The Headless Horseman
‘Twas the night before Halloween
and ghosts were yet unseen
as Sir Belvedere rode upon the moor
returning from a recent war
covered in blood and gore
no Nobel Peace Prize for him
just more weightlifts down at the gym
but first he’ll stop at the inn.
“Some pumpkin soup!” he said with glee
as he ate some jam from the jamboree.
I’m afraid the king gets the soup
and you are but a dupe
said the barmaid with nice knockers
amid the chat of patron talkers.
Oh merde! oh merde!
said the French chef
whose hair was parted down the clef
no pumpkins left in the kitchen
and the king’s stomach is a-twitchin’.
Sir Belvedere my lovely dear!
The barmaid raised her skirts,
I hope you’re not queer
but you’ll get a better look
if you huff it down to the brook
and a mighty pumpkin you do took
and bring it back here.
Sir Belvedere leapt upon his horse,
I’ll be back before the main course
and galloped on down to the brook
and a mighty pumpkin he did took
and brought it back to the cook.
But as he handed it to Alphonse
he slipped on some twisted prawns
and with a prance in his pants
the pumpkin smashed like a crash dance.
You fool! Said Alphonse, I’m ruined
I’ll end up a dry pruned
my head upon the king’s castle gate
such will be my dreadful fate.
Why lose your head, Alphonse dear?
The barmaid smiled
a look so wild
she flashed her beaver
and raised the cleaver
and cut off the head of Sir Belvedere.
The knight’s head was served in the king’s pumpkin soup
head of a knight- such a dupe!
and as the chickens leave the coop
they chirp and slirp
at the pumpkin remains
while a new Headless Horseman
grabs the horse’s reins.
-The Headless Horseman
a Halloween poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Friday October 30th, 2009
The Cowpoke They Called Wayne
He was the cowpoke they called Wayne
who some folks considered a pain,
others asked, where’s his brain?
His doc said, he’s insane.
But as far as living failures went,
he was considered one of the best
and he decided he’d be a-aheadin’ west.
So he saddled up his saddlebag
and climbed up on his horse
took a look at his compass
and decided to set course.
Westward ho! he went,
banjo somewhat bent,
he soon stumbled on a mountain pass,
he surveyed the scene while scratching his ass.
Look! There’s a tunnel there!
he said to his horse, Tiddlesquare.
Get along little Tiddle!
He played his fiddle
as his horse took a piddle.
Soon they arrived at the tunnel dark,
he found his horse a place to park
and then Wayne entered the tunnel dark
Should have brought a match
to add some spark
and a dash of light
this place’s a fright
said Wayne in the midst of this dark tunnel,
so dark, he had to pee using a funnel.
And then Wayne gave a shout of delight
for he suddenly saw a big bright light,
there was light at the end of this tunnel,
Wayne jumped for joy
before he did stumble,
his life flashed
like a clog down the drain.
For the light at the end of the tunnel
was the light from the east bound train.
-The Cowpoke They Called Wayne
A cowboy poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday, September 28th, 2009.
O, What CAN This Poem Be About?
Said the little engine that could,
I think I can, I think I can
and he did to the top of the hill.
Said Barack Obama,
“Yes, we can, yes we can”
and he did-
he’s being sworn in on Capitol Hill.
Said the Moulin Rouge owner to the show girls,
“Do the can-can, Do the can-can”
and now Paris gentlemen
are pole vaulting up the hill. 
-Dracul Van Helsing
January 19th, 2009
If A Bollywood Movie Were Filmed In A Canadian Snowstorm
A friend of mine, Natalie from Sydney, Australia recently
posted a YouTube video in which she said her
favourite movie of all from 2008 was a film called
Slumdog Millionaire.
In last night’s newspaper here, they gave a write-up
on the film in which they noted Slumdog Millionaire
won 4 Golden Globe Awards including Best Motion
Picture Drama.
The Golden Globes of course are a good
predictor of the Oscar winners.
The plot of Slumdog Millionaire
is about a teen-ager who lives in the
rougher districts of Mumbai who lands a
spot on the Indian equivalent of the quiz
show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.
Anyways this started me thinking about an
ezBlog post Soni Kudi wrote in the past week-
something to the effect about “If life were
like a Bollywood movie…”
One of the amusing things she
mentioned was about being stuck in
a traffic jam in the middle of Mumbai
in the middle of the pouring rain
and jumping out of the taxi cab
you’re in and breaking into song.
I found this highly amusing.
If anyone has actually done this in real life
and has taken a photo of this, please post it
so I can see.
Anyhow this started me thinking what it
would be like if they filmed a Bollywood movie
here in Canada in the middle of winter in the
middle of a typical Canadian snowstorm.
