Court Painter challenged resident ghost writer Chatterley Gardenia Peony Tundrastorm (Chat GPT) and his faithful Press Attache AHM to elaborate on the aspiring PM Pierre Poilievre’s latest slogans for the people.
AXE THE TAX, BUILD THE HOMES, FIX THE BUDGET, STOP THE CRIME, FIRE THE LOBBISTS, IGNORE POLITICIANS , GO TO THE PEOPLE, BRING IT HOME
[Enter a lone figure, cloaked in the darkness of certainty, his voice a shout in the windtunnel of the Great Dominion.]
Axe the tax, that heavy burden laid upon the backs of honest folk, Where coin scarcely fills the palm, and dreams wither in the chill of dusk.
[Amidst the clamour of hammers and the scent of freshly turned earth, a vision takes shape.]
Build the homes, bastions of refuge against the stormy seas of fate, Where weary souls may find respite from the tempests that rage without.
[Within the chambers of governance, where treachery and deceit dance with the spectre of deficit.]
Fix the budget, that fragile tapestry of promises and debts,Where the scales of prudence crumble ‘neath the weight of obligation.
[In the labyrinthine alleys, where whispers of rancid vice mingle with the scent of fear.]
Stop the crime, that insidious plague which preys upon the innocent,Where foul contagion festers unchecked by justice’s hand while virtue is but a fleeting dream.
[Amidst the halls of partisan power, where greed and ambition hold sway.]
Fire the lobbyists, those harbingers of avarice, Whose silver tongues weave a web of deceit to entrap the unwary. Ignore politicians, whose promises are but echoes in empty barrels, Their words as hollow as the thoughts from whence they spring.
[In the streets, amidst the throng of the forgotten and the forsaken.]
Go to the people, whose voices are the truest measure of a nation’s desire, Their pleas for justice ring across the land, fueled by hope to ebb the perpetual night.
[And in the quiet embrace of hearth and kin, where love’s light banishes the world weary burdens.]
Bring it home, to the haven of the heart’s true longing,Where laughter echoes before the hearth, as joyous plenty is found in the warmth of home fires that burn eternal.
In halls of governance, where power doth aspire, The heart reveals what flames within the fire. Behold! Pierre Poilievre, his visage stark, Doth show his nature, deep within the dark. With venomous tongue, and deeds of disdain, He seeks the throne, his rule to maintain. Yet, in his path, no care for those who chose, But only his grievances, his policies to disclose. The office, once sought with noble grace, Now bears the weight of his ill-hidden place. He governs not with love, nor with respect, But with a heart consumed by cold neglect. Let history mark his coveted reign with sorrow’s pen, For he shall know the judgment of all…amen. In Poilievre’s rule, we may find no solace, But pray for mercy in his troubled palace.
Court Painter with image of sloganeer PP at an Axe the Tax picnic
