"donn" poems
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like that of a full moon
bringing light
from the One
who has commanded me
to wear it
to my face
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like a merry-go-round
rotating with a joyful force
in places near and far
illuminating its power
a reflection of my soul
and inner beauty
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
the way whirling dervishes move
we're so high
aspiring nearness to Allah Masha'Allah
our act of wearing hijab daily
deserving of much respect
and Insha Allah
The Seventh Heaven
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like a spinning wheel
many made
in different colors
and in different textures
each brightening the world
and when wearing it
like Khadijah (AS), Fatimah (AS), and Aisha (RA)
attracts attention of the best kind
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like Big Ben
I'm so high
dignified
a visible ambassador
of Islam
saying no to immodesty
and saying yes to our Majesty
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like a halo
starting my day with Bismillah
and looking into the mirror
to carefully donn it
I remember
I'm doing this to help men
married and unmarried
from sinning
and to protect myself
from impurity and immoral acts
as
Hijab is my crown
for me a Queen
By: Najwa Kareem
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 2:42 PM UTC
Knee deep in words and nothing to wear
my mind's closeted vault is overrun,
I donn'd a few petty metaphors but they had tears
a simile wrapped around my neck made me choke
wing tip'd stiletto nouns on my painted toes
and proper paisley poesy adjectives in my hair,
still not ready to go out on the cafe
if I only knew where I left that damn'd silken sonnet
sigh oh brother, another night in naked poetry...
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
'O terzo piano, int' 'o palazzo mio,
a pporta a mme sta 'e casa na famiglia,
ggente per bene... timorata 'e Ddio:
marito, moglie, 'o nonno e quatto figlie.
'O capo 'e casa, 'On Ciccio Caccavalle,
tene na putechella int' 'o Cavone:
venne aucielle, scigne e pappavalle,
ma sta sempe arretrato c' 'opesone.
'E chisti tiempe 'a scigna chi s' 'a compra?!
Venne ogni morte 'e papa n'auciello;
o pappavallo è addiventato n'ombra,
nun parla cchiù p' 'a famma, 'o puveriello!
'A moglie 'e Caccavalle, Donn'Aminta,
è una signora con le mani d'oro:
mantene chella casa linda e pinta
ca si 'a vedite è overo nu splendore.
'O nonno, sittant'anne, malandato,
sta segregato dint'a nu stanzino:
'O pover'ommo sta sempe malato,
tene 'e dulure, affanno e nun cammina.
E che bbuò fà! Nce vonno 'e mmedicine,
a fella 'e carne, 'o ppoco 'e muzzarella...
Magnanno nce 'o vuò dà 'o bicchiere 'e vino
e nu tuscano pe na fumatella?
'A figlia, Donn'Aminta, notte e ghiuorno
fa l'assistenza al caro genitore;
trascura 'e figlie e nun se mette scuorno,
e Don Ciccillo sta cu ll'uocchie 'a fora.
Don Ciccio Caccavalle, quanno è 'a sera
ca se ritira, sta sempe ammurbato
pe vvia d' 'o nonno ('o pate d' 'a mugliera),
e fa: - Che ddiece 'e guaio ch'aggio passato. -
Fra medicine, miedece e salasse
'o pover'ommo adda purtà sta croce.
Gli affari vanno male, non s'incassa,
e 'o viecchio nun è carne ca lle coce.
E chesto è overo... 'On Ciccio sta nguaiato!
Porta sul'issso 'o piso 'ncoppa 'e spalle;
'o viecchio nun'è manco penzionato
e s'è appuiato 'ncuollo a Caccavalle.
'O viecchio no... nun vò senti raggione.
Pretenne 'a fella 'e carne, 'a muzzarella...
'A sera po', chello ca cchiù indispone:
- Ciccì, mme l'he purtata 'a sfugliatella? -
Don Ciccio vò convincere 'a mugliera,
ca pure essendo 'a figlia, ragiunasse:
- 'O vicchiariello soffre 'e sta manera...
è meglio ca 'o Signore s' 'o chiammasse! -
E infatti Caccavalle, ch'è credente,
a San Gennaro nuosto ha fatt' 'o vuto:
- Gennà, si 'o faje murì te porto argiento!...
sta grazia me l'he fà... faccia 'ngialluta! -
Ma Caccavalle tene n'attenuante,
se vede ca nun naviga int' a ll'oro...
Invece io saccio 'e ggente benestante
che tene tant' 'e pile 'ncopp' 'o core!
981
V'aggia spià na cosa Donn'Amà:
vurria sapè pecché quanno ve veco,
la capa mia nun pò cchiù raggiunà.
Si me parlate, 'mpietto 'a voce vosta,
m'arriva comme n'arpa, nu viulino;
quanno rerite sento 'e manduline:
na sinfunia 'e Betove e di Sciopè.
Che v'aggio ditto... niente Donn'Amà!
Quanno cu st'uocchie vuoste me guardate,
me sento tutto 'o sango e friccecà.
'O core fa na sosta, nun cammina;
me dice chiano chiano sottovoce:
- Dincello a Donn'Amalia... è bella, è ddoce!...
i' tengo 'o desiderio 'e ma spusà. -
637
Resurgent greens and stronger hues
combined within the colours in-between
will spring again, the reddish brown
has nearly gone and all the silver
greys erased in darker shades
that shine with slickly natured stains
after the gentle, gentle rain.
Clouded skies unite and demonize
the dry and dusty plight of days of brutal
beating sun and scathing wind,
the thin veneer is quickly peeled
and puddle-swamped in bloodied muddled
swirls of coloured slushy earth
that tinge the tracks of heavy wheels.
The welcome cold at first conceals its
damp and chilling steel, and in the icy
shades of night the frigid bite ignites
less welcome sentiments until the wrap
of insulation seals the warming heat,
sanctifies the stolid feet and frigid toes
with subtle sweep of warming blood.
And in the morning when the sun returns
to claim the earth the mist surprises, rising
unabashed and clean again to grace the
nascent waiting skies after the rain.
by Ivan Donn Carswell. 8/16/2016.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
Now I am a man
well you might call me layed back
easy going, soft spoken
but man if I clench my teeth
I am a man you wish you did not know
P@ul means a small brown worror
so your better off trying to make me smile
Don't make me mad
don't bring out my devil
that dewls inside
of what you think
is your heaven
and donn't
make them
put me back
into room 77.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
There are numerous, wicked men,
who are nothing more than fiends;
And each one of them work,
in a place known as D. C.
~
Each morning they will donn,
their expensive, silky suits;
To see just how much damage,
these brood of snakes can do.
~
Then off to work they'll go,
with a smirk upon their face;
They call themselves, "Successful,"
I call them a "Disgrace."
~
These vile creatures of habit,
will vote on "Do-Nothing Bills;"
That will serve to weaken our Country,
upon that treacherous Hill.
~
Then home to their cozy Mansions,
they'll return at the days' end;
Daring to call us their, "Leaders,"
daring to call us their, "Friends."
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 7:55 PM UTC