"mitch" poems
I *** outside
When no one's around
I *** outside
Right there on the ground
I *** outside
Near my favorite tree
I *** outside
That is where ***
Is meant to be.
Let's not waste so much water
On something like *****
We waste way too much water
Of this I am certan
Go out to your yard
Hang a privacy curtain
If we keep wasting water
Our world
Will keep hurtin'
-Mitch Paradeis
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
**** stitch mitch
had six stitches in his ****
he tried to choke the carrot
but it tore his **** to shreds.
he tried to stitch it up
but the dog got to it,
and buried his **** in the yard
with all the other bones.
**** stitch mitch
kicked his dog to death
and then he drove to the hospital.
now he does talks at catholic high schools.
preaching the danger
of monkey spanking,
chain yanking,
meat beating.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
Son of a Snitch
My daddy was an informer to the FBI,
got caught selling drugs to this undercover guy,
his only recourse was to tell what he knew,
but people found out and gave him the *****
they even took it out on me, I'm Mitch,
and rubbed it in my face, call me son-of-a-snitch
came home from work the other day,
looked for my ******* and my can of starch spray,
magazine was gone could not find it at all,
I said hey, who took my friggin book off the wall,
wife looked at me and with nary a hitch,
she said why you ask me you son-of-a-snitch
went to the super to get me some cheese,
beans and beer and bread if you please,
wanted a streak but the cost was to high,
asked man behind counter I say hey old guy,
why this price so high is this some glitch,
he say don't ask me you son-of-a-snitch
everywhere I go I get the same old crap,
a punch in the gut, a facefull of slap,
just because daddy bought his way out of debt,
this is the kind of treatment I always get,
I plead my case give it my best pitch,
quit that whining you son-of-a-snitch
Gomer LePoet...
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
UNDERDOG RAP
We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes;
No chance to know what rich is,
While graduates are digging ditches
Immigrant PhDs are doing dishes.
Never quite knowing which is
Snake oil salesmen pitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.
Fools don’t know where the hitch is
Whatever the larcenous pitch is;
Reacting with kneejerk twitches
Due to governmental glitches.
And creeps like that guy Mitch is
Are rapacious sons of *******
Hunting for Democratic witches
In all the freedom fighting niches
With hearts as black as pitch is.
And the rich have a wish list
In which they scratch their itches
Regardless of what our ***** is
By wallowing in stolen riches
Punishing watchdogs snitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.
We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes.
No chance to know what rich is.
Brent Kincaid
March 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
Political correctness has reached a brand new low
It has now reached good and evil
And has changed things down below
The devil is still the devil,
That much has not changed
But, the food is all organic
And the meat is all free range
I didn't know the changes 'till
I made a plea last week
To sell my soul for increased wealth
And other things I seek
I expected a commotion
When the devil came from hell
But, there was nothing quite so flashy
When someone...rang my bell
I answered thinking nothing much
I looked outside to check
I am wary of the Mormons
and Jehovahs on my deck
I looked outside and there I saw
A man dressed all in grey
A poll taker, election geek
Let's see what he may say
"Good day, kind sir, I come to you"
"You wanted to be rich"
I thought he isn't from no bank of mine
He said "Sir, just call me Mitch"
"Mitch", I said, "I don't know how"
"you'd know I want to sell my soul"
He told me that was why he's here
To get a deal done was his goal
I said, "why use the door bell"
"Why not the cloud of smoke"
He said "with budget cuts'
"Pyrotechnics made us broke"
"The PC folks got wind of us"
"of our tricks and double speak"
"Now, you sign away your soul to us"
"but, you can get out within the week"
"We can't go by the same old name"
"Hell is not allowed"
"We're H...E...double hockey sticks"
"Try saying that aloud"
"It doesn't have the forcefulness"
"That the other word once had"
"we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch"
"You can see, it's got quite sad"
"The contracts are all readable"
"You don't have to sign in blood"
"With *** and STD's"
"It may as well be mud"
"A soul still has some meaning"
"But, as you yourself can see"
"The devil stays at home now"
"And sends his minions out...like me"
"I have a small brochure for you"
"You have choices, please pick six"
"It's more a club, a health resort"
"In H...E...double sticks"
"I can't get out, I'm stuck for good"
"I signed my deal before"
