he lives for the woods
his body smells of musk
and nature combined
There's a sick little man named Musk
Whose words we should mistrust
Sowing division
Is his life's mission
I hope one day he goes bust.
Said Elon to the reporter
Little children I do not slaughter
My boss has a need
So to feed his greed
I just make the poor much poorer.
But little does Elon know
There’s a place where the soulless go
All that money and wealth
Can’t buy mental health
For he will reap just what he sows.
Mars, Musk, And Bond Girls
Mars is again in the news, and Musk has been silent
about going to Mars, perhaps he has found
Another planet more suitable to his temperament
We read that four women are going to Mars, mainly
because they have been astronauts and know
a thing or two about the limitless space if one gets
to far out can disappear into a time that does not
exist and are doomed to fly while drinking tea from
a straw, worrying about whether sugar is fattening.
It might be possible to unclog the dust in hidden
river beds on Mars, it might be that the dust is dry water
that, if we have a magic formula, will spring to life
sing like a waterfall in April, create sweet dams
and a landscape unspoiled by the ugly windmills
Should Elon Musk take a renewed interest in
Mars, he has the will to go there, but will he when
As a leader, introduce democracy among the crew
or demand Mars as an authoritarian regime
Elon Musk
rid himself of tusks and husks
millions in bank
thank dank stank Hank
Demagogue not pedagogue
Aghast & agog
Perfidious insidious fog
Reeks of the past
Slog through the smog
Musk seeks to flog
Earth & its serfs
Downed & drowned
In his dystopian bog
Even starry nights
Elon’s neon satellites
Seedier media perch
Utter nutter besmirch
Thriving in the gutter
Conniving depriving church
Vex "X" & Tech T-Rex hex
Or next bogus Rogan
Bogan slogans prevails
Alpha male tales derails
Sod the planet’s scars
Cruise trips to Mars
Odd bod driverless cars
Spawn a fake Tarantino
Remake.."Musk till Dawn"
Devil may care lair..
Loads of lies..skies chock a block
With spies...all eyes on the prize
Everyone Everything Everywhere dies
Let's not parley with gnarly snarly
Musk...takes the mickey & the bicky
In the dock for running amok
Time guys he did finally own up
To being as grown up..
As a Farley’s Rusk (a British biscuit/bicky for a wee kiddy)
Brutish Trump, Meek Musk?
Trump comes across as a brute and scares people off the middle usually nice middle-class people who do not what it is like working on a building site or spending years at sea with men appear ruffian but mostly, is a braggadocio and as such nothing to be alarmed over in Trump’s case he is not likely to start a war with China, Russia or Iran Trump likes powerful autocrats, he respects as much as he hates effeminate Macron also Starmer
With his perfect modulations, yet sits cross-legged when speaking to Trump who is not in the habit of showing the heels of his shoes, but as we know English leaders have hidden distaste for those they think are inferior to them
Trump, like many rich people, pretends he comes from a modest background, his father was a wealthy man in real estate which made his journey easier; the millionaires we see today are from wealthy families and that is Ok, but their idea of poverty is miles away from the mark
The hatred we see of Elon Musk is grossly unfair He is at heart a good man with a dream of saving humanity from itself, but I fear when the chips are down politicians will put the onus on him
This was inspired by Silent One's poem,
"Prisoner Of Poetry"
Let me loose the trellis that holds on to my roses
weave every thorn I own around your open space
I do not twine nor do I have a tendril to boast of
but I do own beauty and the scent of Rose Khalid
Let me penetrate your senses with my wildish ways
cleaving shadows of your night, I will bring you day
I am not a flower to be cast aside just like the rest
take good care of me and I will surely bloom in May
Let me be your muse's musk, powdery sweet like earth
leaving trails of inspiration on your velvet book of love
I am not a garden trinket nor your favorite rose my dear
talk to me as if I were a prayer, written just for thee.
