YOUR NAME
Prints and Their Stories
WINKING LADY PRINT
She lives within a painted frame,
A frozen spark, a silent flame.
One eye closed in coy delight,
The other gleams with secret light.
Her lips are curved in knowing grace,
As though she’s watched the whole world’s face.
A tilt of chin, a sly repose—
What mischief in that subtle pose?
Does she recall a lover’s vow?
A whispered joke? A here and now?
Or is her wink a timeless thread
That speaks of all things left unsaid?
No words escape her canvas skin,
Yet volumes stir from deep within.
She winks — and suddenly, you feel
That beauty laughs, and truth can steal.
She isn’t still; she isn’t stone—
She winks, and you are not alone.
A lady, yes, but more than muse—
A rebel soul in painted shoes.
O singers of the southern skies,
With feathered grace where beauty flies,
You thread the dawn with molten gold,
On windswept hills and valleys bold.
The Lilac-breasted Roller spins—
A jewel in motion, sky-bound hymns.
Each arc a stroke on heaven’s page,
A painted flash, a flaring sage.
The Cape Sugarbird, lithe and shy,
With needle tail and searching eye,
Among proteas it gently weaves,
Where nectar calls from silver leaves.
Fish Eagles cry by rivers wide,
Their echo rolls with ocean’s tide.
A freedom forged in storm and flame,
They pierce the clouds in glory’s name.
From fynbos fringe to bushveld plain,
A thousand voices swell the rain—
Hornbills, Weavers, Turacos, bright,
Bring color to the African light.
The Blue Crane, stately, proud, and rare,
South Africa’s heart in sky and air.
With courtly dance and slender frame,
It writes in flight the nation’s name.
Oh chorus bold, both fierce and free,
You are the soul of canopy.
From Drakensberg to Kalahari,
You sing the land’s true litany.
So let the silence never fall
Where wagtails dance and sunbirds call.
Their songs are threads in nature's seam—
South Africa’s breath, her living dream.
BIRDS PRINT
WARRIOR CHILD PRINT
Behold the child in warrior dress,
Adorned in beads and bold finesse.
With cowhide shield and braided crown,
He walks where dust and dreams fall down.
A necklace hums with lion’s might,
His eyes are stars that hold the night.
Each pattern stitched, each thread of gold,
Tells tales of ancestors brave and bold.
His chest is marked with sacred paint,
Of earth and ash and stories faint.
He moves with steps both soft and sure,
A strength in silence, calm and pure.
A spear in hand, not made for war,
But shaped to guard what came before.
He stands not just for fight or flame—
But for the echo of his name.
He is the drumbeat in the ground,
The whisper where the winds are found.
A child today, but future’s flame,
Wrapped in the pride from which he came.
So sing of him, of grace and fire,
Of roots that rise and never tire.
The warrior child, so proud, so free—
Wears not just cloth, but legacy.
Where salt winds whip the ocean’s face,
And whitewashed homes find quiet place,
Paternoster dreams in hues
Of misty dawns and cobalt blues.
Beneath the swell and kelp-fringed cove,
The kreef move in their stony grove—
With armored backs and scarlet claws,
They skitter through the ocean’s laws.
Among the reefs and shadowed cracks,
They hide in age-old hunting tracks.
A dance of tide, of stealth, of night,
Their whiskers twitch in lunar light.
The fishermen, with calloused hands,
Launch wooden boats from shell-strewn sands.
At sunrise, nets and dreams are cast—
To honor sea, to hold it fast.
Smoke curls from pots on windswept shore,
As stories rise and seagulls soar.
With butter, fire, and touch of lime,
The kreef is feast, is flame, is time.
But whispered in the ocean’s song,
Is warning deep and ancient, strong:
"Take what you need, but leave the rest—
Let kreef still thrive in ocean’s chest."
So let us praise the West Coast tide,
The humble kreef, the boats they ride.
In Paternoster, where hearts are brine,
The sea and soul forever twine.
CRAYFISH PRINTS
CAPE TOWN PRINT
It’s not just ink on linen white,
Or shadow cast by Table’s height.
It’s how the mountain hugs the sea,
And marks your heart, indelibly.
It’s Bo-Kaap homes in painted rows,
A city's pulse in colored throes.
It’s gulls that wheel through morning mist,
And sunsets sealed with ocean’s kiss.
It’s taxi choirs and minstrels bold,
A blend of stories, new and old.
