Yellow & Blue: 1982_ColorPencil_Drawing3 by Carol Hershey

8/30/01 Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

There is no one shade
Of yellow, no one blue, not even
One section devoid
Of texture, variance, a bit of
Personality.
Observe the opacity, the wear and tear,
The wrinkles and creases as if
Fossilized. As if
Chipped out of a mountain:
So much peace! Earth
And changing sky
Frozen into one slate
Of paper and pencil.

Mountain Train: 1979_Pencil_Drawing3

8/29/08_1979_Pencil_Drawing3_ Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

come with me
into the eggs
tumbling up and down
the ski lift and the frost
while the mountains
wave and glare

oh come
to the christmas lights
and babies hatching
in snow oh so lovely
on your lime green coat

elves and santa
tell the great white stork
my favorite bedtime story

don't pull the covers too tight

we must sail away
tonight

Iceberg: 1977_Pencil_Drawing8 by Carol Hershey

8/28/08_1977_Pencil_Drawing8_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

The waves reach up to tickle
The massive iceberg.
Beads of perspiration gather
At each ticklish lapping.
Oh, they hang out, trembling,
Afraid of falling into that trickster of an ocean,
Singing songs while they wait.

I am an iceberg, gliding.
Oh, I love being in your waters -
The waves that reach up always,
Tempting me to giggle, and melt.

Swan: 1982_Pencil_Drawing by Carol Hershey

8/26/08_1982_Pencil_Drawing_ Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Quietly sailing
Through calm waters,
Neck bent
To examine an autumn leaf,
She glides beneath stars,
Wing covered with a flower wreath.
Food peeps up from beneath
The bluest sea,
But she doesn't care, not while she
Ponders the chill
That will ruffle her plumage
As leaf after leaf falls
To remind her of the glory
Of being alive.

Ribbons: 1983_ColorPencil2 by Carol Hershey

8/25/08_1983_ColorPencil2_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Let's run outside
Into the blue, blue sky
And fling our ribbons up.
Oh, let's see what the moon thinks
Of our ribbons soaring.
The long-tailed, pink possum
Gazes up, as if at fireworks,
Meditative, seeing all.
The stars are aligned
And I can't help but grin
A wide, sloppy, face-splitting grin.
Yes, let's run outside
Into the blue, blue sky
And fling our ribbons up
To see how they fly.

Road: 2003_Pastel1 by Carol Hershey

8/24/08_2003_Pastel1_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

This road I'm on
Has messages etched in the dirt,
A secret language scratched with blue chalk.
What does it say?
It's like a symbol in a dream,
So certainly important, so vivid,
And yet, meaningless when awake.
This language is comforting, but
Untranslatable.
How did I get here?
I know:
My love of blue,
And puzzle decoding.
I look up and notice the orange sweep
Of rainbow in the night.
Gorgeous.
Then my eyes return
To the blue etchings, and onward
I shuffle.

Candle: 1988_WaterColor4 by Carol Hershey

8/23/08_1988_WaterColor4_ Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

This candle
I light for you, Mamma.
Blue everywhere, and such light
Glowing for you, Mamma.
Though the day may seem
Empty, or grey, when I light
This candle, write
This poem, gaze
At the blueness everywhere
Through your eyes...
Oh, the day is a glorious night
Of ignition and rare surprise
Really, this candle's for me, Mamma,
To feel your Motherly peace.

She Paints: 1988_WaterColor3_Clover by Carol Hershey

8/22/08_1988_WaterColor3_Clover_ Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

How long did she spend
Picking out just the right blend
Of this aquamarine blue
And that cademin red
And oh, the canary yellow
Mixed with the pure white.
I can see her stirring the brush
In the paint-stained glass mug
And dabbing at the paper towel
Before the next dip into this pure blue
And that pure yellow and a little white
For such a translucent green
Floating over the layer
Of yesterday's pale blue.
How many times did she back away,
Gazing, puzzling?
And how many times did she examine,
Nose almost touching, peering
At this texture here, and that detail there
With a determination to paint it all over
If it didn't say just the right Ah-Ha.
And did she wonder at
How the colors changed many times,
While the shape of the clover remained?

Shocked Planet: 1986_ColorPencil_Drawing4 by Carol Hershey

8/21/08_1986_ColorPencil_Drawing4_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Aiee yai yai yai yai!
What a mess! What a mess!
The stress of it all!
Have you seen my lashes lately?
Have you seen my spotty blue dress?
You'd think I'd been electrocuted
And then splattered with paint.
And my eyes? What a pain!
One's so sad it's gone blue -
Such a pitiful stain!
And the other one's stuck in the mud,
But who's to complain?
I oughta be happy, that's what!
I can hear you all cluck and tutt tutt!
If only I could bounce around again,
Let my lashes curl and dangle,
Kinda soar from planet to planet
Wearing glimmering yellow beads
And the latest spangles!
But aiee yai yai yai yai!
It just ain't to be.
There are numbers to add
And lists with no end.
There are giraffes to be fed
And trousers to mend.
So, I'm stuck in this state
Like a lightning-struck tree!
It's a difficult thing,
Being a responsible planet like me!

The Gladiator: 1986_WaterColor1 by Carol Hershey

8/20/08_1986_WaterColor1_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

I am ready!
My helmet is as bold
As I plan to be, a blazing red Mohawk
Slicing through the sky.
Oh, I shall slice the day!
And the newest light blue metal
Encasing my soft, weak flesh.
Yes, I shall encase
Anyone who comes upon me.
And see how the armor around my neck fans out,
Ready to deflect any sudden arrows.
Yes, I shall love the ping, ping sound
As I deflect!
And do you hear that far-away howling?
My demons!
I have shuttled my demons
Into the lake and they clamor there,
Flailing and wailing, eager to follow.
Oh yes, let them flail! Let them wail!
I have my blue sword.
My eyes are busy with the two suns
Upon the horizon.
I am ready!