For I am no longer a prisoner of your poetry Dear One
just a simple musk-filled muse, reaching for the Sun...
Trees, cars and Elon Musk
The branches of trees on the avenue
Was stretching upward this morning
To be a decorative tree is not easy
Standing still looking leafy
Once they had been mere sampling
In a forest of other trees, feeling safe
Protected by tree too old or crocked
Stand under a tree and hear a murmur
They agree electric cars has no fumes
But older cars are better lookers
My car swell with pride she 28 to day
A self-driving AI long before Elon Musk
Said he had invented a driver-less car
How many women here
have been impregnated
by Elon Musk? looking for hands
He plans to repopulate the planet
single handedly - well, not handed
exactly - you know what I mean.
In Australia, great swaths of Texas,
and of course Mar-a-Lago, he’s a serial offender,
because his sperm is legal tender.
Factoid: you might catch a disease,
he’s sleeping with everyone north of Belize
and several of them, frankly, look sleazy.
Of course, you’d have to listen to him talk. shivers
Unless you say, “Hey, can we do this without conversation?”
That’s when you’d slip on your sleep mask, and, well, you know.
But what would you be thinking about?
.
.
FUN! by KiNG MALA [E]
BLOODONTHETIMBS by Bren Joy [E]
Monstrously Machievellian
Demonic pedagogic
Ominously Orwellian
Demagogic logic
Fools’ Musk-ovite mules
Zuckerberg zeitgeist heist
Dickensian dystopia rules
Google last post bugle
Fossil fuels myopia drools
Bellicose Bezos blows
Bro-ligarchy mates’ malarkey
Unions demonstrate
Amazon defenestrate
Hades Gates hierarchy
In the dock
Murdoch foxy skulduggery
Poxy TikTok runs amok
Crass puns..shock thuggery
This lot don't give a jot
.
Bitter sh**ter Twitter
Greedier needier seedier
The death of mass media
X marks the spot!
Ladies and gentlemen of wealth and riches,
and also you, you poor sons of bwitches ~
mark well what I say,
and rejoice for the day,
when God will finally have worked out all of the glitches.
Folks ask why
I chose Elon as my guy,
Smart and tough
Knows how to fight even when rough,
Let him loose
To put woke projects in the noose,
Cause a stir
For progressives to deter,
Stop the rot
That placed us all in this garotte.
Act with haste
Take a sledgehammer to the waste,
Clean up house
Never mind who first we douse,
Set the scene
For what will come not what has been,
Make us great
Stem the voices that insidiously berate,
Make us strong
Choose what's right and not what's clearly wrong,
Pull as one
Don't cheat and steal then simply run,
Trust in him
For the fate of all excesses will be grim,
Trust in me
See how great united we can be.
The sun is the most powerful thing.
It gives us light and life,
Nothing can change that.
But the man sat on the moon,
is carving it to change the night’s light.
Will the plants still grow?
Will water still rain?
Unknown changes in an unknown terrain.
We are sat on the ground looking up
Lost in a maze that can only be solved from up above.
Climbing on each other’s shoulders
We can reach the moon
And build it back up
Regaining vision
The musky view gone.
He took Elon's cars.
Campaign promises broken?
No - he gave him Mars.
There’s children growing up that believe the stars
sound like crickets chirping,
for their only exposure to these sources of wonder
are through over-exposure to blue light and radio waves
and soundtracks overlaying simulations.
The night they know
is bright as day,
lit by “satellite internet constellations”
or fogged out by the price of progress.
They don’t understand what it is to stare upwards
and be humbled in awe.
That’s what’s wrong with men today;
they never look up, never gaze around.
They only march forward on a path
marked with dollars instead of footprints
and fail to take heed of the wails around them.
But at least one day, when
we’ve siphoned the earth dry to fuel
“achievements”
(greed),
when the cities are burning from the debts of desire,
the children will look up at the stars that aren’t stars
and hear real crickets chirping
and they won’t be afraid of the end.
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