Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
There is nothing, of course, that succeeds like success,
Or so the illustrious ones have imparted.
But it leaves a few questions, I have to confess,
To be asked by a guy who would like to get started.
OR
Or: (Revised 1-23-54:)
SECRET WEAPON
That nothing on this earth succeeds like success
Is the dictum of those filled with wisdom and knowing.
But the MEANS of succeeding remains, thus, a guess
To this yet unsuccessful who’d like to get going!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 3, 1953
I hate writing letters
To especially my betters–
To those far more learned than I.
To talk has no terrors
For one full of errors,
But to put it in writing, OH MY!
by Ray Romine Monday, April 12, 1943
Of all the people I dislike,
He is most pestilential
Who bides his time, that he may strike
With insult inferential.
For I can answer sneers from lips
That move in guileless shuttle;
But Heaven spare me from those quips
That classify as subtle.
by Ray Romine Thursday, September 6, 1945
When the Bedtime stories are over,
And each bed finds a kiddie tucked in it,
There’s a pause in the daily frustration
That’s regarded as Father’s Minute.
At least one might so designate it
If Mother didn’t appropriate it
by Ray Romine Sunday, November 5, 1950
A sound a shade this side of riot
Intrudes upon the evening quiet:
A noise they never heard in Hades,
Worse than wildly screaming ladies;
Worse than mutterings of rabble;
Loud as anything from Babel
From the street comes, over, under,
Irritating, man-made thunder.
What so well disrupts the calm?
Some horn-happy Beeping-Tom
by Ray Romine Saturday, June 14, 1952
The only thing longer in history
Than the “sec” of the gal who is dating
(It’s happened to you and it’s happened to me)
Is the face of the guy she keeps waiting.
by Ray Romine Monday, January 15, 1951
Posterity loves him, and places its seal
Of approval on him who invented the wheel;
But it all leaves me luke-warm when I come home bushed,
For one of his lawn-mowers waits to be pushed.
by Ray Romine Thursday, May 15, 1952
My Sunday painting won’t, I fear,
Ever grace museum halls;
But anyway my daubing here
Is easier than painting walls!
by Ray Romine Monday, February 8, 1954
I had a talk the other night
With you. For years, I’d known
You. Still, I never saw the light
Or into what a woman you had grown
Until the other night.
Oh–it was just a friendly talk
We had. Like man to man
It was. Two minds that chose to walk
Along a shady path for two. I can
But court another talk!
Your parting words my wits repeat:
“Thanks very, very much”,
You said. For what? For this rare treat?
Oh no, thank YOU. But this small final touch
But made it all complete.
Just friends, of course, but tell me why
Your voice I hear–your face
I see;–why you have lived in my
Own dreams and thoughts; _or every place
Where beauty lies–O why?
by Ray Romine Saturday, December 11, 1943
So long as shoe coupons will keep me well-heeled,
I’d do more than a mile tor a Chesterfield.
I would tackle a, well– I’ll let you name the mammal–
For a draw upon even a second-hand Camel.
I would swap my kid’ s comic oooks–even her dollies–
for one Oh-so-wonderful pack of Raleighs.
I would climb me an Alp, and arrive feeling hefty
If, once at the top, I’d find LS/MFT.
Going over Niagara amid ridicule
Wouldn’t faze my aplomb if the prize were a Kool.
I would rest in a cell, whether barren or padded
If I could be sure Something New Has Been Added.
I would sing on the air; I would dance with the Chorus;
Or go in for Ballet, for one Philip Morris.
Almost every sacrifice, you will concede ,
I would share for the vile and the volatile weed;
Any effort, for smoking, I’ll make and still laugh;
But I WON’T STAND IN LINE FOR AN HOUR-AND-A -HALF!
by Ray Romine Saturday, July 21, 1945