Her Textile: 1987_ColorPencil_Drawing2 by Carol Hershey

11/30/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

"It is long, tedious work,"
She says, staring at the textile,
Searching for a flaw in the fabric.
Each dot fills her with awe
And she longs to share the whole thing
With the shivering world NOW!
"They need this autumnal weave
To lose the chill and cozy up a bit."
She hums to herself
And gnashes her teeth in concentration.
She won't sleep
Until her eyes start swimming
With dots and threads
And she knows she has done
All she can.

Chorus: 1990_Ink_Drawing7 by Carol Hershey

11/29/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

We twenty one heads
Bend in the wind and
Give thanks for this day.
Thanks! Thanks! Thank you!
The sky is blue with wispy clouds
And the corn thrasher's paused
Giving us time here
Before its cold metal claws
Tear us up and send us off
Into the jaws of our working day.
We have eaten well,
The rain water was fresh
And it's nice to be surrounded
By family. So we give thanks! Oh, yes!

Headdress: 2003_Pastel3 by Carol Hershey

11/29/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Thanks were given
And thanks received.
The headdress was passed
Down the rows of sober recipients
And placed on each head
As glasses were raised and toasts toasted.
The colors on cheeks flushed
And eyes shone with such sweet corn,
Such creamy pumpkin soup,
And the prospects of new worlds of friends.
I remember it well, the hopes
For peace, for freedom, for cohabitation,
And also the more important desire
To survive the harsh new winter.
They did us right, and we, well,
We tried, but we lost the headdress
And ran out of wine
And after the winter we thought we knew it all.

FilmHead Woman: 1983_Ink_Drawing2 by Carol Hershey

11/18/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Her face contains
Multitudes of movies
Bent over the bones
Of her film holder face,
Hair spilling over
Like inky ideas gone haywire
And her skeleton
Stringy and open
To our view.
She walks
And walks
Through the hottest sun
And the rockiest peaks
With thin leather on her feet
And everything she owns
On her back.
Dream circles float
On her shoulders.
She is lucky to have Vision.
She is our Dream Vision Holder.
Her heart is beating
For all of our woes and hopes.
She walks on and on
For us,
Our female Christ,
Our Earth Mother,
Our own ideas of life.

Looking Down: 1978_Pencil_Drawing12 by Carol Hershey

11/17/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Looking down on her
We can see how close
She pulls someone
And how her shoulders slope,
Strong and wide.
Here head is bowed forward
To glance at the egg
Her child holds up.
She is worn out, but full,
Ready for another day.
And then finally the last day
Will creep up like a surprise party
She sensed was coming
And the dishes won't have been put away
But off she'll go.

Funny Moose: 1984_ColorPencil_Drawing4

11/16/08_Make-Up_Poem2 by Betina Hershey Russo

“I was just joking,”
Whined the bucktooth moose
As the rain-tears dripped down
Like two steady drums
Past his ears.
The Moose’s eyes crossed
And re-crossed themselves,
Superstitious by nature.
Something rumbled…
A belly laugh?
Was God weeping tears of mirth?
In those two rain-tear spots,
Up sprang two little moose rose plants.

Below The Surface: 1990_Ink_Drawing12 by Carol Hershey

11/16/08_Make-Up_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

I’m wondering what is growing
Below the surface;
Has the corn rooted?
Are the carrots healthy?
Has the soil been purified enough
To leave no trace of pesticide
Seeping through the potatoes?
I pat around the topsoil, curious,
Longing to shovel down
And discover their secrets.

Warm Place: 1992_ColorPencil_Drawing6 by Carol Hershey

11/16/08_Poem by B.H.Russo

I was looking
For the kind of place
Where people touch you
And smile with that non-sexual,
"You are beautiful" vibe.
Down by the river walk,
At the old Irish Inn,
I found an old man singing ditties
About how gay used to mean happy
And telling stories about Dolly Parton's lovely lumps.
But the people danced
And smiled, and alone at my table,
I ate boiled potatoes an shrimp
In this Irish pub in Savannah
I was almost at the Kerrville folk festival
Staying up all night long
With my guitar and my favorite songs
And soft arms to catch me.
Yes, here I was, just listening and merging
With those happy, sloppy Irish-wanna-be souls.

Two Roses: 1984_Ink&ColorPencil_Drawing1 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08_Make-Up-6 Poem by BHR

I don’t need much.

Land
Sun
Moon
The big dipper
Two roses
A handful of seeds
A cave full of eggs
And a bridge to the sky.

That’s all I have
And all I could ever need.

Except sometimes
I think I might need you.

Mr. Potato Moon: 1979_Pencil_Drawing12 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08_Make-Up-5 Poem by B.H.Russo

Mr. Potato-Moon,
Inconsolable grump
Has his nose in the air
And in his throat – well – a lump.
He’s holding a stop sign
And swatting at flies
While the mountains get chilly
And the North Star flies.
I thought he’d be nicer
While shining his light
But no, he needs something –
A nap or some food
Or maybe a someone
To pat his puffed cheeks
And make him feel better
Til his eyes shine like leeks.

Thoughtful Chicken: 1978_Ink_Drawing8 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08_Make-Up-4 Poem by B.H. Russo

This chicken just posed a question:
Do yesterday and tomorrow exist today?
She knows most roads of memory
Limp into the Ethernet of forgetting,
That corn husks are actually science books
Of instructions not meant to be rewritten,
She believes love is a selfish selflessness.
Yes, this chicken has even reminisced
On aboriginal art, the meaning of sex,
Mist falling upon Brigadoon,
And farmers’ vacant eyes
When they are about to prepare a chicken for market.
Her neck feels funny, but she says,
This is just one more experience
Before I die.