Our hero would be stuck in a taxi in a traffic
jam in downtown not in the middle of the
pouring rain but in the middle of a blizzarding
snowstorm.
He would have trouble opening the door of the
back seat of the cab to break out in song in
the middle of the street because he would be
trying to open the door against 80 kilometre
an hour wind gusts.
The taxi driver would be shouting at him,
“Close the door you idiot. You’re letting snow
into the cab.”
When our hero finally succeeds in opening the cab
door against the 80 kilometre an hour winds,
he bursts into song as he’s pelted with rapidly
falling snow flakes.
As he’s singing, the taxi driver angrily gets out
of the cab, “You idiot. You let a ton of snow into
my cab” and proceeds to start strangling our hero
who never misses a note of the song he’s singing.
As our hero is bravely singing and bravely
being strangled at the same time in the midst
of the ferocious blizzard, Aishwarya Rai wearing
a multicoloured sari struggles in her spiked stiletto
high-heeled shoes through the 40 foot snow drifts
running down the middle of the snow covered street
and shouting, “God, it’s freezing cold out.”
A singing policeman who’s over here on a
Mumbai-Edmonton police exchange program
manages to get the fingers of the strangling
taxi cab driver off the throat of our hero.
Our hero and Aishwarya Rai are about to run
into each other’s arms when suddenly they are both
scooped up by different snow ploughs driving in
opposing directions.
Our hero sings to Aishwarya Rai, “Don’t worry,
darling. I’ll find you in whatever snowpile you’re in.”
The entire city then bursts into a chorus of
“Oh, the weather outside is frightful
but the weather inside’s delightful,
let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”
The End.
Part 6 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
And so Flavius was taken to court
with handcuffs, grunts and a snort
The judge on the bench was Santa
Prosecuting attorney was Banta
For the defense
was Maj. Spence
but despite his impersonation of Perry Mason
and some lying seagulls bussed from the station
the defense all came to nought
like a leopard trying to change his spot.
And Flavius is sentenced to bed
this coming Christmas Eve.
His replacement?
The elf called Steve.
And so in Santa’s sleigh
the night before Christmas Day
there will be no Antonio Flavius
nor any sudden hiccavius
(that’s reindeerese for hiccoughs)
from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
nor Comet nor Blitzen drinking beer.
What is the cause of Rudolph’s red shiny nose?
Licking beer off Antonio Flavius’ toes!
And so Nathan De Burgh is the hero of the hour
and despite the penguin’s voice being sour
sing he will for Obama
not to mention
any future telerama.
And now ’tis the end
of our little drama
and we must bid adieu
to you and you
but on Christmas Eve
watch out for reindeer pooh!
Part 5 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
Nathan looked up holding his cup
with steak and kid for sup
he was in a British pub
yes at the North Pole
aye there’s the rub
and as elves came out of the tub
there was lots of soap suds
as Nathan ate his spuds.
One of the elves stopped to whistle
a sound to make mistletoes shrivel
“that doesn’t sound like an elfen voice!”,
Nathan looked up from reading his James Joyce.
He grabbed a beer from the barmaid Jenna
and looked up at an antenna
GPS would indicate
music copyright syndicate.
The elf’s whistle was Dan Pengin’s voice,
Nathan put down his James Joyce
and pulled a gun out of his underwear
this Ramboesque polar bear.
“Hands up Flavius
you pain in the avius.”
To be continued.
Part 4 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
“Nathan De Burgh here,
I’ll have a beer,”
The bear helped himself to a frozen can
from the reindeer trough
a new brand- Quetzalquotov
Aztec beer
oh so dear
mixed with Vodka Smirnov.
It really gave quite a buzz
but don’t drive
or face the fuzz
“Nathan here,”
he drank the beer
but no reply on his cell phone
so he yawned
and reached for an ice cream cone.
“That’ll be 50 cents,”
said Major Spence
of the North Pole army
an elf the size
of a leprechaun in Killarney.
Nathan reached into his pocket
where he pulled out a light socket
“this is all I have,” Nathan grinned.
“I guess tonight
the Northern Lights will be twinned.”
To be continued.
Part 3 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
And so Nathan took the case
while the penguin’s huskies
held a race
with penguin following
at great pace.
The penguin whose name was Dan
used for deodorant Ultra-Ban
a good thing
the huskies he couldn’t outran.
And so to the North Pole Nathan went
in his Model T Ford without a dent
this rare gem he did own
along with a ring tone
on his cell phone.
His cell phone went off
like an Irishman’s cough
just as he spotted
Santa’s reindeer trough.
To be continued.
Part 2 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
Said the penguin, I am a singer
also a part-time bell ringer
I was to sing at Obama’s inaugural ball
day after election, I got the call
my manager nearly hit the walll.
