Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
Goblins are goblining through the wood,
And witches are flying in lonely places;
My pumpkin-face tries, as if he could,
To waken the neighbors by making faces.
And Petey-the-Gnome rides his bat with a shout,
Scaring old ladies and skimming the roof.
Concerning his steed there is never a doubt ,
For he’s radar-equipped, which makes him crash-proof!
by Ray Romine Sunday, July 11, 1954
The Hallowe’en season is with us once more
With its witches and ghosts and hobgoblins galore;
I s’pose that they’re just as they were as of yore,
But they don’t look the same as they uster!
For when we were kids just the sounds in the trees,
Like the hoot of an owl or a whisper of breeze
‘Round Hallowe’en time produced knocks in our knees,
But they don’t sound the same as they uster!
Yes, Hallowe’en then was a big time of year,
And we waited for weeks til it finally drew near;
Sweet cider in those days meant Hallowe’en cheer,
But it don’t taste the same as it uster!
And the same thing is true of a whole lot of things:
All life has no kick like the thrill that youth brings,
For all things around us as life onward wings
Just don’t look the same as they uster!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 4, 1934
Man suffers along in the twilight,
Remorse’s favorite slave,
His head held high, and pretending,
One step from release and the grave.
For God cursed him with a conscience,
And all such a burden implies.
Halfway between beast and the angels,
His feet drag the mud as he flies.
by Ray Romine Friday, March 27, 1953
Halfway between the sharks and crawfish
Exists a creature named the sawfish.
In a lot of jokes he bears the brunt
Because he wears a saw out front
Designed, no doubt, to help a sawfish
Construct a mansion for his squawfish.
by Ray Romine Saturday, October 27, 1951
Hers , Mummy says, is like a mop,
And goes off to the beauty shop.
Daddy says his own is thinner:
Mine needs combing just ‘fore dinner.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, January 29, 1952
The stars read slowly, wise old men
Blinking through bifocals. Then,
Says one, “Did you notice, sports,
By that small sun–a flash of sorts,
As brief as an atomic age?”
They nod and yawn, and turn a page…
by Ray Romine Monday, March 20, 1950
Why is it that the boss who is the big supporter of, if he
isn’t actually at the head of, the Community Fund,
Has the same regard for the welfare of his employees as might
a Charter Member of the Bund?
The boss who realizes Charity
Begins at home is something of a Rarity….
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 9, 1947
I read in last year’s garden log;
I riffle my seed catalog;
I claw with avid interest through
Better Homes & Gardens, too;
Then down the basement stairs I go
To clean the long-neglected hoe,
To oil the spade, inspect the rake,
And give the Glad bulbs one more shake,
And guess, by hefting, like a miser,
How many pounds of fertilizer.
For though it snows like anything,
The calendar declares it’s spring.
by Ray Romine Sunday, March 25, 1951
While some boys hate buttons
And others hate beds,
Not a few abhor washing
The ears on their heads.
Then there is the class which
Develops a headache
At mention of potions
The doc left and said take.
And there are still others
Who claw and who rave
When they hear the words Haircut,
Come In, or Behave.
(Our own boy dreads starving,
Which we allay gaily
By feeding him freely
A dozen times daily.)
by Ray Romine Sunday, December 17, 1950
Our growing daughter’s babbling talk,
Her nonsense effervescence,
Show why teen-age is but a stage
Described as addle-essence.
by Ray Romine Saturday, September 24, 1949