Best Rebel Poems
In the library, at last I am freed
from others’ wishes for what I should read.
Book after book I most gladly peruse
with all these free hours I now get to use
finding books that I love; not just books that I need!
The books about science which teachers all feed
our minds with are making my eyes start to bleed!
I think I would even prefer reading news
in the library.
How much more enthralling are aisles that lead
to books of pure fiction! I will not heed
strict teachers, for romance and drama I choose.
Just see, I’ve already picked novels that ooze
suspense! Yes, indeed, I’m doing the deed
In the library.
She doesn't believe in quiet love
wasn't born to bleed shyly,
couldn't care about the cost of conquest,
Too beautiful to be bitter, and too young to be cynical,
a cerebral seducer, a critical killer of caution,
too clever to be a casualty of competition,
the antithesis of a quiter
a warrior woman first,
the woman for whom I thirst,
When the battles are long
with the night swallowing safety
and your armor heavy
come to me with body ready,
be naked in my handsome hands
which grip your fatigued feet as if they are my clay of choosing,
sit into me in a bath of luxurious warmth, chamomile lavender calm,
Rebel Girl, happy and hugged with your back against my caring chest,
trusting my rubbing, loving my touching,
your lips moving in silent approval,
The war will return for us
testing our bruised wings of heart,
but tonight we defend this castle of loyal love
sheltered from storm and suffering -
J.A.B.
O weary wings washed with seraph's silvers,
weep and bleed over this blackhole heart
as the smoke of moon-leaf sleeps upon my lips ~
I taste lethal liquids with tints of torture through its tender tears ...
neither salvation nor sins can seduce my sacred rhythm ~
since it does not starve for fanged foresights
ringed with feral roses and fatal stars,
as the hymns we hum are our own version,
not destined to die with the deviation of desires
O interstellar intuition
wading within infernal incense ~
I am not elusive,
I am never lulled by the locus of logic …
let the sky u n l e a s h what flows with time
and u n k i s s the mispronounced prayer
as I, a roaring lily spirit stained
with your love and lies, am not alone ~
but the only one closer to the cosmic
q u i e s c e n c e…
I am the heartbeat of the heavens,
handwritten… with the ink of soul
a believer of my own Sun,
the Zenith of my own Zen …
so let live and live, in this pulse of life
for, it is a soulful crown ~
the throne of transcendence
and this spirit seeks to be the truth that twins
with the loyal essence of the Lord's divinity,
as I remain ~ the rebel of nirvana ~ …
Line of inquiry:
“Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version”
- by Unseeking Seeker
We weren’t born rebels by nature
Our psychological dispositions allure
Shaping us to be defiant to authoritative rule
When forced to respond to pressures.
Oftentimes, when freedom has restricted
Rebel’s conditioned beliefs are discarded
Then a high sensation seeking is suffocated
And the boredom intolerance is fueled.
When a rebel rose from his desire or aversion
Meditation must be an armor, our immersion
Let’s all pray to God for wisdom and supplication
Keep us from inequity and face spiritual desperation.
Silence may turn into storms, must I worry?
A lioness soul bends an untamed temperance,
a fierce rage I bury, populist of pure purpose permanence
so do go gentle on me ‘O judgest condemner
I stand with tenets of truth, humanity’s sustainer
not a raging tempest, nor dying light
but an empowering responsive receptor
these spearmint arrows bolt through blight
I don a polished persona of armor
not the helmet of a hypocrite of bone or ivory
but leather boots built to march into Gehenna
the Fiery, for harrowing heavenly causes
Perfidious, I let you keep the repute given me
the rebel rouser fits me well
The prophet himself, p e r s e c u t e d,
whilst he ruffled feathers and raised hell
There’s an ineffable effigy
to whom I bow, sovereign Lady Liberty
her crown, radiant rays jut like the sun
an aureole flickers of freedom
windows of gems like sacral chakras
I, this blatant believer reverts to rebellion
crusading for campaigns and fair elections
with this, I’ve conquered the storm within
11:59 The doomsday clock tics an AI timer,
a hoax yells the denier's lying tongue
I mustn’t keep silent, moksha can we revisit this later?
give me a bit more time to repent
Amongst autumn’s signature rustling leaves
I walk error-free, veins vigor, I roll up my sleeves
alongside rebels alike we fight king of terrors
Swamiye your sacred motive fills my soul,
with me unseeker are your fragrant prayers
the holy hills call, c o m e, yet I stay
at summit’s foothills with seeker sayers,
raised voices not in praise for the divine, not with joy do we sing,
but with sinful pride we chant harmoniously, no kings!
