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Soft and warm,
Black and Tan,
with dancing eyes,
Wild but gentle,
He loved the park,
Courageous and strong,
but afraid of the dark,
My dog, my friend, my Rebel

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everyday rebellion, pets

Rebel Girl

A nose piercing. 
             You copied it.
A well intended trip into vegetarianism. 
               You wanted me to fail.
A drain familiar with protein shakes. 
               You couldn't accept my BMI was healthy.
A newfound love of yellow. 
               You banned it from my wardrobe.
A craving for salt and vinegar crisps. 
               You and you alone could eat those.
A need to defend animals. 
               You kicked our lovely wee cat.
A respect for my grandparents. 

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Rebel on the Mile

The night hadn’t been kind to us. Our band of brothers had started with four, now we were two.

We had forged our alliance as young men, enthused by the arrogance of youth and rallied by camaraderie. We used to do this for fun; on home soil or in foreign lands. We lived to tell the tales of our adventures but bore the scars of our misdemeanours.

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everyday rebellion

Rebel With a Cause

Secondary school art
Threadbare Jesus sandal 

Oh no you can’t

All arches and space
Lines hiccupping

Oh no you can’t

Sole foreshortened
Lost my perspective

Oh no you can’t

Art teacher
Telling tales of tea parties with Hitler

Oh no you can’t

Took one look
At my graphite frenzy

Oh no you can’t

‘You can’t draw’
Rubbing me out

Oh no you can’t

I resisted
Like wax under watercolour

Oh yes I can

I had seen the dark rainbow
In the raven’s wing

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Rebel with a Scotch Pie

I’m going back a few years now, but when I was a lass.
I took work as barmaid, in a bid to earn some brass.
A nice hotel; but staff were starved and often half-awake.
Cos ten-hour shifts were normal, and we rarely got a break.

Of course, the staff had just the trick if stomachs started twitching.
They’d sneak off for two minutes and steal something from the kitchen.
The chance of decent left-overs was usually remote.
So, folk would grab what they could find and ram it down their throat.

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Rebel Yell!

Govan born and Bred
And easily led!
Grown up in poverty, sharing a bed
Dogged school and played the fool
Being a rebel was cool!
Missed education but had a brain for a tool!
Decided early on to join the forces
In the midnight hour I cried, more, more, more
With a rebel yell I cried, more, more, more
Travelled the world but always missed home
Came out and was reborn
Rebel no more!

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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.

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everyday rebellion


Sometimes I am a rebel
I get out of my shell
I have been quiet for so long
Now I found my voice and I feel strong.

I had an education, spend my life at university
Conducted my research, earned a PhD
Now I have finished and I am absolutely free
I am proud of myself and happy as can be.

I am still single, I live on my own
I am without a partner, in my comfort zone
No children, no pets, I am all alone
I am not even addicted to my mobile phone.

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everyday rebellion

Rebellion Begins at Home

In any family each generation throws up a rebel, someone who breaks the conventions of their tribe, who shows them a different way to live. And so it was with my sister.

Diane decided to be a rebel at the age of three. By then she was no longer the youngest child. An older brother, an even older sister and now a younger sister (me) meant she was fated to be that ‘middle child’ – a boring title with no joy in it. So she determined to be not middle, not eldest, not only boy, not youngest, but rebel – she would make her mark.

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rebel, family, sister, childhood

Rebels apo da bus

Da bus is usually quiet.

Some haes peerie plugs in dir lugs we variations on dir choice o tunes. Heads nod - occasionally banging up quickly tae see whaar dey ir fae da zeds o dir unsettled snooze.

A Wednesday is different. Dat’s Coort day. Da rebels drag demsells fae dir pits tae join wis on da ten tae eight tae toon.

Dis twa ir Coort day regulars. Followin da inevitable path laid afore dem be midders at wirna midders.

Dey nod at me whan I sit doon opposit dem.

Dey’re usually quiet but dis day dey’re a bit spicky.        

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community, solidarity