"The PC people got us good"
"And now...we use the door"
"Please look over the contract"
"Take your time, and read it close"
"You'll find it is a real good read"
"With language, non verbose"
"If you should have some questions"
"change your mind, or want to tour"
"Just call me on my cell phone
"I'm at star66 extension 4"
"I'm sure you'll still come down to us"
"It's not so bad, you'll see"
"Just call me when you're ready"
"You've got time, now we're PC"
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
There lived, beneath a hanging leaf
A Ladybird called Annie
Who hated being female
And daily, cursed her *****
Her voice was deep and baleful
Her shoulders, broad and strong
By right, she was a Boybird
Just her genitals were wrong
Her family rejected her
She alive alone, ashamed
Until she met a Dragonfly
‘Salvation’ she proclaimed
For every bug and critter
When feeling below par
Would visit Doctor Dragonfly
In his empty pickle jar
Just maybe he could help her
With snip, a tuck and stitch
She’d not be Annie any more
Tomorrow, she’d be Mitch
She lay down on the table
And a beetle knocked her out
The doctor took his knife in hand
And bustled all about
With suture made of thistledown
And sap of pine for glue
He reassigned her gender
But the best that he could do
Was not a lady, not a man
But somewhere in between
And, as he used some aphid parts
The ***** were small and green
Annie never changed her name
It didn’t seem quite right
Her family still shunned her
She slept alone at night
The only insect in the field
With ***** ***** and *****
Even hungry birds avoided
Ladyboybird Annie
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
I have been listening to Flatsound so much that I think Mitch Welling may have possessed my chest and taught me all of the wrong ways to say I love you.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Symbolism set before my eyes was never captured well
Every mitch-match color-washed mistake was one that went unnoticed
Before me now, I have to choose,
Do I stick with the ultra misunderstanding,
Or do I learn to accept the way of the world?
Do I fight for what has been living inside,
Or let fate show things good and new?
These days,
I'm reteaching myself how to form memorable bonds
It beats sitting alone,
Reliving the old ones
Returning to past lives and past states,
When It's tearing out the senses,
And replacing them with tales,
Some of which aren't even my own,
Some of which never happened,
And will never occur
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
She pushed her groceries
Past the beans and black eyed peas
She picked a few cucombers up to weigh
I looked close at her hand
There was not a wedding band
When she winked I nearly fainted dead away
She walked toward the health food section
And I followed her perfection
She was one fine specimen of womanhood
We checked our lists together
As we talked about the weather
I had the feeling things were going good
We were in the market for love
Sometimes groceries just aint enough
She's what I waited for so long
Man can't live by bread alone
We were in the market for love
Her levis had me cross-eyed
She almost had me tongue-tied
I tried to be as cool as I could be
I said, "Could we share some wine
At your place or mine"?
She said, "Honey, it's on aisle number three"
We were in the market for love
Sometimes groceries just ain't enough
She's what I waited for so long
A man can't live by bread alone
We were in the market for love
Bridge
And now we shop together at the store
'Won't be long till we're shopping for one more...
We were in the market for love
Sometimes groceries jus ain't enough
She's what I waited for so long
A man can't live by bread alone
We were in the market for love
A song by Louis Brown and Mitch Ballard
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 9:55 AM UTC
About twenty-nine thousand kids die everyday
And I wonder why I was blessed to grow up
Why did I get a chance to grow up,
In a roulette system of unfavorable odds
They let me have a life and tried to say
I should thank all my achievements to a god.
Don't take the little I earned
And say it wasn't mine to earn.
These days aren't all easy, the nights are a blur
I found the best friends in people who didn't know who they were
Growing up and forgetting to throw up their hands
Then defining themselves by jobs, they happened to land
**** Weren't we just kids, can you feel that?
Hold on a second, let me take you back.
Remember that time, back in Szumski's basement
We spent no time practicing, Mitch on drums, Clark on bass
I started singing, no stage, but it felt like a taste
Of what our lives would be like making it
Every wasted night, not a night felt wasted.
Not a night felt wasted. Remember?
Pretending we could skate and scooter
Even if as the summer's end kept coming sooner
We'd never admit we were doomed. To grow up.
