Mountains (A Poem and Paintings)

February 1995
                  Mountains

                  W a l l s o f r o c k e v e r y w h e r e.
                  Grey, brown, black or blue
                                    Close up or far away
                  Every time I set out to paint the landscape of my mind
                                    Mountains crop up.
Go figure why.
                  Could it be because my life is an obstacle course
                                    A constant ascension
                                                      Strewn
                                                                        With the stumbling blocks of my own vulnerability
And the prejudice of others?

I paint cliffs too, you know
                  Jagged, they are, and torn asunder by crevasses
Dug by the relentless onslaught of waves
                                    And time.

Biting
                                                                        Deep into the sea, they too
Are tormented
Like a Van Gogh painting of the later years
                  These bulwarks of inertia.

Immobile as the gates of Hades
They stand there
Passive
Allowing the elements to shape them
According to their whims.

They don’t realize
Those fortresses
That power resides in mobility, and that
Once locked in granite
You abdicate all initiative
To your assailants