"oughtta" poems
"My daughter,
when you grow up (enough)
to be able to brandish self-sovereignty
tempered by self-discipline
I only hope that if and when you may choose
to try whatever drugs may appeal to you
you are least fortunate enough
to have access to clean ones
and a safe enough and comfortable enough environment
in which to study your interrelationship with them,
intellectually, physiologically, psychologically, spiritually, and socially,
but not necessarily in that order.
I won't tell you what to do,
but my advice is this:
Don't eat yellow snow:
don't snort yellow coke.
If you're gonna poison yourself,
poison yourself with the good ****
If you want to see whats up with something,
be certain your sample size is representative.
That's just good Science.
No one likes a false statistic
except those in power
who wish to remain in power
so maintain thy power
to wield thy freedom of choice
armed with an arsenal of personal experiences
sailing with an armada of accurate information
upon the high seas of this uncertain but certainly beautiful Life,
but be prepared to accept the consequences.
That's just responsibility.
That alone oughtta put you well ahead of the curve."
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
Within each and every one of us
is a unique culture:
Ethnocentrism
reaches just as far inward
as it does outward:
Just because
academia
has imposed it's own
fascist, totalitarian, absolute
definitions
does not mean
that it has final say:
i postulate
such adacemic-fetishism
is merely a byproduct of
propaganda
pushed by Big Money
rather than
a genuine insitution
of respectable edification:
that is
i see it as
a mere appeal
to authority;
a well-known logical fallacy
to those who are in the know.
Tread lightly.
Modern Academics
seems to be
yet another
corrupt branch
of Business;
little more.
Academic achievement
is not equivocal
to intellectual worth:
a graduate's degree
is moreso
a status symbol
than it is
a credential
anymore.
'T'is vile idolatry
in lieu of
an individual's personal philosophy;
that's not to say it's
absolutely worthless,
but it may as well be
in today's job market
(unless it's a business degree!)
Then again,
that's just my opinion.
i guess i oughtta shut up
before Edu-nazis shut me down.
Oops, did i type that out loud?
I'm so sorry, you see,
vhat i meant to say vas:
Heil Stanford!
Heil Harvord!
Heil Berkley!
Heil vhat i am told zu heil!
Heil zhe publishing companies!
Heil zhe holders of student loans!
Heil egredious student debt
in lieu of philosophical discourse,
let alone progress!
Heil vhat i see on TV!
Heil *******
Heil alkohol!
Heil gasoline!
Do not qvestion zhe dogma;
go back zu sleep, you sheep!
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
shakin like a bacon eater
takin down a bird feeder
cedar creatures rollin up a doobie
they be suing me for truancy
I shoo a flea from chewin me
a wrap of lettuce fed us
said us fellas sellin head amounts of coke
we oughtta **** a bowl of hope
my soap and rope fill up my closet
I deposit positively. Stop to mop it
cropping photos,potting soil,oil spotting
wrapping lettuce wraps and leftovers in foil
I'm American and spoiled
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
We oughtta consider bringing back
old-fashioned Gladiator Arena combat
as retribution or as a chance at vindication,
depending on how well one performs,
for those who are most deserving:
Those who seek to spill innocent blood or to oppress the masses,
the most corrupt Politicians, Lawmakers, Enforcers and Judges,
overtly violent supposed "'Protectors", such as Soldiers or Police,
the scheming Bankers, that is to say "the House",
deliberately misleading Authority figures,
whether in news or in the world at large:
all the malicious Religious figures,
power hungry Narcissists,
abusive Demagogues,
subversive Tyrants;
if these people have a place,
it's center stage in a Coliseum with little else aside from one another,
their choice of melee weapon and/or shield, some leather armour, and a roaring crowd.
Let's not forget the HD cameras with hyper-telescopic lenses so we can see their faces live in 1080p!
Maybe even add a few hungry Lionesses from time to time
or perhaps some ill-tempered Sharks..
or, a pack of quite irate Wolves.
Our Imagination is truly the Limit!
We could even run ads in between rounds
and sell foam novelty items
and overpriced water
when it's 115 outside.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
Funny how when the danger oughtta be respected
the fear-mongers downplay it.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel that I oughtta be Muslim on Friday, Jewish on Saturday, and Catholic on Sunday,
just so I can justify my Lust to go outside and stone the ******* construction workers next door(s)
three days of the seven.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Just because we have phones and computers
doesn't mean we should stop everything we're doing
just to check up on them constantly.