We mostly split, seperate ways, that's how life plays
Speaking in tenses of old acquaintances, "I'm doing okay."
I wonder how often we really are okay when we speak that way.
A million thoughts a minute fly through my mind,
And if I'm being honest, sometimes, I just miss you guys.
In the past six years, I've felt like a failure, a champion,
A father, a loser, and all the others in between.
If growing up for you has been like it is for me
I'm sure you know exactly what I mean.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear the unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unwritable wrong
To be better far than you are
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest, to follow that star
No matter how hopeless,
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will be peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world would be better for this
That one man scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
Writer(s): Mitch Leigh, Joe Darion
Copyright: Helena Music Company, Andrew Scott Music
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Would you rather the majestic pure white polar bear had a home in this world or that Paul Ryan took a slow, slow boat
to China & then turned around & came back, & then again,
& again?
... the humble Praying Mantis was able to bask in the sunshine
on a leaf of its choosing or that Trump was locked away for
70 years in a dank & dismal people's cell?
... all the bees, & all the dainty flying creatures could buzz here & there as was their want or that Mitch 'Gruesome' McConnell was marooned forever on a distant deserted isle?
... the startling life-form that is coral could take its own sweet time covering rocks & outcrops & undersea crags or that Mike Pence quite suddenly & terminally lost his ability to function in any way whatsoever?
... the soon-to-be starved nomadic people, the soon-to-be flooded
coastal peoples & the soon-to-be parched farmers of India were to be given direct financial & physical assistance by expropriated & toiling Masters of Industry & sundry media lackeys?
... that the delicate flowers, the tall & mighty trees, the vital green, green grass could just a go on going on, & anyone, anyone at all who ticked that box declaring Climate Change a hoax be pitilessly overseen constructing vital networks of deep, deep canals, oh for the remainder of their natural life?
... Would you rather one less Republican politician or one less soaring & majestic wind-tumbling vulture?
... Would you rather ...
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
Dear @NewtonFaulkner,
#nextLine
A fictional poem by Mitch Paradise || @niteLifePRO
(First draft/ February 26th/ somewhere between Minneapolis and Denver)
::
It rings, "The UK?
Could it possibly be?"
So I pick that **** up,
guess who's talking to me?!
Recognized #WriteAway
I interrupt by third-word
"#NoFugginWay! Open Twitter: 'Hashtag'
#WontBelieveWhatWeHeard!"
No way this is real, man!
Hashtag: #CanNotBeTrue!"
He says, "Hi, my name's NEWton,
'Hashtag'
I'm a big fan of you..."
I stop. Almost cry,
"#amIreallyThatHigh?"
Or is my personal Hero waiting
on my #nextLine?
He says, "you're quick wit' your wit, @Kid,
Surely you will go far!"
"Thanks, man. You're a writer;
so you know how we are....
How we talk to @ourSelves,
#alMOSTofTheTime!
Envisioning all of our @Idols,
hanging on that #nextLine...
So yeah, Maybe I have
ran this by a few times,
so if that #dayEverCame,
I'd have that perfect #FirstLine
And sure, Maybe I do,
mix it up 'at-mention' @Times,
A little #staged a little #live
bunch of #freestyles and #rhymes...
"Which is it now,
I do wonder?",
he so simply replies,
....
I say, "Honestly, @MrYodaFanGuy?
I'm asked that same question
'Hashtag'
#allOfTheTime....
But, you liked something of mine, Hell,
You could be reading #toNite,
So Keep it surreal, @MrFaulkner,
We'll catch you
on the very #nextLine
Sincerely,
- @Mitch (ThatKidFrom_niteLife)
'Hashtag' #just_a_Shout
from the top of #Cloud9
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
black coffee
6 a.m.
old garages
tomato sandwiches
toy planes still in the plastic
Margaritaville on casette tape
Sunday's are car dealership days
tabasco sauce on every dish
two-bite pinchers when we were kids
every boy's name is Mitch
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
He tells me he likes nachos while we sit in front of his living room TV,
lights dimmed. his dog has shed relentlessly on this couch.
I’m feeling dizzy, because I’m pretty sure that cheese was growing mold and I remind myself that
this is the 4th boy this summer (it’s only July), and he’s holding my hand.
it’s not so comfortable. in fact I realize I really don’t want to watch this movie about chemotherapy and space aliens (willing to bet he’s run the same one for every girl) at all. for a moment I forget where I am,
and I ask him if his name is Mitchell.
