On a thin, brittle sheet of paper
Slowly quiet down. A heart of grass mustard
Dust stained with fireworks. Flowing time has a fine texture
Those shadows are like the fingers of the moonlight
Dial the word. Metamorphosis, in another way
The heart of longing intersects with the soul of running
Some pain, can not be contained
In another sense, the warmth of the clouds wanders
Such as the open page, the devotional part
A healing stone, on a thin, brittle sheet of paper
Blossoming sunlight, wash the sky
The light of the flowing water takes away the gravel of thought
Silent salt, permeated with Sanskrit sounds
Winter doorway
banishment. Fragments of the season, with a heavy snowfall
A heart flutters in the world, not sad
At the door of winter, in another way
run. Acceptance. Curled up. Or disappear
Those metaphors are in the body, like dismembered dreams
At your fingertips. The darkness of the night, the blue of the sky
A little more time for me to chew or lose my voice
Find life and never get lost
Thoughts wander, connecting with just the right loneliness
Perhaps there is a law of surplus and lack, and there is a degree of relaxation
It is like a compassionate heart that reaches the interior of all things
Identify spring like a dead grass
Mirabilis jalapa
When night comes, beauty blooms, one by one
Above the darkness, stir up the wind
Behind autumn, the days are mild
The low gesture forgets the dew of last night
Purple light rises to the secret rhetoric
Lonely Fang appreciates herself and exchanges thoughts with silence
Get used to the black, get used to the bright colors under the stars
The time that has passed has taken away the secrets of flowers
Withering in the sun, like life in the lows
It is impossible to avoid the stubbornness of the silence
You can't touch one of them
Purple Jasmine, yin and yang, is deeply in love with the earthly world
With salt
Fragrant clouds and light from the outside
Imagine porcelain pieces, such as the blank space of Song paintings
Invisible water, eyes closed
Between things and me, there is nowhere to put the heart clear
Some crystals fell along with the mottled soul
Bow in the shadows of the lights and return to silence
The dewdrops of words resist time
Pure reproduction is pure, white and white
Squeeze the broken silver of the night to hold a grain of dust
Clinging to that little bit of emptiness, the music, the subtle gushing current
Fade away the gray, and the secret is like a vast root
The fragrance of white sculpts the breath of sunlight
On the road in the distance, a man with a candle in his hand
Burn yourself and wake up in a flower
With fragile salt, with a hidden door
On the cloud
Light a lamp and the rain of thought hangs upside down
The hiding place gives light to the memory
Born out of the cycle of stone, time, only time
Cutting air. Patient support is required
Hidden words are silent inside a flower
Like a lonely person who is not willing to be lonely
A leaf or a gust of wind or a bird song
Together with the shadow of the flower, easily, a heart is drawn
The hustle and bustle of the world, very close and far away
Just to find, the yellowed bookmark has the appearance of flowing water
On the clouds, the specks of time float and sink
The iron-cyan flames were as real as the projections of the sky
Desire returns to zero, and everything stands still
A practice of the heart comes from the altar of the soul
From the Great Enlightenment
A fingerprint of time
The last leaf flew away
It was as if the cold winter was spinning and falling in the sky
Flying wings are as stiff as dreams
Collecting moonlight, "Winter's memory is spring"
A snowflake has a temperature, like the soul of a quiet night
The wilderness is empty, and only the wind knife is shouting
The dry reeds deepened the vastness of the earth
The returning bird breaks through the cracked branches
Latent thoughts keep pulling away
Get used to the shortness of the long night and the long days, and warm up the past in a pot of old wine
The solitary red plum sits on the verses of poverty
The fingerprints of time are in the veins, becoming clearer and clearer
cross
The wordless starry sky is beautiful, and the birds fly in their dreams
Time, falling from heaven, hollows out the shell of the fruit
A clay pot, looking at the whitish night
More like an old ink painting, the Sanskrit sound rises
Illusions are like nebulae, and music is like water
Proverbs that stay on paper, peck at falling shadows
Far away, people who are deeply trapped in the whirlpool are lost and return
Withered yellow grass, deep into the barren heart
Rosemary fills the sleepy melancholy, quiet expectations
On the ruins of words, there is a life of love
The sky is sleepless, and the silent stones are blossoming their own flowers
The carved time is like the smell of fireworks hidden on the fingertips
A thought is eternal, and the river of thought drowns out the tears that pour out
How many prayers and blessings turn into chants of life
In the depths of the world, the lamp of the earth ignites light and warmth
Sunset light
The flame ignites the still clouds, the retrograde light
Tear the sky apart. Free objects
Constantly gathering and sinking. Under the sun
The lonely tree shadows highlight the beauty of tranquility
At the node of time, the waves are not alarming
The view is wide, and everything is slowly disappearing and falling
A road, a village, and a billowed smoke
Become a form. A person whose heart is as quiet as water
Know that every time you look up, that preset beauty
Easily, it's a matter of pulling the heartstrings
Shake off the birdsong in the soul, some vocabulary
A song that lights up the sky. Only the sunset
Close to the void, no rendering required
Such a dusk, time is squeezed out of the dust
Light, attached to all things
The envisioned spring
The wind dangling in the air waved, and the sky accepted the birdsong
The expected spring is on the road, experiencing a loss of speech
A thin heart that needs a patch of snow to warm up
The early blooming pear blossoms, like my soul, the wet buds are crystal clear
The breathing land is no longer asleep, some trivial things are in the body
run. The plants sprout and the fragrance of the face is raging
After that, the days are dressed in makeup and warmed in the peach blossom water in March
Is there a blank space where you can discover the secrets of time
Let those lingering beauties become what spring should be
Make a snowflake
Make a snowflake, like snow
It has the appearance of a flower, and its wings fly in the sky
Do not submit because you are weak. Illusion of a beautiful word
Leave it to the earth, the rivers, and the joyful earth
Make a snowflake, like a loved one
Throw away all the burden and sorrow
The fire is boiling snow, the words are mulberry, and the eyes are warm
Slowly chew on the withered glory of the years and ignore the past
Make a snowflake, take a small breath
With a cold softness, the echo of fate is stretched
In the light of the time, quietly
White rhetoric and crystal clear heart, alone with an ethereal spirit
Guan Hua, a native of Dali, Shaanxi. He has published more than 500 poems in "Chinese Poets", "Yanhe", "Selected Poems", "Shilin", "Green Wind", "Yalu River", "Years", "Writers Weekly", etc., and has been selected into various poetry annual selections. He is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society, the Shaanxi Writers Association, and the vice chairman of the Dali County Writers Association. He is the author of the poetry collection "Missing the Blossom in Spring" and "South of the Wei River".