Haiku Aims at Contemplation

A “person” like Caligula or Trump

Might want his spaces filled with gold (or gilt

On everything), turn elegance to dump

Of tastelessness and never know core guilt.

He thinks that poetry is lyrics from

A rock song, if he thinks at all.

About the truth and decency he’s dumb.

Instead of white-winged doves he wants a brawl.

The point of life is making money, piles

Of filthy lucre—filthiest the best.

He watches people slaughtered and he smiles.

He loves attacking foes with wordplay zest.

  He doesn’t know what contemplation is.

    His oversoul is cyanide with fizz.

~ Phillip Whidden