The boys in the street mend their cars.
A miniature garage, it seems.
I feel like crying, I feel so alone,
No-one to mourn me when I am gone.
No-one to miss me, no-one to care.
I pound at the walls, but no-one is there.
And if they are there, then no-one hears.
And if they hear, then no-one cares.
No-one to care, no-one to cry,
If I live, If I die.

The boys in the street are at it agai...

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While waiting for the bus to school,
I came upon the weighty problem
Of what to do with my hands and feet.

Unused to such quandries and puzzles,
I first thought the answer to be
Simple, like hands in pockets, and stand on feet.

But unbidden, there came to my mind
A picture of myself, standing on my feet.
A plump girl, with her hands in her pockets.

At last I could stand it no longer
...

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I will be embarking now on a sequence of poems, in chronological and thematic order, that will stretch back right towards some of my earliest poetry. The collective theme is 'Love's Tempest', within which there will be various sub-themes. We start with the sub-theme 'Beginnings'.

Although this particular poem was probably written when I was 19 or 20 years old, it talks about earlier chidhood. I...

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