Happy New Year

And what better way is there to round off the year than being mentioned on Evil Editor's blog? I wrote a continuation for EE's New Year's Eve Visitor opening competition and he very kindly chose it as the "best" science fiction entry. He also edited it, which is just as well as my original punchline was dire!

On a more mundane note, my new betrothed and I have decided to spend NYE in our own company, probably watching a Harry Potter DVD. We do have one guest with us - my very latest gum abcess:



So I shall wish you both a very productive and enjoyable 2007. My wish for the new year is for the Amoxycillin and Iburofen to work as quickly as possible. What's your wish for 2007?

No Tell Motel

I like No Tell Motel, both as a concept and as a venue (even if they don't want to feature my love poems there). Go visit, have a browse, enjoy. Tell the receptionist Rik recommended the place to you.

So what did you get for Crimbo, Rik?

I got a proposal of marriage from my lover.

My answer? "Yes!"

Christmas for two

Christmas for two

Now we've potted the tree
and strung lights from the ceiling,
we can shut out the neighbours
and friends, our expectant
families, and set about
opening each other.

Early Crimbo Prezzie

Crimbo's come early for Rik this year. Santa has said to Rik: "yes, you can be a writer for the next few years - if that is what you really, really want to do". Rik is very happy. But Rik is also not stupid, and will be investing some of his new-found time in an Open University course or two, just in case his nib dries up.

When asked to comment, Rik said: "It's all very exciting. I'm sure nothing substantive will come of it and I'll probably end up on the streets begging for coppers and dog ends, but I won't miss the rush-hour commuting, that's for sure!"

Stood outside the office, smoking

More verse. It's December: humour me here ...

Stood outside the office, smoking

Spits of winter knock on my skull:
"you don't belong", prints the rain
on the paving slabs. My feet cramp
in their tight, new shelters; my coat
welcomes the sharp wind's nails.

As I suck my liver warms my blood
enough to keep a video
of you running through my head.
I cannot press my lips to pause
your smile centre screen. No worries -

our scraps of chat scatter the world
around me like the heaps of leaves
we kicked last week, our shopping jaunts
for furnishings, our idle bickers.
I grin at strangers: "you don't exist".

Take this Man

I need to write more love poems!

Take this Man

I married you on a couch in Clarkenwell,
its stuffing the curls of groin-hair
that Sebastian had buzz-cut from clients.
We held hands as he dabbed the needle
in vodka, pressed its exquisite point
through the seam of my glans. Not once
did you glance away, not even to watch
my testicles dance from the pain. We swapped
our vows in white-hard hand grasps and later
we kissed, my trousers loose on my waist
and a dribble of lust on my newest ring.

Maybe a leeeetle bit too much on the personal side for many, but I think it has some good possibilities.