Harvest sunflowers with Grandpa
We pick strong sunflowers
Made into a small stick two feet long, it is used to beat mature and plump
The flower plate, for those who refuse to take it lightly
Hand over the fruit of the flower plate, we will
Pound harder, rub with a small stick, and use your hands
Until all the sunflower seeds are all for us
We'll just get up and leave
And put the scarred mallet
Discarded next to its own kind of possession
Yushō-ji Temple
Knock
Long
No one answered, not so much
It's an empty door
It is better to think of it as an empty mountain
I suddenly stopped thinking about visiting the door
Standing still next to it, sunset
It's like a monk's robe
Drape it on my heart
Mother stores potatoes in the yard
We pick well-proportioned, whole potatoes
Hide in cellars for use as seeds in the spring
The rest is sold in exchange for the rice noodles oil and salt of life
Pick and choose, in the huge potato pile
Few like it
- Some are too big, some are too small
Some were split by the head of the hammer and scarred
And there is
In the wet mud
Has rotted all or part of the body...
A large number of potatoes that have been removed
Silently huddled together
Mother and I sat next to each other, it seemed
We are one of them
It seems that we are born with a part that is not accepted by the world
Visit the Upper Reservoir in winter
This time
It's the right time —
Around the reservoir
Empty and empty
The mountains receded, and the grass beach withered
A poplar grove
I also walked with the birds to the depths of winter
How nice, I'm the only one
Stand on the embankment
With a blue mirror of one hundred and fifty square kilometers
Left once
Right once
Look at yourself carefully
Book with father
I am convinced that the dream is a high-speed train.
Through the car window
I see myself
Pull a trolley full of food
You can't climb uphill, you push the cart hard behind you.
I saw that I had given birth to a daughter
Lie on the warm kang of the old house
You wear a red suit and hold yourself
Hand-squeezed clay toys, laughing and groaning to come to me.
I saw that that night, my sister-in-law was going to give birth
You push the door so loud that you're anxious
Outside the window, leaving a heavy sigh...
See last time, on your clay kang covered with green lacquered cloth
It's full of people, you and the neighbors who have been dead for years
Gathered around and talking, laughing and talking
I recognized it at a glance
Love for the door flower lady.
In this world, He has ever died
But it's us
Living in two parallel worlds
Two lines of tears, are newly built railroad tracks
In the night, there is a clear light...
A red suitcase
Father will have a brand new suitcase
Handed it to me
It seems that I want to put my youth in
How greedy, all the way
I walked and stopped, picking up stones with joy
Iron block of sorrow... Put them one by one in the box
How poor
It was as if the more you pretended, the more you had nothing
I finally began to learn to unload my mountain of lust
Barrier-like hate
Cut off the mess of delusions...
Now, my suitcase is getting emptyer and lighter
But there is one thing that is not discarded
That diamond-like love
I also need to embrace the left and the right, as if under a bright moon
My father would wait for me at the terminal
At that time, me and the suitcase were old
The epidermis is damaged and the color is dull
It was as if I was empty-handed
Just to hold your father
At that time, we all understood
Our lives are insignificant
A suitcase is actually a red light
Occasionally, let's be in the depths of red dust
Stop it......
Fallen leaves
Yellow leaves that have just fallen
There is an unknown toughness
As my son and I stood under the poplar trees of late autumn
He was delicate as a new leaf
And I was holding a fallen leaf in my hand
Look closely, there is wind and rain inside
There is lightning
There was thunder
There are some memories that are difficult to climb over
They have all become the illusion of time
The thought of falling leaves will fill the forest
Think of falling snow
The branches above the head will be bent
Think of many things in life
Grit your teeth and get through
The poem of the little muppet
My little muppet leaned against the water cup
Cocking Erlang's legs, he opened his mouth and smiled
Different from my gritted teeth about life
It will always be like that
Laughter turned into a crooked crescent
Like a hollow man
Laughing heartlessly and lunglessly
Laugh angularly and angularly
Sometimes, dust falls all over its body
It still laughs, sometimes
Accidentally dropped it on the ground and it was still laughing
It seems that its mission is to laugh
Look at me, look at the world
Sometimes, I look at the little muppets
That Maitreya smile
It was an eternal guide to me
Pear blossoms fall
Mother grows vegetables under a pear tree
Sprinkle with rapeseed and sow spinach seeds
And covered with mulch film
When transplanting cucumber seedlings and eggplant seedlings
The mother's solemn expression was like a nuwa
Clay and man are made there
Around the time of the rains, my mother would plant pumpkin seeds and waxy corn seeds
Tomato seedlings and sweet potato seedlings are also planted in soft soil
Midday sun
Shoot at the mother's dark forehead
Fine beads of sweat
Start to seep out little by little
The rough hands resemble the two front legs of a bee
Constantly ploughing the ground, digging pits...
Wait until the pear blossoms fail, in the vegetable garden
It will be covered with green shoots of different shades
They are arranged very neatly, horizontally and vertically
Let the mother live this pawn
Practice the ability to cross the river again and again
Let her weed, loosen the soil, fertilize, water... outside
Too late to think about the meaning of happiness
A description of a photo
An old mother in her seventies
Took a picture, this one
Sixteen open paper-sized photographs, straight
Occupies the most central position on the cabinet
The mother in the photo, wearing a red cheongsam
Fair skin, rosy lips, slim figure
Especially a pair of twenty-year-olds
Slim jade hands
Pose as an orchid finger
When we enjoyed the photos, my mother smiled happily
We said the photo was taken very young
Mother bends down with her hands
Wiping the dust off the kang, we shut up and didn't talk about the mother in reality
Wrinkled face, wrinkled hands
The back is slightly hunched and the waist is bloated
Only say, the mother in the photo
Mother, don't be sad
I was injured again
Don't be like when you were a kid
Heartache I fell
My knees were bleeding
The arm wiped off the skin and flesh
Don't blame me softly
Say I always run too fast
Careless, can't see clearly
Those inconspicuous stumbling blocks under your feet
Mother, I have learned
A man climbed up
Quietly pat off the dust on your body
Still frowning
Still can't help but drill the pain of the heart
But none of that matters
A person always has to have several scabs
Go and cover your heart with bruises
Everyone always has to have it
A new self
Gradually growing out of the old self
Stand up
Just like those grasses at the head of my father's grave...
