-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Wednesday evening January 4th 2012.

-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Wednesday December 21st 2011.

What number? What performance was this?
What actress was it he was supposed to kiss?
What were the rest of his lines?
What exactly were the curtain times?

The part of Romeo was so long ago
no longer a young Hamlet with Laertes his foe
no longer an Antony addressing the crowds of Rome
nor even a MacBeth killing Duncan at home
It now seemed with each passing year
he was condemned to play the part of Lear
Or was he Prospero working his magic for the final time?
What was it? What was the next line?

He looked at the body lying flat on the stage
at an old tired face no longer the rage
where was the applause?
where were the oohs and awes?
The audience were on their feet but where were the cheers?
Or for that matter even the sound of some heckler’s jeers?

Is there a doctor in the house? The cry went up.
Wasn’t it time he wondered to drink the cup?
But move his hands he could not
he seemed frozen to the spot
and that tired tired face that was his
seemed vacant of agony or bliss
he seemed to be drifting further and further away…
away from this night into Endless Day.

-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Saturday evening December 17th 2011

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts…
-William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II, scene vii

When she left the convenience store, Fenrir summoned the panther entity Konalu from his psyche.

The panther Konalu sprang on to the ugly looking redhead and tore her apart.

Fenrir continued on his way.

He decided to revert to his human form.

The wolf shapeshifted into a man.

As he walked down the sidewalk, another man came from another direction.

The two brushed against one another.

The man shapeshifted back into his natural form Fenrir the Wolf.

He sprang on to the man and tore him apart.

He then continued down the sidewalk- but remained in the shape of a wolf.

He passed a furniture and appliance store where in the window the TV was on and one of Satan’s biggest useful idiots the retired U.S. Episcopalian Bishop John Shelby Spong was telling the interviewer that there was no such place as Hell.

The wolf hound from the place that didn’t exist (according to Bishop Spong) continued on down the street.

To be continued.

Like a huge vortex of moving blinding white, it moved like a tornado in a prairie dust bowl save this was the snow white ground of Merrie England.

The snow stopped outside the old ancient village of stone houses.

The vortex of twirling snow stopped and stepping out of it like a figure emerging from a phone booth was the wolf Fenrir.

Fenrir- the monstrously hellish wolf of Norse mythology, the son of the evil demonic trickster god Loki, the father of the wolves Skoll and Hati, the biter off of the right hand of the Norse god Tyr and the prophesied slayer of the Norse god Odin during the cosmic end times battle of Ragnarok.

Such are the once and future accomplishments of the wolf Fenrir.

Fenrir entered the village and outside the stone post office of the village was confronted by the sight of a fat pathetically ugly woman.

And most shockingly of all the fat pathetic ugly woman had a baby in a stroller with her.

If the shapeshifting hamster Renfield R. Renfield had been around, he’d have most likely quipped, “Who the Hell would want to fuck that?”.

Amadeus Emanon if he had been there might have said, “Maybe she has a great personality.”

To which Renfield would have shrewdly replied, “Yes but one can’t fuck a personality- at least not in a bodily sexual sense.”

Fenrir called upon the panther Konalu- an astrally produced panther created by a far advanced psychic beam projected externally from the wolf’s powerful psyche.

The panther Konalu ripped the fat pathetic ugly looking woman to pieces.

That way Fenrir didn’t have to touch the piece of garbage.

Fenrir then directed the panther to rip the baby apart which it did.

Fenrir then continued down the snow swept street.

He was confronted by the sight of five drunken university students stumbling out of the village pub where they had stopped to imbibe on their way back to their university town from an overnight excursion they had taken to London.

The five were stumbling their way back to a small Volkswagen.

The BBC’s public service broadcasts in which American actress Lindsay Lohan urged the British people not to drink and drive had obviously been lost on the five sobriety challenged idiots.

But like an ancient and yet so modern champion of People Against Impaired Driving, the wolf Fenrir jumped upon the five drunken youths and tore them apart limb from limb ripping them apart with his huge lupine jowls.

He then ate the remaining pieces of the five youths- flesh, bones, eyeballs and all.

Fenrir then emitted what sounded like a cross between a loud belch and a huge growl.

Fenrir’s blood alcohol level in his his huge lupine body had gone up considerably since gorging on the five drunken imbeciles.

He stumbled along the road outside the village.

A school bus that was driving a bunch of girls and their mothers from a nearby girls’ choral competition and concert came along the road.

The school bus driver was still feeling bad over having run over and killed a small dog on the road that morning.