It’s Rafe, he says, ¼ laughing, ¼ wondering why he invited me over, half imagining what he could do to me.
*what a ****** name*, I think to myself, and I throw the scratchy blanket off me in his too air-conditioned apartment,
much more breathable.
I open the door. sorry Mitch, my mom told me to be home by... (squint at my watch in the darkness)
he stands up and knocks over my untouched Pepsi, probably spiked, saying it’s pretty early, are you sure? and the name’s –
(door shuts). bye, Mitch.
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 3:38 PM UTC
Man might have created it
But that don’t make it okay
Cursing is plaguing our (American) people
And it needs to stop today
Whether you believe in bad vibes
Or in maintaining a pure mouth
Cursing really clouds up your soul
And separates you from God, no doubt
If our children are raised without it
Then why do you allow it in your speech
I know it’s possible to quit, if you want
So if you want to learn, I’ll teach
Instead of using that Devil language
You can substitute if for a close, clean word
Then God won’t ask you when you slip
“Did I (just) hear what I just heard?”
Instead of using the D word, you can use “dang”
Instead of using the A word, you can say ****
Instead of calling her the B word, you can call her a “mitch” (my itch)
And save yourself from being kicked in the nut
Instead of dropping the F bomb,
You can always substitute it for “freak”
With these easy, mere words
You can be more holy and meek
So with this method, your language will be pure
And you’ll set a better example for our growing pods
So, when you see Him, He’ll be pleased by your vocal perfection
And your happiness will be identical to God’s
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
Dear America,
I’m really disappointed in you. It’s a harsh way to start a letter, I know, but that’s truly how I feel.
Our leadership (if you can call it that) has unveiled the deep rooted White supremacy and sexism that this country was founded upon. And that means that there are enough people in this country that feel this way that a man like Trump was able to get elected, that a man like Mitch is able to run the show in Congress.
America as the land, it isn’t your fault. You would’ve been happy to never have been invaded, carved up, forced to be witness to slavery and war and watching your beautiful indigenous people die and be culturally erased (in many ways still today). You are beautiful, with your mountains and trees, your beaches and oceans, your rivers and streams.
You are ugly, though, with your systemic oppression, kids in cages, Black people shot by police, housing segregation, gentrification, fatphobia, mass incarceration, capital consumerism, transphobia, misogyny, lack of mental health and addiction support, no healthcare for all, no equal right to education without stock piles of debt, and you always make a way for the wealthy and White, but you box out anyone Brown without extra expectations or attempted White washing. You pave ways and repave them, neglecting potholes and broken bridges for those that need, deserve, should have them more. You are the birthplace of internal wars, internalized sexism, colorism, homophobia, racism; you’ve made us hate ourselves as much as you hate us.
America, I expected better with the version of you I read in textbooks. But then, that version of you was written by those whose roads were paved with gold, and they profit from its retelling.
I don’t like you, America. I don’t know what hope there is for us, but I do know that I love my brothers, sisters, siblings of all genders, colors, and creeds who too want to unravel you, America, and build you back up into something better, something equitable, something for all of us.
Maybe there’s hope for you, America. Maybe there’s hope in your (r)evolution.
-Meg
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
There's a cup of
coffee in the cup I got
when I lived in
France, turning cold,
sitting
on a book I'm using
as a coaster, called
"Goblin Market"
and the vinyl that
I found for 50 cents
is turning slowly in
my Craigslist turntable,
76 trombones
76 trombones
and I'm trying to make
my way through
"Tuesdays with Morrie,"
because Mitch Albom
makes me cry
and now
I'm thinking only
of heartbreak,
rejection,
un-
requited
love and of
the day, the weeks, the months
my grandma
died.
There's so much to be
happy for
sad for
teeter totter for
I love this life and
I feel so much pain.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
There once was a *****
Who had a cousin named Mitch,
And ate and ate and ate,
She ate so much,
She ate her clutch,
And pretty much everything else.
One day this girl,
Started to hurl,
And a problem did arise,
She puked and puked and soon she started to despise,
Herself and others, chickens and mothers,
Even her best friend Siena.