But something happened, alas, alas
I need to take epsom salts for my gas
somebody has stolen my singing voice
over this, my showerhead did rejoice.
Who do you think stole your voice?
Nathan did inquire
while the penguin danced
like his pants were on fire.
Somebody at the North Pole I suspect
a certain elf gives me no respect
He put coal in my stockings last year
which caused a rash in my rear
now I always look before I put on stockings
I’m a Knight of the Garter
isn’t that shocking?
Nathan took some aspirin off the shelf
washed it down with water,
“What’s the name of this elf?”.
His name is Antonio Flavius
certainly a pain in the avius
He works for Santa
sometimes Banta
He makes loads of toys
for good girls and boys.
To be continued.
Mr. Mush Found At Last
As the PETA protestors set themselves upon the
fur-coat wearing Britney Spears in this blistering
heat, Miss Spears screamed, “I’m not crazy. I tell
you I’m not crazy.”
I walked down a back alley way.
Well, Mr. Mush’s horse was gone.
And I was partly to blame.
The last clue we had to the whereabouts of Mr.
Mush according to the tight skirt wearing dame
(who was now getting her marshmallowed covered
skirt cleaned at Mr. Lee’s Drycleaning), Mr. Mush
was last seen on a horse before he was kidnapped
or killed or whatever had happened to him.
And now the horse was no more.
It was my good fortune that I happened to
walk by a Sri Lankan restaurant.
The proprietor directed me down to the
wine cellar.
I guess he thought I needed a drink.
When I was down in the wine cellar, there tied
up and sitting next to a bottle of chardonay
was the missing Mr. Mush.
I turned and there stood… the ancient demon
Ravana a notorious demon king of Sri Lanka
who had kidnapped Princess Sita the fiancee
of Lord Rama the ruler of the ancient Indian
kingdom of Ayodhya millenia earlier.
The Hindu monkey god Hanuman had helped
Lord Rama rescue his beloved Sita from the
clutches of the demonic Ravana.
It was a good thing I had taken that course
A Comparative Study in World Religions in
my first year of University or otherwise I
wouldn’t have recognized the strange entity.
“You’re Ravana aren’t you?” I asked as I helped
myself to a bottle of German Reisling.
The demonic entity belched, “Excuse me.”
And then bowed, “Yes, I am Ravana.”
“And you’ve kidnapped Mr. Mush?” I popped
the cork off the Reisling, “has living in the
state of California changed your sexual orientation?
You’re going after guys now instead of princesses?”.
Ravana shook his head, “Mr. Mush here is a well
known writer of romantic love poetry. I thought if I couldn’t
win Princess Sita’s heart through abduction, I thought I
might win her heart by sending her some of Mr. Mush’s love
poems saying that I had written them.”
“May I see some of Mr. Mush’s poems?” I asked.
Ravana handed me a whole bunch with his clawed
hands.
After reading the first half-dozen, I was rolling
on the floor in great gales of laughter.
Mr. Mush’s face turned bright red.
It couldn’t have been the wine.
As having a gag in his mouth probably prevented him
from imbibing.
“You were planning to win her over with this mush?” I roared,
“tell me, Ravana, how does it feel to be an idiot?”.
Now it was Ravana’s turn for his face to turn red.
“Just one thing,” something had occurred to me,
“I thought Lord Rama had slain you. How is it you’re
alive?”.
“I was brought back to life by a Hollywood film producer,”
Ravana explained.
That was plausible. Hollywood film producers
were bringing ancient demons back to life all the time.
“Let Mr. Mush go,” I told Ravana.
“No,” Ravana shook his head.
Ravana had had his chance. I always carried a bottle
of Holy Water with me ever since I was attacked by
the ancient Aztec serpent god Quetzalcoatl while making out
with Jessica Alba in the back of a red Corvette in Hollywood
years ago.
I sprayed Ravana with the Holy Water. He quickly
disintegrated into mush- almost as mushy as Mr.
Mush’s love poems.
I untied Mr. Mush.
He quickly ran upstairs and out the door.
I gathered up the scraps of paper on which were written The
Collected Works of Mr. Mush.
I thought I could use them for a bon fire to roast
marshmallows later as the evening heat seemed to have
died down.
As I walked out the door of the Sri Lankan restaurant,
I noticed Mr. Mush was run over by a car driven by
Lindsay Lohan. After running over Mr. Mush, Lindsay
Lohan then wrapped her car around a light pole.
Well two mysteries were solved tonight.
Who kidnapped Mr. Mush?
The ancient Hindu demon Ravana.
Who killed Mr. Mush?
Alcoholic airhead drunk driver Lindsay Lohan.