The taste of koesisters, just fried,
The mountain always at your side.
It’s Robben Island's quiet grace,
A memory time can’t erase.
It’s every voice, both scarred and proud,
A freedom anthem sung aloud.
This print runs deeper than the eye—
It’s in the soul, the soil, the sky.
Once felt, you’ll never quite depart—
Cape Town leaves a print on heart.
With bat-like ears and wrinkled grace,
A snorty grin on squishy face,
You strut the room, a noble beast,
Though half your size and twice the feast.
Compact frame and chest so wide,
A waddle full of pride inside.
You’re small in height but bold in heart—
A stubborn work of canine art.
You snore like thunder in your bed,
Chase dreams of snacks and zoomies spread.
A couch is throne, a lap is land—
You rule it all with velvet hand.
You greet the world with tilted head,
A question mark, so sweetly said.
And when you snuggle, warm and tight,
You turn the darkest days to light.
Oh Frenchie, clown in tuxedo form,
With wriggly tail and soul so warm—
You’re more than just a furry friend,
You’re joy and love, without an end.
DOGS (STORY)
OCEAN PRINTS
Beneath the waves where oceans meet,
Two currents kiss in dance discreet—
The cold Benguela's ancient song,
The warm Agulhas rushing strong.
In kelp forests, swaying deep,
The otters dart and cuttle sleep.
Rock lobsters cling with armored grace,
While shy shysharks glide, then leave no trace.
Great whites patrol the False Bay blue,
A silhouette in morning hue.
Seal colonies with barking cries
Watch gannets plunge from cobalt skies.
Corals bloom like secret fire,
In Sodwana’s reefs that never tire.
Clownfish weave through anemone arms,
Each tide alive with secret charms.
Whales in winter make their run,
From icy poles to birthing sun.
Their songs roll through the salt-sweet dark,
A lullaby so deep, so stark.
Penguins waddle Boulders’ shore,
In tuxedo grace, they dive and soar.
And dolphins dance with youthful glee,
Carving joy into the sea.
This southern sea, both fierce and kind,
Holds wonders few have yet to find.
A realm where land and water blend—
Where life begins, and fears transcend.
Guardians of the Southern Deep
By the edge of the African land
Beneath the skies where oceans kiss
The shores of golden southern bliss,
Dance dolphins through the sapphire tide,
In playful arcs they leap and glide.
Their voices echo through the foam,
In coastal waters they call home.
Where cliffs of Hermanus rise and fall,
The mighty whales sing out their call.
Humpbacks breach with thunder’s grace,
Gentle giants, slow in pace.
From icy storms they migrate far,
Guided by the southern star.
But deeper still in kelp and dark,
Moves the shadow of the shark—
A silent sentinel, bold and wide,
The great white cuts the ocean’s stride.
Feared by many, revered by few,
Yet part of the sea’s heart, fierce and true.
Together they roam the Agulhas stream,
In currents fast, where oceans dream.
From coast to reef, from deep to blue,
They keep the balance strong and true.
So let us guard this sacred shore,
Where sea-life thrives forevermore.
WHALES, DOPHINS & SHARKS PRINT
PENQUINS PRINT
O dapper guardians of the Cape,
In tuxedos trimmed by ocean spray,
You waddle forth in oddball shape,
Yet rule the rocks in proud array.
Among the boulders white with brine,
You bow and bray your trumpet song—
A donkey’s call, both strange and fine,
That echoes where the waves belong.
Beneath the southern sky so blue,
You dive through kelp with fearless grace,
A silver flash, a shadow true,
A sea-bound bird in swift embrace.
Your flippers trace a dancing line
Through waters cold and richly deep,
Where ocean’s harvest you entwine
And secrets of the current keep.
Once hunters came with oil and greed,
Took eggs like treasure from the sand,
But still you stood, your stubborn creed—
To live, to love, to walk the land.
Now children come with wide-eyed glee,
To watch you in your seaside march,
And tourists laugh beside the sea
Where granite domes make nature’s arch.
O jackass penguin, proudly small,
You wear your name without dismay,
For in your bray and upright call
Lives all the wildness of the bay.
So here’s to you, brave coastal knight,
With flipper’d arms and steadfast stare,
May Boulders Beach and morning light
Forever find you nesting there.
Sustainable textile art rooted in Cape Town.
Made from recycled plastic.
Made with intention.
Made for
Made to matter.
hello@duthiedesign.co.za
+27 79 185 3204
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