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Unlikely Rebel

She’s a rebel
Always does what she is told;
She’ll say please and thank you
But leave you feeling cold 

Something of a beatnik
Never really fits;
Won’t smoke or drink
But isn’t afraid to hit 

Down on the streets
She’s rarely ever seen;
Eyes are bright
With mischievous gleam 

There’s something about her
Something quite amiss;
Sirens seem to follow her
Everything’s a crisis 

She’s always alone
A well-trained savage;
Pristine clean
At home in the garbage. 

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Val's missing scone

'I've brought in some fruit scones' announced Val, as she arrived in the office later than usual. It turned out that she had a morning meeting to attend to first thing, so did not arrive at the office until a few minutes before her team stopped for their breakfast break. Val is the department Principal Officer.

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Keywords: 
office rebellion, scones

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.

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Wetsuit

Wetsuit

The water.

Dark before me, cold - that crushing, heartstopping chill -

The icelaced memory of youth, ebb and flow there, in North Sea waves.

A rebellion now: this body, its’ years of life - of lifegiving and lifeliving - marked across the skin;

stretched scars of joy, of tears, of memories - the sag of days passing; wrinkles etching recollection.

Yes, a rebellion then, to pull on this neoprene suit

its’ inky thickness wrapping this aging self of mine, warming these bones which now feel the ache of years in their joints,

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Wetsuit

The water.
Dark before me, cold - that crushing, heartstopping chill -
The ice-laced memory of youth, ebb and flow there, in North Sea waves.
A rebellion now: this body, its’ years of life - of life-giving and life-living - marked across the skin;
stretched scars of joy, of tears, of memories - the sag of days passing; wrinkles etching recollection.
Yes, a rebellion then, to pull on this neoprene suit
its’ inky thickness wrapping this aging self of mine, warming these bones which now feel the ache of years in their joints,

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Who Do You Think You Are?

It was a difficult time for those of us transferring from our safe, small, district based primary schools to the big secondary schools all of which were in the centre of town. To add to the pressure we were the first intake of the comprehensive system introduced in 1970.

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Without A Cause

A Teddy Boy who’s shorn his quiff;
A cool hepcat who’s lost her purr;
A mod whose parka’s shed its fur;
A hippy who won’t smoke a spliff.

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without knowing what a rebel is

Without knowing what a rebel is,
I stayed away from school,
smoked cigarettes and hung round
vast cities – silent and lost.

I’ve not changed –
the edges lure me,
empty, forgotten margins:
that’s where I like to play.

Come sit with me,
cross-legged and free.
We’ll share stories of the
true heroism of youth.

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You and I and the Sea

I swim into endless colour
and leave you
far behind

laughing all the while
at quaint and
distant shores
at helpless
empty skies

I laugh until
my lungs fill
with water
and you part the waves
stepping forth to
carry me to shore

holding me close
as I shiver
and splutter

sorry

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Keywords: 
personal rebellion

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