Society breeds lemmings.
There's a fine line
betwixt convenience and plague,
utility and plight,
nurturing and smothering.
No one owes you anything
just as you owe no one anything.
Life is deeper
than the tools we craft
as conveniences;
If you can't get ahold of someone
when you really want to,
perhaps you oughtta go do something for yourself:
Think. Read. Breathe. Create art.
Drink a glass of water. Drink a glass of wine.
Sleep. Meditate. Dance. Cook. Laugh. Think.
You just may be amazed what you can learn and accomplish
when you turn your focus inward
without explicit regard for time or space
or your computer or phone.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 10:46 AM UTC
It’s your family, little sister, family.
You remember us, don’t you?
We’re your Christmas cards and your cream filling.
We’re your cheering squad and your taste testers—
Think of the barbies, the bears, the bruises that we shared, little sister
How about all the times I carried you home?
Is it coming back to you, little sister?
think hard.
oh.
I’m so sorry, little sister.
We’re trying.
But we can’t see you through all the fog and the fail and the ******* right now—
(the flunk-outs and the tweekers—
they’re ******* parasites, you know that…?)
but we’ll keep looking.
I feel like we’re always looking,
searching, seizing, hunting, hollering,
calling—MIJITA…?!
sorry, little sister, I thought that was you at the door.
Little sister, it wouldn’t be so hard to come home,
I pinky promise.
I made your bed for you, I really did.
and as soon as you come back I’ll French braid your hair, just how you like it.
Mom washed your slippers and got you a dozen new dresses.
And Daddy bought you chocolate turtles—your favorite!
That oughtta do it.
Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of turtles
waiting for you when you come home
the almond kind—not peanut—just how you like them!
All for you, little sister.
All for you.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Poetic words
are a pLaYgRoUnD to me
Flowing
like a child on a
s.......g
.w...n
....i
^RISING^ and falling
((striking)) moods
as words oughtta
Like the
f
..r
e
..e
f
..a
l
..l
and
b..u..c
..o..n..e
of a
t
.e
...e
.....t
......e
........r
.........@
.............t
...............o
..................t
....................t
.....................e
.......................r
Poetic words to me
sTrAnGe as it ))sounds((
Gives me the ~sensations~
like a
.....r...r...y
..e............g
m...............o
.d..............r
....n....u...o
I just had to tell you
I can no longer ((hide))
Well, writing to me is
like a pLaYgRoUnD’s
...............S
..............|...l
............|........i
..........|............p
........|...............~
......|......................n
....|..........................~
..|...............................s
|........................................l~...i...d..e
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 6:11 AM UTC
Life is a holiday for the Unliving.
Perhaps it is
as some have said:
Life is the pre-party for the Afterlife
(assuming such a thing even exists)
Though,
I suppose,
we oughtta live this life well, and now,
just in case
this really is
the only one.
If
ye find thy Shadow,
constantly embrace
the dark creativity,
not just once a year
when it's "okay."
Be not ashamed of thy Darkness.
Shame, fear, and guilt beget repression,
repression then begets pressurization,
and pressurization is akin
to explosion.
So.
Learn to appreciate it.
Learn to control it.
Learn to use it.
The Darkness is not bad,
t'is just like everything else:
t'is but what is made of it.
The Darkness is powerful
but only because we feed it
and don't allow it to breathe.
Live it. Express it.
