Golden Bells
Golden Bells, boring Lord, home between landscapes. Push the window. Blowing wind. Keep a cat. Writing poetry. Draw.
Maybe, I can still love
Maybe, I can still love. You can also peek at that big poplar tree
Rich valley. The dam that belongs to it, the flock
Its bitter artemisia grows really well
A horse-drawn carriage full of wine barrels drove by
One person shouted at another from a distance
Those voices were muffled
Three or four crows, two or three flew together
I don't know how to love the world
Life is year after year, day after day
Spring has been coming for a while
I drank the tea silently without even looking at it again
It's just that I'm sitting here with it. Wait for something
Although, the comers are not good
May remains
Mei is still a native of Suining, Sichuan, and now lives in Chongqing. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association. Contracted writer of Chongqing College of Literature. He has won the "China Annual Pioneer Poetry" award of "Selected Poems" and the "Modern Youth" Annual Best Young Poet Award, and was selected as the first batch of "Bayu Rookie" young literary and artistic talents in Chongqing.
Enter the interior of a poem
When night falls
I felt inside myself
Stop somewhere
In the flower bed, an earthworm harnesses the power of the rain
Drill out of the dirt
It passes through cracks in the stone, occasionally stopping to gaze
It doesn't matter if there is danger ahead
- Crawling or staring
Subsequently, it disappeared under a clump of orchid grass
Leave no trace
I felt it
Time flowed through my veins
Slowly, sometimes urgently
I could even hear them
It joins a river
I enjoy moments like this
- I seem to be living only here:
I don't know where I am
I don't know what I'm going to do in the next moment
Accept it calmly and let it disappear quietly
zither
Guzheng, female, from Wuxi, Jiangsu Province, currently lives in Nanjing, and is a member of the Chinese Writers Association. He began writing in the mid-to-late 1980s. He mainly focuses on poetry, but also writes essays, essays, and poetry reviews.
Fictional key
You open a door with a fictitious key.
You open a fictional door with a fictional key.
Keys towards the evening.
The door is toward death.
If the key is real and the door is fictitious.
Well, I will doubt your hand
Whether it is true or not.
What are you holding?
It was like a shadow under a street lamp, crawling on the door.
Green coat
Qing Xiaoyi, a native of Handan, Hebei Province, post-70s, member of the Chinese Writers Association, a student of the 32nd Lu Advanced Research Class, a contracted writer of Hebei Literature College, teaching, cooking, writing poetry, dreaming, was rated as the third top ten young writers in Hebei Province.
I fell in love with the fish in the water
I don't deny it, fish in the water
As soon as you come ashore, you are a beauty. If she comes to me
I was willing to tear down all the fences and stand under the eaves
On this May night, I will invite her
Drink tea with the porcelain I wiped repeatedly, and talk to her about the cold air
Tell the story of the cowherd weaver girl
If she plans to stay for a long time, I am willing to give her the tuan fan and the cheongsam
Give her the silver hairpin and jade bracelet, and even give her the inner scenery
Give her husband Jun
If she was still thinking about water, I would like to drill a well in my eyes
Keep her inside
Friendship
Aya, yufei of this list, once used the pen name Aya by the water, and is a member of the Chongqing Writers Association. Originally from Liaoning, he now lives in Chongqing. Love authenticity, tranquility and poetry.
read aloud
As soon as you open your mouth, you will find it
A lot of things are going far
You read the wind, you read it without restraint
But you can't read it, when the wind sets off
The grass had just opened its eyes blue
The birds were folding their wings, cautiously
Hiding from humans
Some encounters missed the good times
You read about the city, you read about a man and the emptiness of shadows
But you can't read the spins, the secrets
Traffic is bustling on street corners, flattened
Dreams, struggles
A sigh that loves someone deeply and must be kept away
You pass by something: rivers, lightning, flowers blooming
Too fast, a short pause is not enough
Another kind of encounter of love, those needles of happiness
It needs to be opened slowly with pain
Stupid
(Stupid) Rouge, female. Born in the 1970s, huzhou, Zhejiang. His works have appeared in publications such as Poetry Journal, Star Poetry Journal, Green Wind, and Selected Poetry Journal.
It is sinful to hide the moon
Dip the water in empty.
Baiyun Town floated around
The inhabitants there will not weave cloth
If a person leans against a street railing in a foreign land, will the city hit an iceberg?
Thick smoke was rising from pesticide factories on the outskirts
Riverside Cottage. A drop of dew condensed from the tip of a banana leaf was about to be smuggled
Is there a moon? The most beautiful thing in this cage
Sin is unforgivable, and it is full of bones that it has eaten
Holy Letters
Shengxin, formerly known as Shi Liqin. Zhejiang Yueqing people. He is a member of the Zhejiang Provincial Writers Association and has authored five books of poetry such as his personal poetry collection "Snow Dream". Advocating going with the flow, loving slow life, and loving painting.
The Lamp of Fate
She had been ignoring the non-stop beating of her left eye for several years
I can't see the evil that things hide
Every day, she was as innocent as a child
Honor your in-laws and be kind to those around you
I looked at her three or four times and felt like a blank piece of paper
A woman, beautiful plus talkative, impeccably good
I haven't spoken about the strange look in her eyes yet
The devil came early with the lights on
Her brain tumor compresses the nerves of the eye, and the terminal illness is not saved
I can't find a way to get to know each other
Sometimes people have to accept the lamp of fate
It was as if she had been taken ahead of time to another world to light up
Healthy as the wind
Jian Rufeng, formerly known as Gao Jian, is from Hebei and now lives in Yunnan. Create a home literary and art theme hotel chain on the cloud. In 2016, he was invited to participate in the Medellín International Poetry Festival.
Sheepskin drums
Wanderers beat sheepskin drums in the streets
Rough hands have enough strength
Boom, boom
A sheep endured a blow under the palm of his hand
It tightened the skin of the whole body
Remembering the souls that fled in horror when the flesh and bones were peeled off
It eats its own heartbeat tightly
Boom, boom
I want to hold down the hand holding the knife
I want to hold down the hand that beats the drum
I just held myself down
In the crowds on the streets
Hold down a sheep for the last scream