When women would change from brunette to platinum,
Why argue, I say? I believe in latinum.
by Ray Romine Sunday, June 22, 1952
Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
When women would change from brunette to platinum,
Why argue, I say? I believe in latinum.
by Ray Romine Sunday, June 22, 1952
Your argument’s logical, foolproof and strong;
I have no rebuttal to fit it.
I don’t so much mind your proving me wrong,
But please don’t demand I admit it.
by Ray Romine Thursday, November 15, 1951
“It’s the principle, not the money,”
I declare. I am the man
Who, though dough is unimportant,
Grabs at every buck he can.
Though I know it’s not convincing
That I’ve no regard for pelf,
It’s a most effective method
When I want to kid myself!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, December 17, 1952
“Too Little and Too Late,” we should save
As the epitaph for America’s grave!
In a Weekly magazine,
Back on page 40,
I ran across a small item telling of wild rats
That have organized an army
And are moving east,
Bringing with them…. The Plague.
They’ve reached Kansas …
A few cities are making efforts to stop them.
Bubonic Plague! The Dread Scourge of the ages–
But we Americans–we are Americans!–
We must remain calm;
We do usually, about important things.
(We’re worse than the English)
Curious, I picked up the daily paper
To see whet the headlines might say
About this thing.
But all I found was,
“MAN SLAYS WOMAN OVER TENANT”, and
“CARDINALS WIN SERIES PENNANT.”
by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 16, 1945
If civilization decides to crumble,
There won’t be enough to even rumble.
The male’s taste runs to filthy lucre,
A haze of tobacco smoke and euchre,
Talk unprintable and loud:
“I’m SUPERIOR–am I PROUD?”
But then, the female’s just as bad
(She inherited, from her dad);
Could male be deadlier, more vicious
Than the female of the spicious?
I’ve said before: I’ll say agin:
Our civilization’s pretty thin.
The auto-horns we tolerate;
Detroit and all that racial hate;
Congress with its loud debate
That “fixes” everything–too late;
Bureaus, questionnaires, red tape;
The jobs we loathe, but can’t escape–
I only lately realized
We aren’t exactly civilized.
That desk with cigarette-burns marred;
The garbage dumped in our front yard;
The goop-head we call “quite-a-card”;
The crime that should be locked and barred;
Poets unfeathered and untarred,
All go to show that you can bet:
We aren’t civilized, as yet!
A broken bottle in the street;
The stuff the butchers sell for meat;
The things we preach, the while we cheat,
All prove, I’ve said, and I’ll repeat:
Our civilization’s not complete.
We drain our purse and spend the dregs
To see the famous Grable legs;
Picture post-cards show the trend
Toward which the Movies once more bend–
And though we treat it matter-of-factly,
We aren’t civilized, exactly.
A man(?) with no more on the ball
Than John L. Lewis stops us all;
(We oughtta give this ape a Jail
With bars and windows, but no BAIL)–
We follow him, although our sons
May die for want of planes and guns.
No, we’re not civilized, you see–
At least, it sounds that way to me!
Now, when we’ve won this little war,
We wanta bite us off some more–
Share our manners, meat, and syrup
With those thankless folk in Europe;
Seek out the Asiatic Chap,
And toss our learning in his lap;
Teach ’em tomorrow how we today
Live the Good Ol’ Yankee Way!
But African, on far horizon,
What’s meat to us may be his p’izon.
Did “Culture” of White Man and his wife
Improve the American Indian’s life?
Turn your eyes to Tokyo–
We “civilized” the EAST, you know!
I’d gladly civilization proffer,
If I thought we’d spare to offer!
In this idea I’m immersed:
Let’s CIVILIZE AMERICA FIRST!
Whole-heartedly you don’t agree?
You may be civilized more than me!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, June 30, 1943
Fantastic changes this war has wrought.
A scad of things you’n’ I’ve been taught
Have vanished reluctantly down the drain;
I won’t deny I have felt some pain.
What–live without ZIPPERS?
Perish the thought!
But, we’re doing without ’em once again.
Radical differences lie in wait.
Plenty of butter on every plate,
And coffee and sugar and ham and tea
Is a story of things as they used to be.
What–exist minus BEEF?
What a hideous fate!
Still we’re getting by, it seems to me.
We’d a plumber, once, for every faucet;
Twelve pairs of shoes in every closet;
A suit for everyday day in the week;
Amusement amusing, if not unique.
Life without luxury?
Overboard tossit!
We don’t NEED to be so fat and sleek.
So, to keep der Fuehrer’s “culture” crumbling,
We’ll do our parts end cease the grumbling.
‘Tho ahead we face still more restraining,
We can stretch some yet before we’re straining;
Do without a few things?
To “Keep ’em stumbling”
Is worth our efforts, I’m maintaining.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 14, 1943
I do not mind the thunder,
And I do not mind the rain;
As far as scaring me’s concerned,
The lightning lights in vain.
Impervious, though, as I am
To what gives overhead,
I do get claustrophobia
Down here beneath the bed.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, June 10, 1953
Of the problems puzzling middle-age,
The toughest of the bunch
Is how to keep one’s consciousness
Following one’s lunch.
(If you know what’ll help, don’t meddle
By suggesting maybe bed’ll)
by Ray Romine Thursday, August 23, 1951
“I don’t believe that I can make it–
Sorry, I would like to come–
Make it some day in the future–“
Alibis can get how rum??
Maybe, though, upon perusal,
They’re better than outright refusal!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, August 15, 1951
This constant cry, amid the strife,
Yearning for the simple life
Is one towards which I might be lenient
Once I’m convinced such life’s convenient.
Start proving simple life has mettle, or
This complex one I’ll herewith settle for.
by Ray Romine Friday, October 12, 1951