Having Family for Dinner

Here is a poem I wrote for a contest on Writing.com.  It was a rather grand team competition named for “The Game of Thrones.”  I’m mad about GoT.  But I’m a couple of years behind the HBO series currently.  Anyhow.  In the spirit of House Targaryen and their words, Fire and Blood, I wrote this little bit about family. . .

. . . and eating.

word count: 451
line count: 76
prompts: – Someone in our household is not a team player *Laugh* Tell us about it! AND – I’m a loaner. I have no family. Will someone adopt me and make me feel at home?

 

Having Family for Dinner

I have so loved the brilliant days,
My family meets to eat.
As one or more, in many ways,
Our clan should chance to meet.

We are not much for talking, no.
There’s nothing much to say.
We wire dancers tend to go,
Alone in our own way.

But I recall the early days,
We packed in cheek by jowl,
Translucent, hunger marked our ways,
What food we ate was foul.

And I could not, nor others too,
Abide what mother left.
So we had to eat a few,
I did not feel bereft.

So weakling sibling didn’t flee,
For dinner, had them naturally,
I grew the faster, don’t you see?
They are a part of me.

My family is large and strong,
Though not so big as once.
My siblings never thought it wrong,
To gobble up the runts.

Now I am lovely, black, and sleek,
Much like my mother who,
Ate my father, so dull and meek,
As I am like to do.

In corners dark we wait for prey,
Light footed on the wire,
Where moth, or fly, or midge must stay,
foot stuck as if in mire.

They feel the frantic fight for life,
They gather for the kill.
I follow on the feeding strife,
And one less of us will.

I’ve tasted of the butterfly,
And find it not my meat.
Good food to me is all around,
On wire dancer’s feet.

All my sisters that hunt the web,
Have tasted sibling flesh.
My taste for other seems to ebb,
And their’s is juice fresh.

They know to fear, if they still live,
The quiver as I pass.
Strike thrice to proper venom give,
And I grow by their mass.

Until I rival you my dear,
My mother and my guide,
Who killed your husband with no tear,
And ate him, legs and hide,

Did this to make what I became,
Bred others for my food.
If I should give to you the same,
Don’t think of me as rude,

Just hungry for the place you hold.
I’ll settle for no other.
I’ve had enough, I’ll be so bold,
Of eating sis and brother.

The wasp upon the web is live,
Struggles mask footfalls near.
With your last meal you will strive,
As I approach your rear.

I move so carefully tonight,
My sudden leap must be,
Surprise enough to cause no fight,
As yours comes unto me.

Strike thrice so venom does its deed,
Away your life will ebb.
And I am left alone to feed,
At the center of MY web.

And dream of suitors, dream of love,
Like you and Daddy once,
That lovely day I’m thinking of,
When you gobbled up the dunce.

© Copyright 2014 L. Stephen O’Neill all rights reserved.