Esther’s weekly challenge is green. You can join in here: https://estherchilton.co.uk/2025/04/16/writing-prompts-61/

Esther also very kindly hosted a guest post about my new poetry collection, Burning Butterflies, on her blog. I meant to reblog it here but accidently reposted to my art blog – oops. Anyhow, thank you so much Esther. You can read the post here: https://estherchilton.co.uk/2025/04/18/guest-writer-spot-165/

Esther is also offering to host poets and writers with a guest spot. She is a delightful host.

The Green-eyed Monster

When I was a girl of ten years old, my family moved from Cape Town to George, a largely Afrikaans speaking town in the Western Cape. I was enrolled in a small convent school as it was English speaking and Catholic. George, a small countrified town, was rather laid back and many of the children started school a year later than average. I was already a year younger than average, so this resulted in my being two years younger than most of my peer group. It was a difficult time for me. Ten and eleven versus twelve and thirteen is big at those particular ages. I was still keen on my dolls and Anne of Green Gables. The older girls were interested in boys and movies like Grease. I was a little girl, and they had boobs and hips.

There was one girl who I thought was incredibly pretty. Her name was also lovely. Kirsten, so much prettier than Robbie. Kirsten had long blonde hair that fell in a sheet to below her bottom. She was thirteen and had a mature figure. I was green with envy of this girl and wished I could be just like her. In retrospect, I was ridiculous. I came from a progressive family and Dad was always supportive. He thought his girls could be anything they wanted to be, and he encouraged me with all sorts of sophisticated books on art, history, and sculpture. We were not wealthy, but we always had a comfortable home and good clothes. Poor Kirsten had much older parents as she was a ‘laat lammetjie’ (late lamb). They were ultra conservative, and she was being raised to take on the traditional role of a housewife and mother. She made all her own clothes and never had anything modern or fashionable. I didn’t understand these things as a girl. I only saw the long hair, large eyes, and curvy figure, all things I would have loved to have. I sometimes wonder what happened to Kirsten.

Envy is

The green-eyed monster

Desiring

Long, blonde hair

I wished to be different

Such a silly girl

D’Verse Quadrille #222

Punam’s d’Verse Quadrill prompt is as follows:

“Today’s challenge is to write a poem of exactly 44 words (don’t falter on the word count) including the word alter in it. You can use any word that has alter in it. No form restrictions, no syllable counting, no strict rule for rhyming. The only thing that remains unalterable is the the 44 word rule (excluding the title).”

The following idea came immediately to mind. I had this conversation again recently with my physiotherapist.

No Alternatives

People say “You are strong

Face your family’s health issues

With courage and determination

Shoulder your burdens”

What do they mean? I wonder

What other options are available?

“You could drink or take drugs.”

Interesting suggestions

I don’t consider them to be

Great alternatives

Here are two ‘green’ pictures that I took this weekend.

Thank you to Nolcha Fox for sharing my poem, What is a window. On Chewers by Masticadores.

Thank you to Lisa for this fun prompt as follows:

I took a bunch of pictures of the busts yesterday and have included several of them here (please click on the images to enlarge them.)  Your challenge, if you choose to accept it, gives you two options:

a) Create a sculpture (or bust) of yourself. Use any materials – real or imagined – using the guidelines within Victoria’s 2012 prompt.
b) Write an ekphrastic poem using one of the included busts. If you choose this option, please make sure you include artist attribution on your blog.

You can join in here: https://dversepoets.com/2025/04/15/dverse-poetics-tuesday-busted/

Memory Cake

dough is soft

squishy and sticky

flour coated fingers

knead and knead

gradually,

it becomes smooth

stretchy like elastic

split and rolled

into several balls

it’s ready for colouring

power, never liquid

each ball takes on

a new vibrancy

shades of pink, green,

purple, blue, and flesh

red and black are last

mucky and messy

hands stained purple

shaping and moulding

sharp tools cutting,

carving, and nipping

faces take shape

eyes, noses, mouths

hair: ringlets or straight

mother and children

flowers and vines

vision takes shape

memory cake for the future

young mother washing

while working from home

children on-line learning

in sunny backyard

Covid 19 encapsulated

in fondant and cake

Thank you to Michelle from Hotel by Masticadores, for publishing my poem, Guardian Angel.

I am overwhelmed by Michelle from Hotel by Masticadores wonderful and insightful review of Square Peg in a Round Hole: Poetry, Art & Creativity. Thank you, Michelle, for your appreciation of my creativity.

Bjorn’s prompt for d’Verse Open Link Night #392 is to write a poem about the concept of krisis. You can find the prompt here: https://dversepoets.com/2025/04/10/open-link-night-392-april-live-edition/

Picture caption: Photograph of a crying, abused woman from Deposit Photos.

The March

In a ragged crowd they push onwards

Stretching as far as the eye can see

Some hobbling on strengthless legs

Some hunched over rusting crutches

Some pushed in battered wheelchairs

Some pulled on wheeled platforms

Their cries and groans of anguish

A cacophony of desperation and despair

The strongest help the weakest

In this mottled army of the dying

Deprived of life saving antiretrovirals

The virus chatters and chitters

Soundless and invisible

To the powerful in their ivory towers

Mothers clutch doomed infants

To chests of skin and bone

Their life’s milk a certain poison

Passing on the kiss of death

For victims of abuse and rape

The trauma will never end

Health melts like candle wax

As the virus licks its chops

Once healthy men now carry

The dangerous seeds of hell

No quick and simple death awaits

Abandoned dregs of humanity

No salvation for a forsaken mass

Marching steadily towards the grave

Thank you to Michelle Ayon Najavas for publishing Michael’s poem, Words of Suffering on Hotel by Masticadores. This poem features in my poetry collection, Square Peg in a Round Hole which includes nine of Michael’s poems.

Dora’s d’Verse challenge is to employ at least one line of dialogue in a poem. You can join in this d’Verse challenge here: https://dversepoets.com/2025/04/08/poetics-dialogue-it-in/

Esther Chilton’s writing challenge for this week is dark. You can join in here: https://estherchilton.co.uk/2025/04/09/writing-prompts-60/

I’ve been watching international stock markets react to the current media dubbed ‘tariff war’ with fascination. This poem is the outcome of my reading today. A good market is called a bull market and a bad one is called a bear market.

The Killing of the Bull

The bull’s stampeding down the road

He’s taken the whole herd with him

Blood gushing from the arrows

Embedded in his heaving sides

Each arrow tip sharpened by tariffs, and

Engraved with a previous rangers name

Canada, China, Europe, and Japan

Have already left the archer’s quiver

As he stands among the falling debris

Of Wall Street’s finest institutions

Impervious to the choking dust

Teeth shining whitely in the darkness

Investors watching from the sidelines

Spit dirt and muck from open mouths

Unable to decide which way is up

Through the heavy, swirling cloud

From a distance conservation officers

Observe grizzly stealthily approaching

“Be careful what you wish for” drowned

Amid earth tremors and upheavals

Ear splitting roar joins the cacophony

As bear bites into opportunistic meal

While the butterflies of renewable energy

Rain down on the desolate scene

Their fragile bodies scorched

And their delicate wings burning