“It was merely capriceful!
All unarmed and peaceful.”
(It could hardly , therefore, have been Russian)
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 6, 1950
“Well–I don’t know. . .” this preface brings
Hearers to violence,
Since it should lead–but never does-
To siolence.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 2, 1949
It’s grand that Daughter should learn pianna,
If one can stand it- -but me, I canna.
Why do mothers contain ambitions
To turn their children into muscians?
What if the child does die unsung?–
Better be unknown and remain unhung.
The dear is learning her sharps and flats
The while her father is going bats.
These whole-notes, half-notes, and the rest
Seem not to soothe the savage breast;
Music may, indeed have charms,
But Little-one’s lessons are four-alarms.
She pounds and fingers and punches and trills
Amid the birdies and daffodils;
From lunch to dinner, from spring to fall
My Daughter’s lesson is shared by all.
Paderewski’s fame has never cowed her–
He might’ve played longer, but he couldn’t play louder.
By the time she’s mastered her flats and sherps
I’ll be playing dem Gilded Harps–
My chance at last!–the worm is turning–
I’ll unhinge Angels while I’m learning!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, February 7, 1945
Having cussed ’em, caught ’em, scaled ’em, fried ’em,
Contentedly I sit outside ’em.
by Ray Romine Friday, July 14, 1950
Let a spark stand for someone we only say Hi to,
And a safe-from-the-elements lantern, for friends;
If a match quickly scratched is the person we sigh to-
Then love is a candle that burns at both ends .
by Ray Romine Friday, September 2, 1949
An old-time house is one in which
The whole foundation burial
Preceeded the erection
Of the television aerial!
by Ray Romine Thursday, October 4, 1951