Long ago I had a book of poetry and one of the poems started or possibly ended with the lines Im a noodle, youre a noodle. Will you marry me? I had read and reread many of the poems during my very young life. When we moved so many years ago, my book didnt make the journey. However, over the years the words Im a noodle, youre a noodle have haunted me. They make me smile and remember how delighted I was reading from this magical book. I found among my belongings notebooks containing many poems I wrote in the 40s and 50s starting when I was in my late teens. I now find them quite remarkable in their psychological search for the meaning of life, my life. Some are humorous, some are quite sad but mostly I wrote randomly never expecting them to see the light of day. As I reread some of them, I thought they deserved a place in a book. Or to paraphrase, Im noodling around and trying to weave the rhythm of my words into a pleasing word picture. The first few pages include poems I wrote at the age of 9, 10 and 11. They are not necessarily noteworthy but I thought I should include them. The old saying is that writers write and I started early and returned to writing about ten years later with more poetry and then much later with short, short stories, a journal, a book and another book.