Pumpkin: 1979_Pencil_Drawing1 by Carol Hershey

8/19/08_1979_Pencil_Drawing1_ Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

He rides his magic pumpkin
Through brooding, maroon skies.
Strings of lights illuminate
The eagerness in his eyes.
The shiny orange exterior
Accents his golden suit
As he flies so high and easily
In his pulpy and peppered fruit.

He suspects the sky has furrowed
Its dark and cloudy brow
From a slight misunderstanding
Over where he should be now:
Down among the cornfields
Sweating all day long
While the skies around him listen
To his overly anguished song.

“Well, today is different
And you’ll have to come ‘round
When I jangle my bells
And share what I’ve found!
Magic! PURE magic
And shimmering, beautiful dreams!
I’ll live in my pumpkin forever
Though jealousy intervenes!”

Well, the sky, it roared and rumbled
And the blackness was like despair
Til those brows, they finally lifted,
And the sunbeams, they split the air:
With a sparkling milky way
And the universe as his choir,
He soars through the sky forever
With reality bursting on fire.

Platypus: 1990_ColorPencil_Drawing1 by Carol Hershey

8/18/08_1990_ColorPencil_Drawing1 Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Oof! Where'd that come from...?

A red strip from the nearby
Egg factory thumps into the body
Of a groggy platypus
Like some kind of stingray,
some thrashing tail.

I was hoping to make it
Down to the river this merry morning.
Rats!

The red strip swings the platypus
Up, sideways, and away
To a different kind of morning
Altogether. A breezy, air-swishing
Slightly bruised, and entirely
Eye-opening kind of morning
That doesn't involve heaping quantities
Of merriness or rivers

But yes! The big gasps of fresh air,
A new section of the forest,
And the long way home
With a strange new red strip
As a walking stick.

In Her Sleep: 1980_Ink_Drawing1 by Carol Hershey

8/17/08_1980_Ink_Drawing1_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Hair dangling down,
she sleeps,
hugging the pillow,
her pale faced, moon shaped
pillow, her sleep anchor,
her supportive friend
whispering stories
into her ear.
Lashes on her lid
filter daylight from dreams
as she clings to the sweet, dark world
where she is a voyager
like Ulysses, or Medusa,
or a mythic river.
The daylight tap, tap, taps
and then coats her cheek
with lists of tasks to get done.
Still she peacefully
sleeps.

Nude: 1978_Pencil_Drawing4 by Carol Hershey

8/16/08_1978_Pencil_Drawing4 Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

She loves to sit there, nude,
placing her beads on strings,
leaning down to find
that one gorgeous blue bubble
of imperfect glass
to slip onto the vivid red strand
that will dangle from his neck,
sweeping and careening
as off he rushes out
towards the next catastrophic adventure.

Oh Sweet Moon: 2002_WaterColor3 by Carol Hershey

8/15/08_2002_WaterColor3_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Moon, oh sweet moon
My rusty red room,
My buttery shades,
My hampers and toys,
Are all jumping with joy
Just to see you up there.
We're dancing the mambo
With beams in our hair!
We're spinning like weavers
Inside of your loom,
And yet you don’t waver,
You dreamily stare.
Oh Moon, can you see
The chaos you cause
When your calmness invades
Like a calm sort of noise?
I don’t see you blink.
No, you hold firm
Though I wave my whole arm
And I yelp and I squirm.
Yes, what do you think?
There's a look on your face -
Is it sweet dreams and grace?
Or is it alarm?

Hilltop Castle: 1980_ColorPencil_Drawing2 by Carol Hershey

2/14/08_1980_ColorPencil_Drawing2 by Betina Hershey Russo

There they stand,
Bent in the incredible
Heat:
One very old mountain,
One castle with turret,
One giant dome,
Five giant guitar strings
Cabled to the one giant
Music stand with
Three perky antennas.

Off in the shaded forest
The crickets, locusts, tree leaves and dripping water
Create a cacophony of
Sound
That floats back to them all.

How delicious, they think,
And bend a little further
Towards the imagined
Shade.

Plumbing: 2002_Ink&ColorPencil_Drawing2 by Carol Hershey

8/13/08_2002_Ink&ColorPencil_Drawing2 by Betina Hershey Russo

Imagine the plumbing under the sink
Putting on its bangles and beads,
Spiking up its rust-colored hair,
Preparing for the party, the rush
Of water that comes every morning,
Tickled pink that maybe today
It will get to meet Mr. Right.
He must be on his way, even in the form
Of a water frog.
She preens happily,
Her loops and curls, her solid curves
Carrying the milky substance
From here to there
While the tiles hum up to her,
"Cool, cool, keep it cool."
This is right, she smiles.
Beads jangle.
The faucet stirs.
She leans into her joints, prepared.

Mother Slug: 1977_Ink_Drawing by Carol Hershey

1977_Ink_Drawing_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

She holds up her egg,
Her greatest work, gazing
With a serene eye.
Spectacularly smooth and white,
It waits while she wonders
If she's given it just enough
Warmth, just enough motion,
Just enough of herself
For it to finally rumble and
Crack.
There are so many days
Ahead of the little bugger inside,
So many mouthfuls of air and earth.
She wants to set it gently down
And dance a slow jig.
She wants to sing "Once I was afraid,
I was petrified."
She gazes, wondering, at the
Simple, complex, intriguing
Egg
Her very own egg
That will someday walk away,
Most likely
Singing.