Mother earth spins out and a new yaer is born.

Update: I am writting this from the future but i wont spoil ut and tell you what hapened. Anyway if you'are in the future too and are reading this on a diferent new year you will have to change the numbers yourself and change the numbers using the imagination eg. where i have written '2011' use you imagination to insert whatever year you are experieneceing - hope this help. HS.

Another year over 
and what have you done/?well i have have done lots of goodthings to make the universe a better place for one and all in my roll as mauve therapy pratitioner and light worker. I have a pome for you oh dear reader and though it is a bit premature like an overexited man i cant help myself but post it all over my bog for ur enjyment oh dear reader

frohes neues jahr pictures
It is nearly almost 2012 and i will be away at a retrot over the new year time period as i am working towards my Mauve oneness masters badge and i am also hoping to qualify as a hollywood nails person (because i have bills to pay) and i have also come up with the exellent idea of doing pagan woodland oneness vajazzling using found items from the woods and the recycling . I have been utilsing milk bottle tops, ring pulls, dried pinecones berries in my new art form aswell as making a merkin with a dead squirrel and some combed out dog hair from my sister's lurcher, Muffin. I think this new venture will be VERY succesful and on trend for 2012 when people are being austeer and thrifty. 
I am patenting the idea so that Krusty Allslopp doesnt steel it for her cookery and sowing show.

This isnt quite how i invision it - this is just a muck up that i did on photobucket fanny (ha ha - geddit).

And so anyway of dear reader here is my new years gift to you one and all. it is a poem called

Mother earth spins out and a new yaer is born.

Another round dozen is layed before us

though eggs are ovals, of the ovary,

these are months, spun out like pots on a wheel

round and round like

like the cycle of the womb and moon

smooth promised days

are unhatched fertilised eggs,

filled with hope,

but hopefully not with salamanda

or botchedulism,

there gleaming lives in waiting, awaiting,

pausing pregnant in the warm nest of hope,

(woven with love and skill

like a dream catcher having a lie down in a barn,)

the anticipatience of new years day,

box fresh

Made viable by cockery and womanly wet,

Awaiting mother earth's warmth to pass the days,

With old father time, turning lifes magnificent waterwheel,

Sweating and huffing and puffing

Rushing and gushing his spurt seed of man

From his metamorphical man eggs

It is so,

it is oh so....

pignant, it is poemtry,

IT IS LIFE OH CHILDREN!

And now 2011 is spent like a flaccid member

Lighting itself a congratulatory cigar

Before it is devoured, black window like, 
by the spider clock hands of passing time.

and so we wait for 2012 to find its feet

to rise: an egg yolk sun,

benighted in the new years honours list

by the queen this new dawn,

nurturing us with protein rich mucous

As we skip like wooded pagans

toward lighter longer days

and the equinox of spring.

We have survived the dark days,

though at first we were afraid,

we were petrified,

for we are not stone but blood and  flesh,

box fresh, like new underpants

PLease new year, cradel us

with your supportive lycra sling

like man eggs kept young and beyounce

[keep goingplease theres a bit more]

so that we can sing

and bring in

the new year

2012

and the Mayan apocalpse*
[upadte from the future: insert The Rapture' for Mayan apocalpse because it sadly didnt happen but theres still plenty of good reasons to be a prepper.]

The end.

Copyright helene Smithee

1st January 2011