Vaginaharp: 2005_RedPencil_Drawing3 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08 Make-Up-3 Poem by B.H.Russo

“Alleluia,” sings the vaginaharp
With opened maw
Salivating and preparing
To sing the famous Mozart aria,
Ever so slightly out of her range.
Her glorious alto vibrations
Rumble through the cavernous room
And mess up the tuning
Of the ever-changing penisguitar.
“Oh let the bright seraph in,”
Counters the ever hopeful
Duet-seeking penisguitar.
“Can’t we make music together,
Though two stringed instruments we be?”
In the end, the strings get tangled
And the tune changes to “My Mamma Done Tole Me,”
But both are happy with the outcome
And decide to pursue slide guitar techniques
And gutteral street cries.

Floating Bottle: 1984_ColorPencil_Drawing3 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08 Make-Up-2 Poem by B.H.Russo

The bottle drifts
Over yellow seas
With its rabbit head lifted
Testing the wind
And its branch arms reaching
For the unreachable shore.
There’s a secret inside
Calling you
To shake off your passivity
And dive in! Dive in!

Umbrella: 2004_Pencil_Drawing1 by Carol Hershey

11/14/05 Make-Up-1 Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

They are both decked out
In their green, yellow, blue
With fine crosses and circles
And a regal to-do.
They will walk through the weather
Of strong sun or rain
And never feel bothered
Enough to complain.
It’s a joyous occasion
Each time they processes
With cloaks and umbrella
No matter the mess.
You know, I’ve never seen
Them stop or delay
Or miss out on walking
For even one day
And I’m sure I’d feel troubled
If ever there came
A day those two vanished
And left no one to walk in the rain.

SunDesert: 1989&91_ColorPencil_Drawing1 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08 make-up poem by Betina Hershey Russo

I'll meet you
Where the arches pass
Through the orange moon
And the desert weeds
Grow tall and proud,
Where the magic sled
Waits for us
To wake up
And crawl out of bed.
I'll meet you there
At 4am when the fairies whisper
Good night and good morning
To all who linger.

Witch: 1989_ColorPencil_Drawing5 by Carol Hershey

11/14/08 but should have been 10/31/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

There she hangs, upside down
Like a dark kind of clown
With her long pointy nose
And her dark velvet clothes
But her eyes cross and strain
From the blank in her brain
Cuz she's almost forgotten
Which thing should be rotten
And she's tangled her lines
While her purplish vines -
They hold up her glass ball
Making sure it won't fall.
Still, she's dizzy and cross
And a bit at a loss
While she's stuck upside down
With no spell and no sound.

Chick: 1984&91_Odds&Ends1 by Carol Hershey

11/13/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

I feel like a little chick
Just discovering
The ground is rich
With things to pick at.
Oh, so many pieces
Of golden grain!
Oh, such a glorious discovery -
Each teeny crumb.

Radiator: 2000_Ink_on_ragpaper3SideB by Carol Hershey

11/12/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Radiators hissing
And the icy floors slowly spreading
With the warmth of a day beginning
Covers strewn about
Pajamaed buttocks pressed to the sizzling
Hot radiator in the dining room,
Gazing out the window at the fallen leaves,
Waiting for breakfast.
This is what I remember
Fondly about the chill of fall and winter
In our parents' house.
Now my radiators are no longer metal coils
But vents in the wall.
Still, they do the same job
And I hover in front of them
Like a child eagerly warming up
To the day.

Comet: 1990_Ink_Drawing5 by Carol Hershey

11/11/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

This is big!
Dazzling-lights big! Glowing-ferris-wheel-in-the-dark big!
Giant-meteor-burning-through-the-earth's-atmosphere big!
This is so big
That I hardly noticed it.
It's the-entire-galaxy-is-invisible-to-my-tiny-eye-but-I-know-it's-there big!
It's dream-come-true-when-you-didn't-even-realize-you-had-a-dream big!
Besides loving you
And loving my family
And loving your family
And loving the universe even when it gave me a bum leg,
I have a house!
Which means leaves to rake
Doors to stain
And walls that will contain
The next 30 years.
Or so my tiny brain believes.

Earthworm: 2002_B&W_Ink_Drawing by Carol Hershey

11/10/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo

Earthworm with five faces
Grinning like a sweet-eyed granny
At the spotty, dirty, prettily packaged world,
I have my rake and my heap
Of damp leaves;
You keep tumbling, climbing, burrowing.
We are a perfect pair,
Me plunging into the earth
And you climbing up towards tales
Of butterflies.

Reclining Woman: 1984+_ColorPencil_Drawing2 by Carol Hershey

11/8/08_Poem by Betina Hershey

One day
I'll be a woman of leisure
Reclining on my fuzzy rug
Watching the tree leaves drift
Past the bushes and the porch
To land amongst the broken walnut shells.

One day
I'll have eliminated
The clicking of the clock
The ringing of the phone
The alarm buzzing
And there will be the sweetest silence
Of neighbors' dogs, the passing bus,
And your soft snore.

One day
I'll have all these boxes unpacked
And you'll find me with Ray Charles
And War and Peace
And on the stove will be the biggest pot
Of rice and beans, sausage and red chard.
I'll even have a free range chicken
In the fridge for tomorrow.

One day
Just like today.