Category: WWII

He gave a leg
That you and I
Might have something for which to be thankful.

“I’m thankful,” he said,
“That it’s no worse.”

I’m thankful, too, God,
Not alone for our country
He’s helped us to hold,
And the Flag he’s kept aloft,
And our honor he’s caused to glisten,
But for this boy himself, the man he really is,
And letting me know men like him,–
I’m thankful–so very thankful.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 26, 1945

“Men reporting for induction are being turned down in increasing numbers because of malnutrition.”
….Headline.

To him who in the love of Eating holds
Communion with her several times a day,
Our sympathy we give as he unfolds
His ration-book, his treasured points to pay.

They’ve tightened up our belts again,
And boosted up the points,
Except perhaps on kidneys
Or the innards or the joints;
So it’s bread witrout the butter,
And it’s stew without the broth–
(It does, of course, save wear and tear
On Mama’s table-cloth).

“So eat, that when thy summons comes to join
The Army, Navv, Air-corps, or Marines,
Thou’ll resemble something raised on Tenderloin,
And not on beef-less soup and ham-less beans.”

Oh, Ration-board and OPA,
We think you’re very sound,
Except on some suggestions
When you run them in the ground:
This advice is very cozy,
And we’d like to take it, too,
But for your own prize comeback, sirs:
“Just HOW is UP TO YOU!”

A toast to him who, notwithstanding, tries
His appetite to stifle; and I say
A special nod to him who satisfies
His conscience, stomach, points, and OPA !

by Ray Romine Monday, January 22, 1945

Our thanks to Thee for what we have and hold,
For every blessing sent us in the past:
For shelter when the wind was over-bold;
For sustenance that kept us safe from fast;
For friendship’s touch; for childhood’s joys; for health;
For eyes to see the heaven-painted dawn,
And Nature’s many sides–the poor man’s wealth–
From virgin sun-flecked glade to well-kept lawn.
Our thanks for this, our Nation, and our Flag
Proclaiming bravely “Equal Rights for All!”
And should one footstep falter, should one spirit sag,
Let him go back a way, help him recall
The lad, who, six feet under foreign sod,
Has dared to do, that we might thank his God.

by Ray Romine Saturday, October 6, 1945

No more rationing on meat,
No more coupons for the feet.

Gasoline to travel far
We now have for every car.

Soon there’ll be new tires on view
And refrigerators, too,

Toasters, beaters, davenports
All-wool suits, and cotten shorts

Conveniences that never were,
Clerks that warble, “Thank you, SIR!”

Shortages got all the blame
For our woes, but just the same,

Now we’ll have to fight like hell
To keep from buying all they sell!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 11, 1945

Rationing’s making unsalable
What isn’t available.

by Ray Romine Friday, April 20, 1945

I doubted God with rain, then fire,
Would turn the earth to rubble;
Today I see, with mounting ire,
We’re sving Him the trouble.

by Ray Romine Monday, November 5, 1945

The healthy joys of little boys
The end of war displaces,
Who won’t carve maps of ugly Japs
Upon their Pumpkin-Faces!

by Ray Romine Monday, September 3, 1945