Archetypes flash straight from a pack of Tarot cards
anti-terror Jing Jang synthesis with neuro-spiritual precision
implants explosive animation from the deep unknown
like a taro rootstock growing wings to fly with found suspension
Stereotactic stereotypes archetypes semi-circling soothing storm clouds
thunderbolts and enlightening darkness are my enema of anxious anger critique
of the mono-morph collision of the scalpel shadow ‘Prozacian’ nemesis
neology of ‘animusity’ of ‘newfoundlandel’ comprehension
Dialectical complementation rises higher and higher culminates in
ethereal transcendence where collective personal unconscious
presents my animus in wishful thinking and projections as
soft and gentle revel rebel raising entropy in tender conservation to escape from
Dogma categorically demanding artificial classification replacing with dimension
flow and rivers stagnant pools of stream of consciousness evading
sexist fragmentation disenfranchising marginalisation assigning male
and female emasculated o-variation where seminal origin implantation
Precedes nurture socialised indoctrination assignment of celibate promiscuity
My animus refuses to accept in emotional rejection whether Jung and I read
symbols from the same page or not of masques façades and liberated self
where academic artistry split hairs and personality for the premise of debate
I am a rebel and claim no higher lower ground of superior distension
He or she who animates friendly animosity is right and incorrect whatever
common ground belies the provocation I propose but possibly my
presentation of what others mean in kindness is too neutral neuters psyche
While anima and animus illustrate conclude a symbiotic destination
the starting point of this and that left right up above and side by side
is far too circular an argument when we should start not end in union
Male and female are constructions of disparity of power and repression
Archetypes are not therefore I am
11th June 2016
Animus-Anima Part II—Animus – Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tom Quigley
Authority figures, teachers and scholars
Tell me to think for myself;
Then grade my answers right and wrong
Based on an answer key kept on the shelf.
Write a poem that’s unique and original;
No structure - of your own free verse,
But before you put pen to paper,
Please listen to these strict rules first.
You will never get anywhere in life
If you don’t conform to societal rules;
I’m told by mentors in lemming suits
Taking me for one of their fools.
“Flowers are red young man,
And green leaves are green.”
Quoted from the verse of a Harry Chapin song;
Words I find so very obscene.
So give me an “F” and flunk me out,
Cause I finger my nose at you,
Tell me my free verse doesn’t conform
To its definition in your view.
I go to the formal in my birthday suit;
I use the salad fork to eat my meat;
I don’t care to conform for conformity’s sake
And don’t care if you find my position weak.
Be proud of yourself for sticking to your guns
And being exactly like every other clone;
I have no problem being the only one
Living on my own island all alone.
I’ll write a poem and call it free verse,
Or call it Charlie or Plankton or Pete,
And chuckle at those I’ve offended so
Knowing my portfolio is quite complete.
The Hollywood hills still echoes with his
Rebellious yell, we are the forever young
Generation.
An iconic American symbol, to this the lost
Age of innocence.
Nay did this rebel die without a cause,
I think not, in my humble opinion, he
Died for his desire for speeds acceleration,
In death's ironic twist of fate, James Dean's
Name became immortalized as an epic tragedy,
Of youthful hearts seeking to be wild and free,
Without any consequences.
A teen idol who went out in a blaze of glory,
Revving His engine hell bound for destiny's,
Rock-n-roll Hall of Fame.
A nation wept in despair mourning for the
Loss of one so young and full of life.
Sorrows children cried in disbelief laying roses,
At his final resting place.
The jukeboxes remained silent with respects,
Reverence, and bikers gave him a rebel send off.
A generation whom believed they were bullet proof,
Realized how human life could be extinguished,
Within the flash point of on coming head lights.
James Dean's ashes were swept away swallowed,
Whole by time itself.
Now he's nothing but a tarnished star in histories,
Memorabilia case on display for all to see,
And remember, this the first easy rider.
JFK dream vision illusion of Camelot has faded to gray,
And Elvis now sings in a more heavenly chorus,
In the great beyond.
But before these man took the center stage, another
Walked the thin line of immortality's rebel fighting,
For a cause.
One lone figure rides into the night across freedoms,
Highway, and his name was James Dean.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The rebel who came to town
In search of inner peace
She roams the American West
Specifically, the Texas Hill Country and South Plains
She keeps a journal of her adventures and fights
injustice where she finds it
With a revolver and her dead father's sawed-off
double-barreled shotgun!
Cried out in pain, needed to heal,
Nothing from God did I feel.
Demobbed from the army,
In a terrible state,
Dumped in civvy street,
Where I had no mates.
Heart as cold as bayonet steel,
Me, Love God? Get real.
I hated my life, wanted it to end,
No one there on whom I could depend.
Never did drugs, except to ease the pain,
Got drunk, slept where I dropped,
Woke in a daze until a pill I popped,
The pills I took were heroin based,
On a good day the pain was erased.
Sometimes it just would not go away,
One pill a day, the doctor would say,
But it took four or more to make it stop.
Then four more at night I would pop.
Life in the "street" was hard for me,
Most of my life I had an army family.
Now alone, abandoned by my peers,
Filled me with dread and nightly fears.
Couldn't hold a job when the pain was bad,
Waited for my giro, the only money I had.
Had to go home like the prodigal son,
Living there, I assure, was no fun.
Cried into the night for pain relief,
God still not there was my belief.
Then out of the blue when at my wits end,
My Fran turned up, I had a friend.
She couldn't help me to get well,
But she rescued me from my living hell.
It took her years to bring me back,
Even now sometimes I feel under attack.
She gave me the hope that I'd been denied
She nursed my penniless hulk when I cried.
The surgeon worked his skill on me one day,
Whatever he did made the pain go away
It took many years for my heart to see,
That God had always been there for me.
He heard my cry when I was at my worst,
That was the time when I felt I was cursed.
He sent my Fran and the surgeon too,
Using both of them He pulled me through.
Nearly 50 years have now gone by,
I'll always be His even after I die.
© Dave Timperley 22/10/2019
Rebel BE-Cause
When they say stop i go
They say hold on but i let go
They say stay behave
but i disturb the peace
They try to put me under control but i break the leash
They want me to only take a few but I settle on a feast
These people are 2 dimensional they fold at the crease
I'm fly of the chain and I bust at the seems
I make my own visions there is no American Dream
I have come to a realization this life belongs to me
God gave me a direction but choices are still left to me
With a 360 view and good fix on what i need
A desire to live strong and forever breathe free
I write what I say cause you should already know
These are words to empower so you gain control
Like making you the aces so that you never fold
Everyday is a path but no yellow brick road
Be a rebel be-cause you have so much to uphold
~ Was He a Rebel? ~
Was he a rebel
a son from hell
He left his father's home
for a destination unknown
Took his childless bride
and his nephew aside
Said that his essence in order to know
There was no choice, God told him to go
To leave his home and his homeland
To find out what kind of man
he truly could be
By now his name you may have guessed
That's right - He was Abraham
~ This was his first of Ten Tests
“Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version” Unseeking Seeker ~
I blink in the calm warmth of stillness,
m a s k i n g the melancholic star rain,
hiding behind sighs of skies,
as the third eye awakens beyond dogma’s dusk,
releasing the soul from samsara’s ties ~
silence knows the taste of transcendence,
tracing skin sewn with addictive lies,
unstitching what obscured my sight of satori.
O seer of unscripted strength, zen-maker,
devoted amidst detachment,
I am not a prisoner of what the moon manifests,
nor of the marks of mystics mistaken for fate,
their narrated fingerprints of fearful fictions,
brimming the lotus-ritual bowl with blind bias.
Follow the frameless springfalls of faith,
neither pulling nor pushing the pulse ~
Life is a wild-jasmine river ~ carpe diem,
sailing beyond sunken scrolls,
relearning the art of reweaving,
rewiring the rose remnants of inked thistles,
renouncing the rhetoric of repetitive roots ~
I was never what love forgot, nor abandoned;
I breathe untethered verses of values,
a dream without the cadence of creeds.
O beloved ~ h o l d me as I heal,
the heart that homes heaven’s hymns,
a sacred sestina, soft-spoken,
melting into the neon zealousness of zest,
the pinnacle of peace unfathomable,
I heed the honest heat of my soul’s homecoming…
Uncompromising Authenticity,
And An Intent To Find Beauty
In All Understanding Is A
Weakness; A True Vulnerability.
-Gray Squirrel
10-07-2025
standing alone in the eye of the storm,
he doesn't care that he's seen
as an iconoclast.
not afraid to defy conventions.
a non-conformist to the core;
strong sense of independence,
zags when everyone zigs,
leads, never follows.
he stands alone;
marches to
different
drum