Years have past and turkeys don''t last long past Thanksgiving,
A **** a ***** and quite a bore, how can she keep living?
Now you see, what a B---- she can really be,
This poems not about a lineman,
It's a about a horrible girl named Sam Steinman.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
One’s a chameleon
The other a-bitch
It’s hard to figure out
Which one is which
They both have a tendency
To position switch
Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
Make a hell of a pair
You must admit
One’s been enchanted
The other has a glitch
But both ‘em tend to
Favor the rich
Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
Speak in unison
In perfect pitch
On behalf of the interests
They hope to enrich
With a snake oil like
Smooth sales pitch
Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
Are enough together
To give you barber’s itch
Call me what cha wanna
Even a snitch
But they’re both on a wagon
Without a hitch
Cedric McClester, copyright © 2019. All rights resrved.
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
They say in Washington, D.C.
That few are hated as much as he.
Of course, that all depends on whom you ask.
If you ask him, he contends
He's not there to make more friends.
Pushing his agenda is his task.
Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.
His biggest friend in D.C. now
Is Donald Trump. Notice how
The two men are connected at the hip.
They will sacrifice--insane!--
Democracy for political gain
With their vile, disgusting partnership.
Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.
He truly doesn't dignify
The Senate, where bills go to die.
He prefers to make up his own rules.
Obviously, Mitch's goal
Is only to maintain control
And stack the federal courts with far-right fools.
Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.
We know that Russians interfered
In our elections, but what's weird
Is Mitch McConnell doesn't seem to care.
Since Russians helped Trump win before,
He could use their help once more.
Without their help he wouldn't have a prayer.
Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.
Just look at his expressionless mug.
(People say he resembles a slug--
A slug with an empty, vapid frown.)
If people really knew what's good,
And if they cared at all they would
Find a candidate to bring him down.
Yep, the man who found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.
-by Bob B (7-27-19)
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 9:49 AM UTC
Mitch McConnell could be the biggest piece of **** in American history.
Why don't you come oppress me, ***** I'm anti-fascism, you piece of **** ******* So, come on down and oppress me, big man. I dare you. Try to silence me, **** face!
I wish you would.
I personally DO NOT work retail. However *** breath , the people who do work retail and any non essential non-medical job deserve a holiday off with pay same as anyone else does just as president Lincoln declared in 1863
you unpatriotic ****** cattle ******* piece of uneducated ****
If I posted what I actually wish for the ******* from Kentucky, I would hear a knock on my door and guys in blue suits with sun glasses.
He looks like a loaf of **** that is beginning to poke out of your *** prior to reaching a toilet.
That ***** can die in a well.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC
Hey Trump!
Yes you ...
You colossal donut you!
A fact is a fact
because it's a fact,
not because you
say it's a fact.
You may say:
"Nobody better ... "
but elephants don't
fly south in winter,
"The best, the very best ... "
but spiders cannot
navigate through
heavy seas,
"Immense numbers, immense .. "
but zebras will not
snuggle with lions.
"Honest man, so honest ... "
but igloos are not
built by three-toed
sloths,
"Mess, its a mess ... "
but Mitch McConnell
is not the most
handsome man alive,
"Fair, very fair .. "
but rich white guys
don't work hard
& pick tomato crops.
A fact,
is a fact,
yes it most
definitely is.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 1:19 AM UTC
To still silence was the call-
Was post upon the wall:
"Dollars need be dished,
for poets to be published."
But today the bells do ring
Today again, poor poets sing
For the generous and the rich
Paid our share--thanks Buffy, Mitch.
Now it's up to us, my friend-
Poor poets now we must send
Sweet music that can sound again.
Be worth price, or at least intend.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 6:56 PM UTC
Career politicians, who cluck
as they strut with an impotent pluck
make me sick with the season
befouling all reason:
they're less of a **** than a cuck.
That gobbler and turkey-neck Mitch
makes me furious—so mad that I twitch.
He obstructs every battle
while jiggling his wattle;
unpardoned, unworthy (but rich).
The patrician political class
is a party that speaks through its ***
They are lacking in guts
with no ifs, ands, or buts
but I swear: they produce enough gas.
HAPPY THANXGIVING, Fellow Poets☺
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC