Category: Poems

Ray Romine Poems

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Concerning Septober (version 2)

The last day of August is once more st hand–
Now where is that Summer we carefully planned?

We meant to Vacation a week–maybe two,
But the budget, it hollered–I worked right on through.

I thought we’d go fishing a heck of a lot,
But the nights were so cool, and the days were too hot.

I thought we’d go swimming each week-end or so,
But girls’ suits got so rare that the wifey–you know!

I thought we would picnic with some of the bunch,
But the skeeters devoured us–the flies ate our lunch.

I thought I would raise us a vegetable crop,
But it turned out to be my most horrible flop.

So I tried to raise flowers, but two months ago
The insects moved elsewhere; they can’t starve, you know.

The first of Seotember is with us, but then
The first of next June, we’ll try it again.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 2, 1936

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Concerning Septober

June, July, August, and summer is over
In a short week or two we’ll be hailing October.
This month isn’t bad, but you oughta remember
That looking ahead is what ruins September.

The grapes are just about ready for picking
And the wine that they’d make would send Hercules kicking.
The pears and the peaches were never so yeller,
The apples are asking the way to our cellar.

September sunshine’s a wonderful tonic
But we’d like it to be just a little more chronic–
September’s swell, and you can’t get around it,
But winter’s so near that it spoils things,
confound it!

by Ray Romine Friday, September 13, 1935

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Concerning Rationing

So you hafta fight for butter,
And you hafta fight for meat?
And you think it’s hell to hafta fight
To get enough to eat?

So you have a ration-booklet,
And you part with points and cash;
And. the cost of living’s soaring,
So you live on beans and hash?

(That is, if you have the points for beans–
And hash contains SOME meat).
Well, there won’t be indigestion
Just because we over-eat.

And we’re still not in the battle
Like those Yankees in the trench,
‘Tho it may seem so to Hitler
From the way we raise a stench.

But the boys who died on Midway,
Or on Guadalcanal or Wake,
Didn’t stop to argue who’d go first:
Bob, or Earl, or Jake.

They died because they placed their lives
Below the good of all;
Let’s follow along with rationing–
OUR chance to lug the ball!

by Ray Romine Friday, April 9, 1943

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Conceived Going To Work

The rising sun and colored cloud,
The fragrant valley, freshly plowed,
The field where daisies rock unbowed–
We cannot see: we’re busy.

The wren that bursts his feathered throat,
The cricket’s noisy, rickety rote,
The night-hawk’s thrilling evening gloat–
We cannot hear: we’re busy.

Sweet William’s pungency, the rose,
Lush breath of June that scarcely blows,
Subtle smell from everything that grows–
We cannot sense: we’re busy.

The Might that caused the dew to fall ,
That reared the Oak tree, stout and tall,
That helped each gentle blossom small,
We cannot feel: we’re busy.

The Power that wrought the Evening Star ,
That makes our sunsets what they are,
That spilled the Milky Way afar,
We cannot grasp: we’ re busy!

Too busy, we, with trifling things,
To sense the solace Nature brings,
To harmonize when Beauty sings,
To realize we all are Kings–
A pity–we’re so busy!
…..
Who have not time for all these things,
The thrill that all-wise Nature flings,
Could never master Angel’s Wings:
We couldn’t learn–too busy!

by Ray Romine Saturday, June 20, 1942

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Comprehension

Night or day, the depth of sky
Touches me–I wonder why?
Ape ancestors, gazing, dumb,
Pondered, too, upon it some.

Looking into “empty” space,
Another day, a future race
Sees beyond our groping hands,
And armed with knowledge, understands.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, August 21, 1946