Best Let On Poems
How easy it is to get wrapped up
In our own little universe
The cocoon of the daily grind
Of going about our business
Trying to protect our turf
‘Cause we’re more fragile than we let on
We live in fear that aggressors surround us
Propelling us to not forget and not forgive
Yet when we step back and
Focus on the meaning of our life
On the direction we want to take
And the legacy we’ll leave behind
We do want to be kinder and
Contribute to a better world
Not just for us but for mankind
In the end we’ll face our Maker
Standing alone solely accountable
For our deeds and misdeeds
Responsible for our own journey
For how we cultivated our heart
And the goodwill we did impart
When tallied will we have done enough
Or will we be asking for forgiveness
For barely meeting a passing grade
With this in mind and while it’s not too late
Let’s all take stock of what’s in our heart
All start practicing forgiveness
And letting go of the past as we realize
To forgive is to set ourselves free
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on November 3, 2018 for contest SOMEONE FORGIVEN YOU: WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU'VE FORGIVEN DRAMATIC VERSE sponsored by JAMES EDWARD LEE SR - RANKED 4TH
I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more.
There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again.
I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free.
I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions.
It's hard to quash tremors of impatience.
I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity.
I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever.
I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy .
There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021."
I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses?
I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve.
I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught.
My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety.
My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags.
"Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried."
I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring.
"No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped.
But that's a later worry =]
p.s. I write short stories too =]
They no longer sneak into my soul in the middle of the night
Whispering mean things about me, hurting my feelings.
Because that is no longer satisfying
Now they laugh as I clench my teeth in the day time
So hard that my tongue gets cut on the sharp edges
My tongue cannot leave the edges alone
Any more than the demons can leave me alone.
They slap me upside the head and make fun of my whines.
You know nothing! You are nothing! As worthless as they come.
It is difficult to ignore them and they are getting
LOUDER.
I sit here among others, pretending I am good.
Bright, cultured, not refined, but at least normal.
There is no normal about me.
The demons are gut-punching me.
One is pinching the back of my neck hard.
They want me to live down to the negativity they have brought
I am swimming in the middle of Devil River, but I do not let on.
Wanting to fit in.
wondering
if
any
of
the
others
have
demons
While others writers think of love
you’ve shat on that pure white dove.
Before on and on, I must go,
I’m telling others of what I know.
Love to ride the ‘Royal Scotsman,”
but this train I’m on is full of flotsam.
What I’m saying is so loaded with duress,
Its’ like riding the “Midnight Express!”
When you first pulled into my station,
this old heart was filled with elation.
At first things really went fine,
unscheduled love was always on time.
But love doesn’t run on a rigid time table,
I’m tossing you off while I’m still able.
I’m not one to be keeping score,
don’t catch your ass in the exit door.
First you changed from commuter to freight,
all the while saying “ain’t this great?”
Now I’m carrying a very heavy freight load,
my heart is chugging, ready to explode.
You always think you’re the lead conductor,
No wonder friends call you Hannibal Lucktor.
I’m tired of you always blowing your whistle,
you’re the pain in the ass you get from a thistle.
You were demoted from engineer to porter,
this really screwed up our manifest order.
Instead of your up front driving, which I loved,
ya put a foot in my ass n’ shoved.
Day n’ night your mouth goes Yakity Yak,
driving your hate spikes Klickety Klack.
Since I’m not the last one you let on board,
love’s driven down, now I am floored.
Folks would say our love’s a signal flop,
so I’m getting off before the flag stop.
And where would that next place be?
Where you try to totally, dominate me!
I know where the air brakes on this train are,
you’ve switched from sleeper to a baggage car.
You always lash out with such hysteria,
makes me think you’ve got diphtheria.
So I am punching your last ticket to ride,
Frankly, you can shove or stick it inside.
Before I lose the last of my brain,
you n’ yer baggage jump another runaway train.
* For Runaway train contest and no this certainly isn't about me. LOL
Ode to the Cockatiel
You exasperate me.
The most maddening creature
To walk,
Waveringly across the tabletop
Drawn by an invisible wire
To my bowl
You stand
On the tips of your claws
Four scaly toes strain
You peer
Over the edge
And take a nibble
Of what’s inside.
Did you like it, little bird?
Your beak smiles
As you climb,
Perch
on the rim of my bowl
And with neat bites
Eat my breakfast.
And I wonder,
Why do I keep you around,
You have no manners.
Sometimes I admire
Your slender tail,
Body the color of a storm cloud
Head the color of the sun
With two orange embers burning in your cheeks
And the elegant,
Filmy
Swoop of crest.
I pick you up
Light enough to sit on my finger;
I no longer marvel at that,
Long ago becoming accustomed
To the marvel living in my home,
I take you and
I scratch your head
I feel the softness of your feathers
Between my fingers
I feel your skull
And realize you are much more fragile
Than you like to let on,
You sweet bird,
Resting your head on my thumb
Trusting me completely.
And then my thumb displeases you;
You must attack it.
Hissing and pretending to bite it
And I smile
At my
Utterly confounding
Cockatiel.
~~Let Him Without Sin Cast The First Stone~~
Back in the days when Jesus was said to have walked
There are lessons in life about which are still now talked
In kings it says “If they sin against thee (for there is none that sinneth not)”
It may help us to recall these words that we may have forgot.
In Psalms it points out that in sin our mother did conceive us
The genes and traits of mothers really do never leave us.
In Romans it points that the wages of sin is death and strife
But the gift through Christ and forgiveness is the gift of eternal life.
But John is the one to bring to mind I think
When the scribes and Pharisees set out to cause a stink.
An adulteress female they bought to the Christ in the morn
Caught in the act of adultery, they had all sworn.
To trick Christ by his answer but he was too clever:
(Not the man they did not take it seems men are to blame never)
He wrote in the soil then turned to them and said
"He that is without sin let him cast the first stone at her (to render her dead)."
None of the accusers could their conscience find clear
They left the woman with Jesus and this is what she did hear
"Where are your accusers now is there none to condemn you?"
He knew he had pricked their conscience-and his words were true.
“No lord they have gone even though they did call me a whore”
“Then I do not condemn thee, go forth and sin no more.”
We all suffer the sin of imperfection, of that there is no doubt
But it is up to each of us to ask for forgiveness, not for others to flout.
But as it says in Mathew let us not judge lest we be judged
We may not be as perfect as we let on, our own image smudged.
We all fall short of perfection in this human life
Let’s look to the rafter in our own eye and try not to cause strife.
A lot of poetic license is used here but the essence is here and the scriptures used are:
Kings 8:46
Psalms 51:5
Romans 6:23
John 8:3
Math 7
Your sound flew through the air,
A blaring auditory missile,
Though no one that I noticed
Seemed to cringe or even bristle.
The driver of the bus, however,
Waited just a bissel,*
Enough to let on board the man
Inspiring this epistle.
*little bit in Yiddish
Your lame excuse is floating on the wind.
It really doesn't matter what you said.
I know you don't regret that you have sinned,
For words can't fly if weighted down with dread.
Could you see falseness in the mirror when,
I looked at you and could not even see?
I wish it had been so much clearer then,
And I'd possessed the common sense to flee.
I stayed with you much longer than I should.
Friends tell me you were faithless from the start.
Had they let on it would have done no good,
I thought I held the truth within my heart.
So leave with your words drifting in the breeze.
My life's my power... this day I will seize.
……………………….
11/16/2015
Songs Of Power Contest for Silent One
I was just a child of four with not much to say
But I enjoyed the times I went next door to stay
You were so sick in bed and didn't feel quite well
But you were strong and played with me so I could never tell
You body was full of cancer you were very ill
But whenever I saw you, you'd smile and I'd sit still
I'd climb next to you on your bed, I wouldn't wiggle
I saw the sparkle in your eyes and sometimes we would giggle
I'd love to sit and dress up in your necklaces and hats
Pretend I was a princess while you would just lay back
I was too young to know how sick you really were
You never ever let on, you let me play, a lot was just a blur
As I grew I was told you loved the time we shared
I wish that you were never sick and knew how much I cared.
Another Year Older!
Another Year Older – Another Year Wiser
Happy Birthday to an Older yet Wiser Man.
Stiff Joints and Achy Bones,
Sleepless nights make him grown.
Toss and turn,
Yet never let on.
His sight has its limits,
His hearing is hardly hearing.
Up and moving for there’s plenty that still needs doing!
However, he’s’
Sixty-eight and sleeping late,
A birthday here, A birthday there.
Forget he does
Now and Then!
Another Year Older – Another Year Wiser
For on his Birthday
He’s loved by his
Older yet, Wiser Wife
With her Stiff Joints and Achy Bones,
Limited sight and hard of hearing,
She tosses and turns with her Husband of Years!
Happy Birthday to Years Spent; Well.
Love Your Old and Achy, Wife !
Amelia she loves to chat and tells an amusing story
But dear readers BEWARE – this one’s a little gory
She worked long hours at night as a barmaid
It was a job she loved and good wages she got paid
She’d had a busy day and her pits were a little whiffy
So she had a little bath – it would only take a jiffy
So into the bath Amelia got, she sank into the bubbles
But this was only the beginning of Amelia’s troubles
Amelia did a little fart but unfortunately followed through
And in the bath was floating a little bit of poo
Amelia got out quickly and left the bath to drain
But unbeknown to her the turd it did remain
She got dressed and ready to go - she had to get her lift
To the pub she loved to work in she always enjoyed her shift
With the customers Amelia was always a big hit
She didn’t let on her secret that in the bath she’d done a little poop*
But it was a Wednesday night and a quiz was on this day
Amelia she loved this challenge and she would always play
The final question stumped many people but they wanted to be the winner
Which barmaid crapped in the bath tonight and could they name the sinner?
