Category: Poetry

Do not, my friend, pair “moon” with “June”,
Whatever the occasion,
Or you’ll awake to find your mind
Discussed throughout the nasion.

It seems the critics say today,
“Two kinds of poets are there–
The kind that dares rhyme June with moon
Shall go than here no farther.”

So try to hook “July” with “I”,
If month you HAVE to mention;
And call the moon “YON NIGHTLY SPRITE”,
And thus escape attention.

Still–be th’ exception: fool the rule,
And to the top they’ll hike you–
SONG WRITERS hook up “moon” with “June”,
And make the dough we’d like to!

For see, this rhyming biz it is
An inconsistent dizziness–
O far, far worse it stinks, methinks
Than medicine, law, or bizziness.

At what a chap like you may do,
The public hollers “MURDER!”
The same another gu:y may try,
And “What a CLEVER WORDER !”

Do not, young friend, tie “moon” with “June”,
If toward fame you aspigher;
But see some rival come, the BUM,
And MAKE ME OUT A LIAR!

by Ray Romine Monday, May 24, 1943

Forget this curse of writing verse:
Of Editors be wary;
But learn to bake your bread and cake,
Or operate a dairy.

Just note that I do not deny
Your rhyme is prime–none stronger–
But you’ll arrive and stay alive
On bread ‘n ‘ butter longer!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, May 15, 1945

It has appeal, the Villanelle;
It took me quite by storm. indeed–
I’d write one, if I thought ‘twould jell.

I’d not expect the thing to sell,
But it is far removed from greed–
It has appeal, the Villanelle;

It moves me more then I can tell–
It satisfies an inner need:
I’d write one, if I thought ‘twould jell.

A merry, gently tinkling bell
That silvers softly as I read,
It has appeal, the Villanelle.

Unique sensation, this, the spell
It casts for those who would it heed;
I’d write one, if I thought ‘twould jell.

Of all verse forms, this shall excel
As flower does the neighb’ring weed;
It has appeal, the Villanelle ,
I’d write one, if I thought ‘twould jell.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 4, 1944

I COULD BUILD A STUDY, or,
I ABET A TRIOLET

Nuts unto the redio,
Says the chap who likes to study;
Foo to corn and hey-de-ho,
Nuts unto the radio.
Nothing can quite lay me low
Like this air-borne fuddy-duddy;
Nuts unto the radio,
Says the chap who likes to study.

REPLETE WITH REPEAT

If it stands alone, and strong,
It can well be said again;
We can take it loud and long,
If it stands alone and strong.
Poem, story, joke or song–
What about the cuss-word, then?
If it stands alone , and. strong,
Can it well be said again?

WHIZZEN’ PRISON

Verses kick around up there
In the maze I call my mind;
Be the weather foul or fair,
Verses kick around up there.
Trapped in such a heinous lair,
Wouldn’t YOU some way out find?
Verses kick around up there
In the maze I call my mind.

All written the evening of January 8,
1944, mostly amid radio and chatter.

by Ray Romine Saturday, January 8, 1944

A poet sees, beyond the sky,
Beneath the skin, behind the lie,
The bad in good, the good in bad;
The fun that lies in every fad;
The humor in the alibi.

The colors of the butterfly
That you’ll look quickly, if you spy;
The reds of forests, Autumn-clad,
A poet sees.

The universe may be awry–
He is the fixer, on the sly:
He may not help it: still, he’ll try.
He sees, and jots it on a pad
For those who, blind, must think him mad.
These are the things, I testify,
A poet sees!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 18, 1944

It’s known to me
No POETRY
Is published by the “Post” ;
But, by my purse,
You DO use VERSE,
(And quite enough for most.)
Some rhyme for Jack–
But mine come back–
As THESE ‘LL come back to me;
For they’ll come back,
Yes, they ALWAYS come back,
They always come back to ME!

“Oh, if at first
You are unversed”–
(The adage-coiners hymn it)
Why, try again.”
I DO, but then,
To trys there is a limit.
For rejection slips
I have no quips,
But send ’em along to me.
For they always come back,
Sure, they always come back
They always come back to ME!

An awful sight
Of verse I write:
It SOUNDS O. K. to ME–
How it would glint
Lined up in print
I’ll never even see?
I won’t be scared,
Or unprepared
When it comes back to me.
For it’ll be back,
It’s sure to be back–
It always comes baok to me!

By now I should
Know it’s no good,
And cease this waste of stamps:
Some other way
Keep wolf away
That on our doorstep camps.
Yet rather than mope,
It’s great to hope:
To hope is always free;
But it’ll be back,
Yes it’ll be back–
It always comes back to me.

I even abhor
The postman, for,
A-whistling merrily,
He is, I think,
The final link
In the chain from you to me.
Just say “No Sale”–
Get it in the mail–
And it’ll return to me.
For mail it back,
Or post it back,
It’s sure to return to me.

Ship or train,
Or ma-il plane,
I hate impartially.
At camels dense
I tskeoffence–
Some carry mail, you see.
Use road or track
To ship it back–
I’ll expect it back to me.
For, haul it back,
Or float it back,
It always comes back to me.

No need to crack
About the lack
Of mirth or comedy;
That it’s not good
Is understood
When it comes back to me.
To fill my cup.
The whole way up,
Just ship it back to me;
I’d on it planned,
You understand,
So send it back to me.

Now I don’t mean
To be obscene;
My verse: you will not buy it.
I just recall
That, most of all,
The CUSTOMER’S ALWAYS RIGH-IT !
If it you’ve scanned
(And maybe panned)
Why send it back to me;
Just bundle it up,
And I’ll give up
WHEN THIS COMES BACK TO ME!

by Ray Romine Friday, May 14, 1943

There are many, many ways, oh Bud,
To gauge how much we miss you;
“Crusader” deadline, though, is near,
So time’s the important issue:

In a word, if they make you, all alone
A squad, you’ll never fail ’em–
For it’s taking ten to fifteen folk
To fill your shoes at Salem!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 1, 1942