Category: Weather

About the drouth some folks complain,
While others kick about the rain.
Some paw the ground when it is hot;
One faction rages when it’s not.
But I, with clothing, food bills, rents,
Leave the weather all to Providence!

by Ray Romine Friday, August 24, 1951

When winds blow warmly, sweetly, I
Have an affinity for sky;
Without more than the slightest shove
I’ll rant of April, whom I love.
If this should weary, I will say
A kindly thing or two of May.
Yes, in the spring, when winds are soft,
I turn a happy eye aloft,
But you may take right out and bury
This lowering sky of January!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 15, 1952

0 the gentle summer
Rings delish tonight,
For the world is snowy–
Blanketed with white.

Warm and sulltry evenings–
Elegant they sound,
For outside is zero;
Frozen is the ground.

Craved we, all the summer,
Any other clime:
Heat is only pleasant
IN THE WINTER-TIME!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, December 5, 1944

Now once we had a weatherman
On whom we could depend,
He’d send us fair and warmer days,
A shower now and then.

But now he has his wires all crossed–
He just can’t hit a thing.
I guess the job of weatherman
Just wasn’t meant for spring.

(Alternate)
I think he’d better hibernate
Until we’re clear of spring!

by Ray Romine Thursday, April 20, 1933

I castigate it if it’s hot;
I give it thunder when it’s not.
I pray for rainfall when it’s dry;
And when rain wets me, wonder why.
With snow I stand in firm cahoots
Until I have to pull on boots.
Continuously, I deplore it–
Until it’s perfect, then ignore it.
The weather must (if weather can)
Resent vagaries of this man.

by Ray Romine Saturday, November 10, 1951

Perhaps some future different spring
Of something lovely I can sing,
Like bees and buds and butterflies,
And tulips we so highly prize.
The robins building in our trees
Don’t seem to mind the wintry breeze
Like I do.

But April 21st is here–
In point of fact, the summer’s near–
And all the weather we have had
Has been the kind that’s mostly bad.
The milkman, whistling tuneless tune
Evidently doesn’t pine for June
As I do.

Sometimes, I think the fault is mine,
The lack of warm and dearth of shine:
For the more we kick and fret and fizz,
The worse the blank-blank weather is;
The weatherman, I’m sure, is sore,
For no one hounds him anymore
Than I do.

Yes, if I squawk for dry or wet,
He hands us just the oppo-set;
To moan about this ghastly spring
But brings us more same sort of thing.
Take heed: endeavor not to fan
The smouldering, fitful weatherman
Like I do.

Commend his cold wet snowy spring,
And, lying, all his praises sing;
Pour not invective on his head,
Vituperate on mine instead:
Then, if he fall into the trap,
We’ll have some spring in MAY—PERHAP!
( We USED to ! )

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 21, 1943

Only storms and rain and wind
Move about undisciplined;
Catbirds, roses, humans-these
Own responsibilities.

Yet, the wind and storms must move
In a planned, well-patterned groove;
And birds and blossoms, loss and gain,
All depend upon the rain.

by Ray Romine Saturday, January 19, 1946

The winds of March, I do declare,
Blow cold across my underwear.
Lowell maybe thought it the thing to share,
But the giver who’s given his gift is bare.

by Ray Romine Thursday, December 14, 1950

Snow–
The fluff that oozed to earth all night,
You drool at O-the-wondrous sight;
Well, you can have, for all I care,
Your parts of it, and my own share.
To me; it is a fright in white,
A pestilence, a noxious blight;
And I yell boo and I yell bah
To Sandra and her sleek mama.
You gals the stuff you claim to love,
Yet I’m the guy who’ll have to shove
It off the walks, and if I lift
A ton or two, there, in some drift,
I may uncover and dislodge
The car that’s stuck in our garage;
Meanwhile discov’ring muscles that
Should only deck an acrobat–
That is, I mean, and to my sorrow,
That I will find ’em on the morrow.

Snow–
A stuff with no redeeming grace
Except its beauty on the face;
Ah yes, its brilliance leaves me mute
For half a day, and then the soot
And snow will melt and split and splice,
And we’ll have slush and we’ll have ice.
The moisture makes the wheat grow better,
But rain is also wet, or wetter.
If snow will grow our groceries vaster,
Wouldn’t rain avoid disaster faster?
And should it fall upon my grave,
I’ll turn me over, curse and rave–
Come to think, though, where I’LL be
Snow may LISTEN GOOD TO ME!

However–
It sums up my philosophy–
That every WORTHLESS THING is FREE!!

Fin. 2-13-44
(10°below out front this
morning …. )

by Ray Romine Saturday, February 12, 1944

To wash the car is to make it rain,
An experiment well worth trying;
For it works, I’ve found–til the lawn has browned
And the garden is parched and drying.

Then, to spatter the car and torture the crops,
You’re eked out maybe fifteen drops.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 1, 1950