The Spider Who Ate a Butterfly


Following on from last week’s tale of an accidental butterfly catcher, this week our narrator takes a butterfly for its dinner, and chances to rhyme a lot as it taunts its prey. In this poem, I ask you to think about what it might mean to hunt something that resembles the better part of yourself and the ways in which beauty might play a part in this. 


I talk to this winged-alien because it troubles me.  

it flies, it drinks and lands upon a tree.   

I tell it that I am the child-catcher from forgotten fantasy 

that I steal dreams and communicate them outlandishly.  


A spider provoketh beauty quicker than thieves.  

And yet, we are in the forest enclosed by leaves.  

(Now: attention I hear you stir   

your feverish wings start to spur)  

‘But I am the most beautiful of things,  

my patterns leap and bound in the wind 

sewing a tapestry of secrets and kings,   

that hover beautifully above these water springs’ 


Above all else, I love creative expression. Whether it's directing actors on set, writing poems, performing covers, or getting into the nitty-gritty of a text for review - I am happiest when exercising my imagination. I hope to work with Wessex Scene to produce both creative and critical work that helps us think critically about art and its reception in the world.

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