everyday rebellion

A Little Rebellion

I believe I was quite an innocuous wee girl at primary school. I did my work, liked to read, liked to colour in. My friends and I squabbled incessantly, but question authority? It wouldn’t have occurred to me. You have to respect those put in authority don’t you?

Continue reading


Rebel against power
Rebel against the mass
choose your own way of being
give the rules a pass

Rebel against convention
go against the status quo
Follow your instincts
give your own way a go

Conventions and traditions
are questioned by the young
start a rebellion
change how things are done

We don’t all need to follow
how things were done before
we can fight for what we want
and question the law

Continue reading

Love Is Rebellion

‘Rebel’ is a word for other people
Rebel is for the innovators, those breaking the rules
Whereas for me
I am too honest for my own good
I always pay in full, never skipping the fare
I only cross at the green man, checking both sides
I play by the rules, colour within the lines 

Continue reading

Here I Am

Am I a rebel?
I leave it up to you
Am I?
All I tell is true -
you will be the judge,
through my eyes, you will see,
my reconstructed memory.

When I was much younger,
nerves strangled my voice -
fear warned me to stay back
yet I chose the right choice,
expression I did not lack.

Using my pen,
pen and keyboard -
I took aim,
rebelled against the inner naysaying,
that which claimed me alone.

Continue reading

Au Revoir, Petites Rébellions

There is no such thing as a free ride, unless the ride in question is on the Paris Métropolitain.

But even then…

Sweltering, you descend underground into Laumière, shunted to and fro amidst the late-afternoon chaos. You are tethered to your petite amie by palms loosened with sweat – or loosened with something psychological, an unconscious choice. The boiling sea of heaving, sweating bodies pulsates and shifts around you, never casting the same shadow twice. Everyone has somewhere to be and nobody can spare a second of the time it takes to get there.

Continue reading

My Rebel

It was standing up for myself for the first time. It was sneaking two cakes into my friend’s bag in the lunch line instead of one. It was staying at the park that little bit later past my curfew, to enjoy the sunshine and smell of sun-tan lotion during long summer holidays. It was ‘backies’ on bikes and rollerblading down hills, even though it was dangerous.

Continue reading

Walk A Pavement Once

I don’t have time to do things twice.

I looked in the mirror; so too did my much younger partner. It was plain to her, to everyone: I’d overdosed on repetition. It was time to go cold turkey: it was time to go to Brighton.

When you live like me, in inland and inclement Scotland, Brighton appears to be a dazzling jewel. And it was. It was everything I’d read and heard about. Indeed it was more, because I - and Suzy - added another ingredient, something absent from the guide books  - something absent from all guide books - do it once.

Continue reading


One delicious hour
Bare toes in the too long lawn
Words of wisdom gather dust on shelves
Washing moulders
While the bare line tenses in the breeze
Dinner fumes in the tins
Seethes in the freezer
Windows blink through cataracts of grime
While I tilt my face to be buttered by the sun
And wine chills my glass to a cold sweat
Make shapes of the clouds, a bearded man, a sheep?
Buzzy bees bumble
Watch an avian soap opera
Tune in to the squabbles and declarations of undying love
In the trees and verges

Continue reading

everyday rebellion

Rebel, Rebel

I often saw the red haired man polishing the red estate car. One day my hand slipped and a bottle of milk I'd bought for mother oozed onto the car roof.

I hide behind a wall, smiling, as he inspected the damage, looking up and down the street.

Continue reading

everyday rebellion

The Rebel-drive

She might not have eaten that food she was told not to. But she did. And she shared.

We might accept the ultimate heat-death of the universe. Instead, we keep lighting more fires

Some look at ‘how it’s always been’, thinking ‘It’ll be good for a while yet’. A few scream ‘Boring!’

He could go with the flow of the river. Or stand firm and, shuffle crab-wise, get to the other bank.

The seed should realise it can’t grow through tarmac. Instead, it grows a little more.

Thumbs might easily have followed the other four fingers. Instead, they opposed.

Continue reading