Posted on

To Autumn

Poets are working overtime
With rhymes ’bout autumn’s breezes;
But I am thinking just how near
Is winter and its sneezes.

This fall season’s costing me money, I fear
And that’s a long, long ways from nice.
For it’s too cool to be without coal, don’t you see
And too warm to do without ice.

Oh, September’s here and the bittersweet’s yellow
And that may mean nothing to you, my dear fellow;
But if you were wed and your wife nuts about it,
You’d go forth for hours and then come back without it!
(Optional:)
And that’s not the worst thing, and believe me, I mean it–
If you do find it, wifey dear thinks you should clean it!

by Ray Romine Friday, September 7, 1934

Posted on

Time Out

Though dead leaves falling in the rain
Bring a breaking heart fresh pain,
When winter’s frost is springtime’s dew
Then leaves–and love–will start anew.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, May 2, 1950

Posted on

Thought for Autumn

Do not, I ask, sigh wistfully,
“Another perfect summer gone.”
With every bold leaf shaking free
A perfect autumn carries on.

The yellow corn is stacks of gold;
The mists across the fields unfold,
Unveiling friendly blue and white
Warm skies that turn to frost at night.
The nuts high on the hickory tree
To grass-folk spell catastrophe,
But children in the heaped-up leaves
Laugh in the spell the season weaves.

So let the perfect summer be
To all things past, a paragon;
With every bold leaf shaking free
A perfect autumn carries on.

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 14, 1950

Posted on

Thirty-day Queen

Away with care–erase the frown;
April’s touching field and town.
The grassy plot below the hill
She’s yellowed with the daffodil.
In the creek, glad waters race
Reflections of her laughing face;
Bursting buds and busy birds
Find praise for her, outdoing words.
Happily lilting on her way,
She’s unperturbed by the thought of May!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, April 11, 1950

Posted on

There Are Three Sides To Every Question!

My Howard friends make much ado
As to which is best for me and you:
For one talcas SPRING and one backs FALL,
And they just can’t agree at all– .
I tThink I’ll sound MY loud bassoon,
And play a heavy chord for JUNE!

For, Charles says, spring is wet and cold,
And changeable and over-bold;
While Dinny takes the stand that fall
But paves the way for winter’s squalll;
And I agree with EACH, you see:
For NEITHER season is for me!
And though it be inopportune,.
I’ll cast my ballot now for JUNE.

Yes, Charles insists that fall is best
(When trees are red and over-dressed);
But Ruth and Dick maintain the spring
Has far the best of everything.
They’ve battled forth and back for years,
And no solution yet appears.
But I don’t care a picayune
Who wins the point, so I have JUNE.

For June has berries, roses, moon;
Her azure sky’s a blue lagoon.
Her clouds are ships of white that sail
Away beyond the mortal pale;
And What, indeed, is quite so Rare–
As Day in June–I have you there!
(If I were just as energetic
Throughout this month as I’m poetic!)
Just let me thrill here, all a-swoon,
A-kicking verses out to JUNE!

Charles, take your over-rated fall–
It thrills me durn near not at all–
And you take, Dinny, Ruth and Dick,
The spring that turns me slightly sick;
Yes, take the other ‘leven months,
O Howards, far away, at wonths.
Just grant, I pray, this little boon–
Take ALL the REST, and leave me JUNE!

by Ray Romine Thursday, June 3, 1943

Posted on

Take it Away

In summer, things can go to pot;
Who can work when it’s too hot?

Winter’s made for work, I’m told,
But who can work when it’s so cold?

Who wants to slave like anything
In the gentle months of spring?

And who can turn to work at all
When the leaves turn in the fall?

Not me! The underlying reason:
Effort’s always out of season.

by Ray Romine Sunday, July 2, 1950

Posted on

Summer Afternoon

The stifling summer stillness lays a hand
In clammy awkwardness upon the land
Until the frightened aspen ceases
To quell each smallest whisper in the making.
Cicada’s eerie song, the cricket’s rasp
Succumb to silence’s possessive grasp;
And even bumblebee, aggressive as he was,
Goes gliding by almost without a buzz.
The climax to this watchful waiting wonder
Rings startlingly–the sudden shout of thunder.

by Ray Romine Monday, June 8, 1953

Posted on

Suburbs In Winter

Clear, cold, quiet, blanketed
In white, this morning glistens,
And shows to him no sign of life
Who, hungry for it, listens;
Or, seeking it through frosted pane,
Smiles smugly for his labors
At seeing thin high-rising spires–
Smoke signals from his neighbors!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 24, 1952

Posted on

Stocking Run-out

How do you tell when the summer is over?
By the br-rang of the school bell, or brown heads of clover?
Earlier evening and much later dawn?–
I tell when my bottle of leg-make-up ‘ s gone!

And I can’t pretend that I don’t dare,
With nylons at one-eighty-five a pair.

by Ray Romine Monday, September 8, 1947