The one in the white t-shirt some of the customers did shout
Amelia went as red as a beetroot- she couldn’t wait to get out
But the customers they did shout and cheer
And poor Amelia had to pour them another beer
Now Amelia no longer works in the bar
She works as a receptionist – she’s really come far
She loves her new job and always likes to talk
But to stop her following through now she always wears a cork.
· I had to change this from the S*** word as I know swearing is not allowed – but the expletive does make the poem flow better.
Jan Allison
19th March 2014
~submitted for contest Take 2 Free poetry contest sponsored by Nette Onclaud ~
- Unplaced in contest 'tickle my funny bone' sponsored by Francine Roberts ~
~ Please see notes about this poem ~
‘April’s Fools’.
Set in the 1950’s with poverty and slum housing still prevalent, to gain money, a father decides to sell his six children, never realising his plan which was really to re-house them, would place them in untold dangers.
A young couple, both single parents, find themselves later burdened with many children but with few means to look after them. Already hated by his mother-in-law, penniless and out of work, with a strong desire to be on the stage, Michael, does not let on he was divorced at the tender age of 21, he is already a father by his ex-wife and his lover; and now a child on the way by his fiancée. As the family grows the money dwindles on drink. To gain money and a new home, Michael decides he must sell his six children and offers them for sale in a local newspaper, causing uproar. This results in him being offered a job and cottage, away from the city.
THE ASTHMATIC
He was 53 when I was born,
A victim by depression shorn,
Never to know much of his own,
Enjoying neither car nor home.
Yet my father never gave in,
Struggled for breath through thick and thin.
And though nature’s victim, he thrived,
Knew well each tree and vine alive,
A regular fine sniffing hound,
Sampling from tree and from the ground –
Kicking up mushrooms after a rain,
Plucking berries again and again.
To us kids he never let on
How he struggled every day long.
Such are the heroics of man –
Stoic accepting his Lord’s plan.
Thanks to my dad for being born,
That bedpost nickel every morn.
…………………………………………………
Dad was off to work before I got up . Strangely, after all these years, I prize those nickels so hard won.
I spend a lot of time these days watching the stars. It’s hard to understand how far away they are when they seem so close. I go out each night expecting them to change. To somehow show me the magic of the universe and all it’s secrets. But they don’t give up those truths so easily. They keep their magic close at hand. Never tipping off a stranger with a smile or blink. I really never cared about them before, or at least not until Banjo left. Banjo was a great companion and friend. Through the years we had spent many a carefree day wander the hills and valleys of East Mississippi. I tied a bandana around his neck like the one Bobby McGee wore in that song with so many beautiful verses about being free. Banjo didn’t care about the stars or Venus and Mars. He just loved to run. He never thought about being free. It was part of his nature. I see him now and then when the stars line up just right in a Virgo night. His tongue hanging down and those eyes so blue and full of light. I swore they would never fade away. But youth has a way of slipping away and the sun sets on our fate. And then one day that appointment comes that we all have to make. And then the light dwindles and it moves from the face to the sky. And that is why I watch the stars. I watch them to see the light in his eyes and those that passed before him. For a boy never has a friend like a dog and all dogs know that, they just don’t let on about it.
A LION’S TALE
The lion told the bear
This jungle we can share
If you eat only honey and fish
For bees, I fear and fish, I don’t relish
Although I love to play in water
I stay far from the hippo’s daughter
For she is very heavy, you see
And forgets her weight, in moments of glee
Though in the jungle, I’m king
I fear thunder and streaks of lightning
But I do love the pitter -patter of rain
Although only from the shelter of my den
Swishing my tail, pacing to and fro
Sometimes, I just let myself go
And the jungle trembles when it hears me roar
It knows, for some reason, I am mad or sore
Seeing my golden mane glinting in the sun
The monkeys fall silent and stop having fun
Though I love them and their mischievous ways
I don’t let on; a little distance always pays
I have some friends from younger days,
Bristles the porcupine and an elephant called Mace
We meet, deep in the jungle, overlooking a creek
In a secluded place, about once a week
We laze and chat till fall of night
When we part, I wave till they are out of sight
Then alone through the forest, I return to my den
And the next morning, I sleep till well past ten
When pangs of hunger, through the belly course
I know it’s time to use some force
It is normal for a king to track and hunt
A bachelor who lives with a frail old aunt
I recall, during younger days, we learnt
To stalk and hunt with mommy and aunt
They taught us well and to choose with care
And after the kill, the meal to share
Endless games of pounce, we’d play
With the swishing tail of mother, as she lay
With flies a buzzing in the summer heat
Snapping at them with our sharp little teeth
We were a family of young and old
A pride, we were called, very proud and bold
Haughty was our dad; we feared our father
And naughty were we with our aunts and mother
Many times in our reign, we have to marry
And for the wives to hunt is customary
They hunt together – it’s safer for them
That’s why, by tradition, we maintain a harem
I am king by destiny
Serious am I for the world to see
I must never be seen to enjoy triviality
Governing a kingdom is big responsibility