It appreciates the respect.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
If gossip be as a hobby,
maybe that noxious scrutiny
oughtta be turned inwards:
the toxicity of talking ****
(however insidious and infectious)
shall taint your humility and soil your words:
Tread carefully;
such paths be steep:
what One opts to sew
One inexorably reaps.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
I hoped you were the one but you wasn't
When you wre alone
My phone buzzing
Other then that we barely tlk like distant cousins
You were fronting
Which made me do the same
Till I grew up mentally didnt want to play those games
So I stepped up but you stepped out
You figured I was lame
Or wasn't ready to think of baby names
So from then it changed
But little did you know I was getting my self in order
Ever since I had that dream
Of having a little daughter
figured I oughtta
Make my self to be the man that my father wasn't
And hopefully shed be rich and spoiled like warren buffet
But when half of these girls trynna have a baby by a baller like Latoya luckette
It gets way harder to trustem so I'm like **** it
Only worried bout me until that time comes
And to think you'd be the reason why I run
from relationships
Can't deal with it
they never go in my favor
so now I'm serving every girl around like a blind waiter
My Savior will guide me through the danger
That may wager
my life
Like a bet
But none of it will ever matter
Cause since I was born I knew I would never get that silver platter
But you I thought was my first success
But dumby me never second guessed
But
See as Andre put it together
You were my prototype
The girl I thought I would never lie
Now forever ever I'm
Paralyzed with fear of this word called love
Cause ever since I used it its been a disaster
but I seem to have mastered
the art of repetition
Of being in a mission to get a girl that feels the same way
But every time I swear I dig my own grave
saying I love you and the response you gave me I never understood
Till now so that word is cut out of my vocab
Cause these emotions that get stolen never find its way back
I need LoJack
*** I loathe that
But you know that
And still those
Words sprung from your mouth
After the fact
My response I had none
Her face froze
She was appalled by it all
She said it again I pretended
That those words didnt
Affect me
Till they really didn't
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
A little discipline oughtta do you good,
Just like my father, when in the mood,
Would lay his problems down on me,
Gave scars that turned to poetry,
So I learned to take the damage well,
And in that time, I learned to spell,
So pain would not mean misery,
And It could hide in poetry
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
What about them?
Do they know struggle?
Struggle that saps all you got, takes all you give with a hearty slap on the back…
Struggle and toil and trouble and loyal men and women digging and dragging through it all searching, searching, sometimes finding, but searching hard and long and harder for that elusive light at the end of the tunnel…
Do they know heartbreak?
Heartbreak, that all encompassing down-in-the-gutter kind of heartbreak…
Heartbreak that shoves you around, all ragged, all disarrayed and disheveled, like a whipping boy, tied to a post, push, pulled, punished…
Do they know pressure?
Pressure that squeeeeezes the life of the building, the party, the place, here, there…
Pressure and persistence and powerful stuff all coming down around and circling above, a hurricane, or tornado, or tsunami sized catastrophe of whatever and wherever, yelling things like, “Who do you think you are?” and “Why I oughtta!” at me, at you, at most anyone…
What about these hands?
Not their hands, not even those hands, but these hands, here…
These hands are covered in conveyances…
These hands tell stories, not so many, but stories enough.
Here, these hands have sores.
Here, these hands have blisters, and cuts.
Here, these hands are ***** callused, crooked, bent, ****** name callers and spiteful shame shovers, scarred, split nailed, hang nailed, grievance and guilt-ridden givers and takers, knuckle cracking nervous wringers, making fists and holding whatever needs holding…
What am I to do with these hands, now?
What about you?
Have you looked at your hands or whose hands?
Whose hands? Their hands…
Their hands are clean.
Polished.
Glove covered and protected, their hands do what they want, untouched, unscathed…
Or pocket protected in a deep, heavy coat, out of sight, out of mind…
But I’m not talking about them there,
I’m talking about them there, way over there,
Beyond those and them, way beyond…
Definitely not here, but over there, faaaarrr over there…
That’s the them I mean.
They tell us to **** it up…
That we can make ourselves, to leave them out of it.
Them over there think I’m not worth it…the trouble, that is.
They show their glove-protected hands, wave them in the air, showing the pristine cleanliness of those hands (not these hands) and wave and wave, declaring, “No sir” and “Not I,” turning their backs.
But, what about me or you…here?
What then?
When?
Now, then, whenever.
Who will help you…when you’re at the end of the rope?
No hope.
No line cutter, no savior, no nonsense, all business…
Feet dangling, body twitching, lungs gasping, all inches from the ground…
Hands knotted, head on the chopping block, axes raised…
Who will help you?
The insurance policy?
The friends and neighbors you avoided?
The family you forgot to send Christmas cards to?
The gods of wherever and whomever and whenever?
The politicos calling the shots, pulling the strings?
The big shots in the suits with the Rolexes,
Rolls Royces, and riches?
Them?
Them way over there?
No, not them…
No way, no how.
Their hands are clean… Cleaner then these, here.
Where?
Right, right here.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
I want to write some Music
and call it Disposition,
then write for it a prelude;
call it Predisposition.
Or, perhaps to be more accurate,
I oughtta start with Predisposition
so as to intentionally and literally
predispose Disposition.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
What’s it to me and what’s it to you
I’m not quite sure I understand
I don’t think you know what you mean and mean what you know, you know?
Or maybe you do.
I’m sure things all make sense
In that brain of yours where stop means go
What’s left and right and up and wrong who really knows?
