Finally she finds, her mind's desire,
rabid and clean, she's filled with fire,
no soul-less toil, factories death,
it's clear to source of first full breath,
the gift of sight, her world's delight,
is linking words of daily plight.

And she smiles.

At last the force, 'twixt mind and hand,
which painting foiled and drawing banned,
shoots forth in peals of joyful mirth,
it feels unearthly to fully give birth,
to wings of fur and word's huge girth,
ah, but
there is no measure
to artist's worth...

Erin Moen
8/6/02


I've always wanted to be able to draw, or paint, to create "pictures", this early piece is singing my joy that I found the "force" in poetry. I had been looking for it for 43 years...