As soon as he saw the wolf Fenrir and mistaking the wolf for a large dog, the bus driver hit the brakes causing the bus to swerve and go off the road into an ice bound creek breaking the ice.

The screams of the young girls and their mothers disturbed the wolf Fenrir’s highly sensitive hearing.

Fenrir despite his drunken stupor was still able to call upon and emit the panther Konalu from his psyche.

The panther Konalu dove into the icy water and ripped the screaming girls and their mothers to shreds.

The sound of flesh being ripped apart was music to Fenrir’s ears.

To be continued.

Bitter trees produce bitter fruits
because the darkness rises through the roots
from deep underground in poisonous caverns dwell
all the wretched pitiless hounds of Hell
They are the true conquerer worms
who make that creature Humanity squirm.

And now the gentle smiling statue shall fall,
and all of us on our knees must crawl,
with the Devil’s laugh and sneer,
who’ll stay to shed a single tear?

No more will this Earth be green,
and blue skies shall remain a dream
buried under the light of endless night
and pure water shall fade from human sight,
only the taste of blood ’cause might makes right.

-Vision of Apocalypse
A poem written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
Wednesday evening November 23rd 2011.

-A poem written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
Tuesday evening, November 22nd 2011.

“Mr. President,” Rhys Petley pulled a letter from out of his pocket, “I’m here to give you a highly confidential message from the British government…”

“First, I must tell you there are no human rights violations or mass killings going on in Syria,” Bashar Assad wagged his finger at Magog Rhys Petley.

Outside could be heard the sounds of machine gun fire and the voices of men, women and children screaming in unison, “I’ve been shot… I’ve just been shot…”

Suddenly the Syro-Phoenician vampiress Astarte appeared from behind the curtains wearing only a see-through black silk lingerie nightie and did a quiet dance for Magog Rhys Petley’s viewing pleasure.

Magog Rhys Petley felt a huge erection coming on.

Not to mention the fact that whenever he was sexually aroused, he turned into a werewolf.

Within seconds, Rhys Petley had grown fur and was crawling around on all fours and snarling and growling.

“A werewolf,” President Assad screamed, “the British government has sent a werewolf to kill me.”

Quickly Assad’s Presidential bodyguard formed a circle around him to protect him from said werewolf.

*      *    *

BBC News Announcer: This just in.  The Arab news service al-Jazeera is reporting that the Syrian government is making the bizarre claim that British Intelligence sent a werewolf to kill Syrian President Bashar Assad.

To be continued.

-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
on a frozen Saturday evening
with temperatures of minus 21 degrees Celsius
Saturday night, November 19th 2011.

Her night time performances in the Nagy Theatre were the talk of Budapest.

Although people did wonder why they never saw her in the day time.

But Katalin Vlad was not performing this evening.

Instead she was sitting in a small bistro eating a bowl of goulash soup.

She got up, paid her bill and left the cafe.

As she walked down the street in her tight fitting navy blue dress, the sound of her spiked navy blue stilettos could be heard clicking along the cobblestone sidewalks of the old Budapest neighbourhood she was in.

She stopped suddenly.

She heard clicking coming from another pair of spiked stilettos behind her.

She turned.

She recognized the face right away.

It was the face of Kabrie Allende Chile’s famous rising young vampire huntress whose photo recently adorned the cover of Stake Your Life On It the official magazine of the International Federation of Vampire Hunters.

Kabrie Allende was just 21 and she was also a great niece of the late former President of Chile Salvador Allende (1908-1973).

Unknown to her fellow vampire hunters and huntresses however, she was also a secret agent for the Russian FSB.

She joined the FSB in an effort to help defeat the forces of U.S. imperialism around the globe (the same force that led to the overthrow and death of her great uncle back on September 11th 1973).

As she walked down the street in her white blouse, her tight black skirt and her midnight black spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes, it was in her capacity as an agent for the Russian FSB that she now approached Katalin Vlad.

Which was a good thing for Miss Vlad.

Otherwise the breathtakingly beautiful dark-haired and dark-eyed Hungarian actress vampiress would be dead.

Instead Miss Allende pushed Miss Vlad into a van on the side of the street.

Miss Allende entered the van herself, shut the door and the vehicle drove away.

Meanwhile in Moscow, Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin received word that the target had been taken and Operation Cossack could now begin.

In his hotel room in the midst of attending yet another summit conference, U.S. President Barack Obama tossed into the garbage can what he thought was a copy of Republican Presidential candidate Newt Gingrich’s latest speech.

But that was not the case.

Rather the document was a CIA briefing paper on a recently uncovered Russian intelligence operation that went by the name of Operation Cossack.

To be continued.