jokey poem for gwentyth Paltry

Winster soltstice , hope and Brexit

The onwer of a popular chain of basic pubs for old men and pugilists  has commisioned me to wriet a rousing poem foe the winster solstice 2018 that will also bring hope for the currnet turbulent times ahead for Brexit Britain. Like king Arthur in Avalon, we can survive the winter of our discontinents and be great again like a dafodil poking its way up through the shit . This poem is called.

Poem for Winter Soltice 2018

 [Open your mind like a tin of mutton and you will gamble 

like a lamb in the coming of spring. ]

naked in the snow

my holly berry nipples , Christ's blood red,  
and hard

like the life of a wench, 
or a bullet.

the hand maids tell and we must hear = hark!

i dont mind the cold - it purifies these dark days

ready for the light like someone cured

of snow blandness

or cynicalism

there is a bear in the forest

watching me bathe

it offers me a fly agaric

like a paodfile with a toffeee

"NO NO! GO AWAY - YOU ARE A METHORFOR FOR DONALD TRUMP!!!"

I roar like a new kitten that has watched the lion kinsg.

the wind is strong

plaiting its eerie whispers into my bare openings

writing the  faeirie myth herstories  of the ending year

into my wise, wistful, women hair

like a royal variety perfomance

hosted in my rustic vajazzle

[the ice queen - Nicole Kidman] 

now winter begins

and the light barren shortest day,

like a bitter wizened old harriden

scratching her stilletto finger nails

that cling to wizened claw fingers

on a chalk board whilst standing on a ledge

like nosferatu's quivvery shadow,

mimics its lack of bounty

and we are terrosorised!

 But fear not child, soon the sun will rise

like Nigel Farge , in a florescnet visible cloak,

like a wizard doing road works,

riding an Icarus horse

off the white cliffs of Dover, airborn,

into the skies and our communal forever.

copyright poet Helene 'butternut squash' Smithee 

19.12.18

Astrology Corner

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imdoing well in my mission to spread my genius poemtry to the world via twitter its great for light workers do pop along thankyou.

new year Blessings for 2018

'Volcanic' for International women Day. redux 2facebpook page016

This is a sister poem to one I wrote before or they might be darfts of the same poem I cant rememebr. You will see the fetus form of this poem oon my facebpook page but I have vastly improved it here with more adjectives and metphores. 

Go here for a similar poem that might be a bit the same in places.  Gaia poem or whatever it was called.

gifted twice over, amethyst, indingo 

with mauve oneness womanhood

and the poet's soul

sensory, sensitive, sensual,

I share with you

my soft silky softness

mother of pearl rainbow opalescents

but beware the egg of obsidian within

make it molten at your peril

I will fight you like a raving lioness

a multicoloured roarer borealis 

the constellation Leaena

mother to all things,

deflecting a popelectic nuclear bomb

the epitomy of maleness

in this man's, man's man's

folly of a world.

Part 2 written on International owmen's day 2011 for all the oppressed, women of the wold.

but I am fierce medusa fearless

unalone like sledge sister gorgons

hammer and hissing tongue 

with silvery, moonlit, siren song

smashing the cock sure rock hard ons

that rapier joust

raping our mother planet Gaia

spike spunking our drinks

polluting our water

with GHB, BP pumping hyperbole

WE

WE ARE MOLTEN STRONG

hot tit nourishing wisdom to the world

we are girls

let our stretched flesh unfurl

its love

as a mother shell yields a pearl

as polished as the most ecstatic clit

yet singular

not in a box set

bejewelled sex spurt

for what are we worth, mere trinkets,

like limpets?

[keep going - it gets even better soon]

or is this ne'er to be

BUT WE ARE SISTERS

not slash and burn misters

who quarry for blisters

and all that glisters that is not gold

for they are fools; there is no bling

shinier than when WE sing

our sirens' call

will see their male downfall

like a battlefield of dead Frank Spencers.

if not today

International day of women

then when

men?

[keep ging its not finished yet}

When will your passion for toil, oil, 

hats of tin foil

scorched mother soil, 

be done?

We shall rise, lava hot, like Surtsey,

breast like, thrusting, nourishing new life,

transitioning in our fast fashion

from the ocean spread, sea bed

like legs of  a labouring wench

waters break forth o'er Mariana Trench

WE DECREE

it will be

volcanic.

FOR WE

are international

women

of the world.

I am now a pop supertstar!!!!! Visit my bondcam and buy my records for 81p.

Aplogies as usuals for being absent for sucha a long time my wondrous friends. It is becamuse i have beem hypno regressed an i have foound out that i have been a musicina in a pst life and have while a way many an hour on a harspicod.

It is a wonder. You would be amazed how many famous pices of music that have been supposedly written by famous madmen in wigs were really written by there female wives, servants and wenches that were conned out of there talents. More on that another time, it will not happen to me because i have ciopyrwrited everything. However the big news is that I will be releasing a new album of spoken word / songs based on the poems that you have marvelled at in this blog dear readers.The album is called 'Helene Smithees' Greatest Hits!!' and will be avaailable in full when i have fiunished it, but for now you can listen to the debut track which is a reworking of my poem 'After the Solstice' first blogged here; .

so now without further ado i can reveal my debut album track, 'After the Solstice' - those of you who know me for being a wicked wit will notice that we are currently before the solstice tho the poem was written a few days after the sostice a few yeasr ago but dont be confused its just me being funny as usual. : )
WATCH IT NOW!

\you can also just ;isten if you are someone who has fits if you see flashy colours or if you are on drugs that give you eye fuzz. LISTENM NOW HERE - IT IS VERY SOOTHING> YOU CAN SHUT YOUR EYES TOO