And a life in someone’s footprints might as well be their shoes.
It’s all ******* all of it! I’m sure you can agree
the world most centrally certainly couldn’t shouldn’t be what it seems!
Because I’m not so sure I can shake that off, you know?
Face value is always much less than it oughtta be.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
*"I'm half-assing this,
which, to me, is a sign
that I don't care enough.
So now, if you'll excuse me."*
With that, she walked out of the room and turned the corner.
The five of us sat around the table in sheer disbelief, laughing.
*"Miss! Wait.
Your level of honesty is quite commendable,"*
said his Honor between breaths.
*"You're more honest with us than I am with myself.
You're hired."*
I wasn't sure how serious he was.
I don't think any of us were, even him.
A moment later, she came back around the archway and stood under the keystone with her arms crossed. A nice effect, one might comment.
"Nice effect," said I.
There was a glare. I know that glare..
*"When do I start?"
"When will you care to?"*
There were several seconds of silence.
*"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship, your Honor."
"I hope you're right. For both our sakes."*
Without skipping a beat, she retorted that
*"hope is a sign of vulnerability, your Honor."
"Vulnerability can be a sign of courage, young one,"*
came our familiar voice of wisdom, equally on tempo.
"Yeah!" Said I.
A smirk cracked the veil of her face.
Where have I seen that face..
*"I care to begin right now."
"It pleases the counsel to hear that, miss.."
"Anya. That's all you get.
Now, let me see to the spectacle.."*
She walked back out the room, turning the other corner.
My heart grew heavier the instant it clicked.
I knew I knew that face. ***** be crazy.
*"Oh, ******** I told myself. "It's her!"
"I know!" I replied.
"This oughtta be good."
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
All my best work
seems to be done
when there's a task
that oughtta be done.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
However much
it may pain me to confess:
I appreciate you
much much much much more
than I like you;
even so,
you oughtta be grateful
for even so much
consideration.
If our Paths ne'er crossed again,
it would be an eternity too soon.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Like all the other stories I want to tell you,
I don't know how to start it.
The hook is that I'm this tall, strong, clean cut, put together looking
Adult.
Last night I screamed and cried.
For the first time in a long God **** time.
I'll start from the day after I guess.
So I was watching this really sad animated movie.
And it.
Somewhere in the weird haze of time after I started it.
It's like my mind fell out the back of my head.
I was sort of sick.
Like how your stomach lurches,
When you skip a stair.
Falling?
H
O
W
L
O
N
G
? I shouldn't be happening like t
h
i
s?
Then I hit.
And I was just really lonely.
On the pavement next to that seventy story building.
Rolling around on that **** stained carpet.
With my mind flopping around.
Bleeding thoughts that were getting soaked up and lost.
Then my middle finger kept feeling like it wasn't getting enough blood.
Which is ridiculous.
It's a finger.
There's nothing on my wrist or anything.
Like stop you itchy tingling ******* thing.
And all the despair was so ridiculous.
I went and stood in front of a mirror.
And tried to talk myself into feeling
Better.
But the words took so long to bounce back.
Where they'd have any meaning.
They felt so weak.
Like they didn't matter.
Like they were getting whipped up in the wind.
When I started screaming.
And crying.
And begging for God.
And to just die.
But not in New Jersey.
" Just want to ******* die but I ******* can't because then I'll never leave New Jersey.
...
I can't die in New Jersey."
Then I tried to calm myself down.
Talking like there was a mirror there.
"Get a hold of yourself."
Came out.
But the words were weak.
So I cried. Because I was weak.
And screamed. Because I wanted to feel strong again.
And lost myself.
In all this noise that wasn't mine.
Tonight. The movie paused on some stupid scene.
The silence.
Buzzing in the air and lights of passing cars.
I lost myself like I had in the screams.
I oughtta just die.
I oughtta just die.
I oughtta just die.
I oughtta just die.
I oughtta just die.
Just kept coming up.
I can't shake it.
Can't even write it away.
God, I was close for a minute.
To just doing it.
**** it.
Just get out of this.
I kept thinking.
While I was staring blankly in the mirror.
...
"I can't die in New Jersey."
And I went to bed.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
It is what it is
and that's all it's ever going to be;
so you'd best learn to embrace it for what it is
rather than waste mortal Time and Energy
clinging to how you think it oughtta be:
Be the change you want to see in the World.
Live for now.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC