Category: War

He should have left there yesterday
At noon, and should be here today
By 9 o’clock. All Salem waits
To ring the bell and ope the gates
And greet a fav’rite son.

The pleasure, just to clasp his hand,
And see the answer in his eyes
Is one you’ll only understend
If you have, too, some friend you prize:
Some soldier who, in time of peace,
Gave all he had to Church and friends;
Whose gifts, in Service, never cease;
Benignity that never ends.

He should have left there yesterday
At noon, and should be here today:
“Will Dick be here?” says my refrain–
Soon, now, we’ll know if once again
We’ll greet a fav’rite son!
Written 1-9-44, before S.S.,
And while wondering!

by Ray Romine Sunday, January 9, 1944

Though Mares eat Oats and Mules eat Grass,
They’re ahead of a car (on 2 gallons of gas).

by Ray Romine Thursday, March 30, 1944

“YOU don’t think YOU’LL have to go??”
Brother, tell ME, if YOU know!
Senator Wheeler, bless his soul,
Has tried to keep our family whole;
General Marshall, though, has fought
For me to fight–he says I ought.
But neither has the faintest notion
If I’ll ever cross an ocean.
So how the devil should I know
Whether I will have to go?

Senator May has said no dice
On drafting fathers–ain’t he nice?
Roosevelt, though, given the chance,
Will gobble up everything in pance,
And quite a few, perhaps, in slacks–
Our QUOTAS we must not relax!”
My Draft-board clerk, black-haired, demure,
Says she’s sure she isn’t sure,
“Cross.my heart and hope to die!”–
If she doesn’t know, then how could I?

The elite among the influential
Say that dads are not essential:
So one of my teachers lied to me–
The one who taught Biology!
Morning’s paper drags me in–
Evening’s throws me out agin!
How the holy can I tell
If the army’s gonna yell?

Here’s quite a truth we oughtta face:
They also serve who wait and pace.
No, I don’t care if they teke me or bar me–
If they’d MAKE UP THEIR MINDS about DADS AND THE ARMY!

by Ray Romine Sunday, October 3, 1943

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

To everything he did, he gave his best.
“Worth doing? Then, “he said, “Let’s do it well.”
And practiced what he preached: he did excel
At many things; and we his friends attest
He was a sort of model for the rest
Of us, by whom we checked ourselves. Who fell
Beside the way was lifted by his spell–
To earn his lighted smile was worthy quest.
He served, his short life through, his Church and God,
For glory, wealth and fame were not his goal;
Until one day on Holland’s shock-torn sod
He served the all of us–he gave the whole.
Immortal, he, as only those can be
Who live forever in our memory!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 28, 1944

But few things matter anymore,
Here, where Home’s denied us;
Yet, those few things, while small, perhaps,
Are fighting here, beside us.

A letter from Mom, or a note from Sis,
Or a cheery scrawl from Father–
I, for a time, am Home again:
I’m sure it’s worth their bother.

It may have been word from the Only Girl
That made today outstanding,
Or a letter from a friend who has
Uncommon understanding.

A soldier’s no greater than his morale–
Which is easy enough to better:
You folks at home can win this war–
Sit down and write a letter!

by Ray Romine Thursday, August 19, 1943

How much longer will the Germans take
To get a belly-full of stomach-ache?

**********************

Can there be a German who’s never seethed
To the point where he to himself has breathed:
“Gosh, Adolph, but you’re a WORM?”?

by Ray Romine Monday, July 26, 1943

Soft, this younger generation –
Grandpap’s said it oft before;
We’ll soon know, because his grandson
Is a-goin’ off to war!

We will take Gran ‘pappy with us,
Since he always loved to fight,
And regarded us as sissies
From the hoarse depths of his might.

We will show him what we moderns
With his Civil War have done,
For we know that back in his day
They were knocked off one by- one!

We will show him mass-production
Of our planes and guns and tanks
(And, I’ve no doubt, have to show him
Which are Rebels, which are Yanks)

We will brag of the Bazooka,
Of block-busters, and our jeeps;
And I’ll bet our fighter-pilots
Give him forty kinds of creeps.

But

When I have him half-convinced, he’ll
See our ‘WAVES and SPARS and WACS;
Then I’ll know I’ve lost the battle:
“HOLD IT, GRANDSON, JUST RELAX !

“Had me sold upon the notion
That you boys today are tough –
And the WOMEN do your FIGHTIN’ !
Too much, sonny, is ENOUGH!”

by Ray Romine Tuesday, December 28, 1943

Best way to charm
The gasoline factor
Is buy a farm
And drive a tractor.

(It still won’t be
What it wes before–
They’re not draft-free
Anymore.)

by Ray Romine Friday, January 28, 1944

I saw a ship go out to sea:
It didn’t mean a thing to me.

I saw grapes wither on the vine:
What mattered it? They weren’t mine.

I read that children starved in Greece:
Not mine the fault; I’d lived in peace.

My brother, though, has gone to war:
I’m not indifferent anymore.

It’s none of ours, we’re positive,
Until it hits us where we live.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 17, 1943