Category: Poems

Ray Romine Poems

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Poet’s Dirge

A shortage of help there may be
In your particular line–
But there isn’t, and how I wish there were
A scarcity in mine.

A few hundred thousand less poets
And I might crash the gate–
But it looks to me from where I sit
Like a heck of a long, long wait.

Now this is just my opinion:
(And I shouldn’t deliver it)
I b’lieve the Army turns poets down
Because we’re not mentally fit!

If I wait’ll the Army thins the ranks
Of the rhymers, I suppose
Instead of taking a poet’s place,
I’LL BE THE ONE WHO GOES?

by Ray Romine Sunday, July 25, 1943

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Plus Ultra

The planets course their slow way through the stars
And boast their nearness with their borrowed light.
They add, that earth may hide its man-made scars,
Their splendor to already magic night.

But man, for all his faults possessed a mind
That turned for information to the skies
Where interest in the planets made him find
That knowledge adds to beauty in his eyes.

by Ray Romine Saturday, October 7, 1950

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Plotter

I watch him every morning, as a rule,
Go past my window on his way to school.

I like his nose; I like his grown-up gait
(Unusual for a man of nearly eight).

He doesn’t know today that I ‘m alive
(There’s no room in his world for girls of five).

But three years difference in our ages, see,
Is nothing–when he reaches twenty-three!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 22, 1946

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Please, Now Or Never

The draft? It scares me not at all–
Did you ever GARDEN from spring to fall?

Could army’s labour ever faze
One who’s been through this gard’ning daze?

I’ll give you hoe and rake and spade
For rifle or Commando raid;

I will my dread of blisters trade
For terror of the hand grenade.

Hoeing ’em sure be tougher life
Than spud de-nuding a la knife.

If drilling in the sun sounds hot,
You oughtta work my garden plot.

How could I fear the Japs’ attack?
Mosquitoes, too, stab in the back;

And how respect, Herr Hitler’s blitz,
With insects here at home like thitz?

Of course, I love my home, but Gee
This gardening is NOT FOR ME.

And if they drag me off to war,
I’ll not hafta anymore.

Yes, NOW the draft would welcome be–
But they’ll wait til WINTER-time for me!

by Ray Romine Monday, April 12, 1943

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Please Turn Page

Who fails must try and try again–
I find this maxim somewhat ailing,
For (and it’s within my ken)
One does in time grow tired of failing.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, December 13, 1950

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Please Spare Me

Dear friend: you’ll have to go,
Whose every word and action
Kills my quiet glow
Of selfish satisfaction.

For, since I’m down for days
And only up a minute,
Give me one word of praise
And let me glory in it.

by Ray Romine Sunday, November 25, 1951

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Please

Dear plumber, Sir, I wait in vain
For you to come unstop my drain: —
You may break the Union rules ,
Make several trips back after tools,
Muddy up the steps and halls ,
Soil the kitchen floor and walls;
Deliberate, let down, relax,
Discuss the war, your income-tax,
The draft, the President, the sheriff–
What harm, old thing? I pay the tariff.
I’ll overlook your sins–I think–
If you’ll but come unplug my sink!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, February 7, 1945

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Plea To Flying Time

Time that hangs so heavily
Upon unbusy hands;
Time that dies unwillingly
For some, heed my demands,
And slow your wild and headlong flight.
This one would see you last–
Don’t turn, as you spin day to night,
My life into just–past.
For I maintain bullheadedly,
With fervor and persistence,
That this is quite unquestionably
My favorite existence!

by Ray Romine Friday, December 21, 1951