Front Street
Front Street is located in a ditch formed by two loess mounds
The courtyards that were once thriving have all been
People go, but can not say that the courtyard is empty
Because the yard is not empty, it is overgrown with tall weeds
They occupied the yard and the roof
Occupied the collapsed gates and the ruins of the houses
Occupies the path leading to a remote home
They thrive and are not abandoned
It's barren, or backward
Not like those of us who come after us, like dandelion seeds
Already riding the wind, flying to big cities, flying to small cities
Or leave Front Street and build a new house outside the ditch
In the dense grass, crickets come from time to time
Cheerful piano sounds
There are one or two butterflies or moths
Fly over the grass
It's still my best hometown
Thanks to these grasses and tiny inhabitants
They are inseparable from my hometown
Depending on each other
Stone door hanging coffin
We held out our fingers and pointed
And loudly comment on the material of these coffins
Age, the way of suspension, we even talked about
The man in the coffin, spoke
Their gender, identity, rich and poor...
We talk about it with impunity
There is no fear of waking these up
Ancients who had been sleeping for hundreds of years
Actually, I think
Even if they sat up from the coffin
Nor will it blame us, as a person who has died once
The noise of the world has long been on the world
Shut one's ears
Memories of an early morning
The sky is blue
The sun was clean and outside the walls
In the middle of the poplar leaves shining with golden light
There was a crisp birdsong
In the early morning of my hometown, the clocks and watches were idle
The air is clean and cool, like a spring in the mountains
Can wash the lungs
There was a rhythm in the kitchen
The sound of pushing and pulling bellows
Oh-——,----------------------------------------------------------------
The mother's figure swayed in the white steam
In the vast courtyard, play tai chi a few times
Time seems to be moving more slowly
Qi and blood are slowly unobstructed, and there is leisure into the heart
A small square table under an almond tree
Breakfast was simple
Yellow millet porridge, steamed white steamed buns
Seasonal vegetables picked in the vegetable garden
Chew carefully, swallow slowly, time slows to a standstill
Simple to relax...
Grass buds
I like, in the spring breeze, to do my best
Sprouts of grass that break through the soil
I'm ashamed compared to it
I used a third of my strength
Learned to dodge
With a third of the force
Weave nice excuses for cowardice
The remaining third of the strength
He also became a deserter
Don't dare to reach out
Touch the throat of fate
confession
My body type and appearance come from my father
My stains and little nose come from my mother
My reticence and bookishness came from my father
My violent temper comes from my mother
My sentimentality comes from my father
My optimistic humor comes from my mother
I know more and more
We are a family that cannot be separated
If the mother argues with the father again
I will never again favor my mother
I will stand among them
The left hand pulls up the father, and the right hand pulls up the mother
And not like now, only mother
A lonely person
There is a temple above my head
At nine o'clock in the night, a voice
Turn into a gentle flowing spring
Found my ears
The springs come from rented attics
A fat woman who loves to laugh
She was singing a Buddhist song
Wonderful things happened:
The little instability in my body turned into fallen leaves
Fall to the ground
Heart Lake became unsettling
I thought she should be facing a Buddha
Sitting in a believer's posture
A blazing incense is following her singing
Melting yourself...
I think, at this moment, there is a temple above my head
Kasuga
Mother must be in the garden again
Fresh dandelions are picked
She must be wearing that top again
An old straw hat that has been torn
One of her hands
Put on it, already tanned by the sun
Her heart must be there again
Calculating my return trip
And I'm a hundred miles away
Brew last year's dandelion tea
Look at them
In a warm cup
Slowly stretch out the green body, like some fish
I understand the mind of the water
Twilight
At the entrance of the community, there stood an old woman in her eighties
A pair of wrinkled hands pressed against a wooden cane
Her whole person was like a decaying piece of decaying wood
The pestle was there motionless
She was also a child who left home or returned home
A mother going to work or leaving work, but for now
She faded to the edge of time like a withered flower
Leaving the branches soon
It was a long way out, and I couldn't help but look back at her
It's like seeing yourself decades later
Standing there alone
skating
The ice was so good back then
It was as if the creek had been designed for us to freeze
The laughter at that time was so good
Slip up and laugh
Laugh when you slip up and wrestle
At that time, it was better to fall
A bone crawled up, not like now
After the fall, the body could not get up for a long time
The soul can't laugh for a long time
Li Rose, formerly known as Li Meiqing, was born in September 1976 in Yuanping City, Shanxi Province. He is a member of the Shanxi Writers Association and the Chinese Poetry Society. His poetry works have been published in "Stars", "Grassland", "Yellow River", "Caotang", "Poetry Tide", "Tiantian Poetry Calendar", "Yanhe Poetry Special Issue", "Poetry Monthly", "Yalu River", "Wutai Mountain", "Fenhe", "Prose Poems", "Tianjin Poets", "Shanghai Poets", "Northern Literature" and other publications, and some poetry works have won awards in the National Essay Contest.