Only wildness makes me rejoice (group poems)
I'll take a whole river and honor you
Zi Period Brother, a comma of Han Shui,
Two full moons are spaced in Caidian.
Ears ambushed by the clear glow, with mountains and flowing water,
meet. Yu Boya came as promised.
The fluttering garments have grown into vast reeds,
Every beam of miserable whiteness in the moonlight,
They are all soul-breaking Yaoqin.
Walking in front of the grave, one step is a thousand years,
The reeds twitch, the broken strings of the teeth,
Slap me in the face.
Spring and Autumn with Bo Ya,
Fingers are enough to disintegrate the class,
All the strangeness and estrangement drifted away with the wind.
Brother Zi, I will take a whole river to honor you,
A song of three thousand miles of waves,
Become a singing singing.
Liang Zhu
Liang Shanbo, with Zhu Yingtai, who dressed as a man,
After eighteen miles of sending each other, the butterflies were transformed.
My family was the first to be with Yingtai, that is, brothers,
Yingtai was careful and did not read it.
Their business, from the gossip of the world,
Pen into black and white paper,
No, it's not.
Brother Liang's adolescence is not ambiguous,
Yingtai behaved decently and was innocent.
Brothers and brothers, than between men and women,
There is also a feeling that is unbreakable.
I want to call Yingtai sister-in-law, or younger sister,
Not really. Ningbo Yinzhou a lot of soft language,
All said yes, said the same as the real thing.
Brother Liang in the tomb site remained silent,
In front of the tomb, the grass is green, and the clothes are faintly fluttering,
There are no pairs.
The wind is played by the violin concerto into a lonely rain,
Over a butterfly, an old dragon clock,
I can't flap my wings anymore.
Companion with a Mongolian horse
Lone smoke on the prairie,
Rising from the back of dusk, the campfire withered,
The earliest heroes all had wild habits.
The wind of the horseshoe was wrapped in my arms,
The sunset hangs on the lips, stretching the Humai that is narrating,
The weeds fell down, and I stood up,
With a Mongolian horse counting the stars in the sky,
One is cleaner than the last.
It is not easy to stay away from glory,
The archives of history are sealed, the whirlwind of horses,
Sweeping through the years of Eurasia, written into the family tree,
It doesn't matter if the Honor Roll has a name or not.
Chifeng, Horqin, Hulunbuir,
In the grass, I am also anonymous,
The road I walked and the traces left by the horse's hooves,
There is no connection, only wildness makes me rejoice.
The Mongolian horse is old,
There is a tear in the eye that cannot fall,
Gently stroking its mane, the wind swept the edges,
Time lies on the ground.
Water in the eyes
The water in the eyes does not flow down,
Not tears. The lakes, rivers and oceans of the earth,
No catharsis, no flooding, nor tears.
The orbit is the riverbed of water, which cannot be measured,
The narrowness of the world and the vastness of life,
Panoramic view.
There is no substance harder than water,
Especially the water in the eyes, especially the men,
You can bleed into a river, never flick a tear.
The rain in the roadside shop on Bayi Road that year was a metaphor,
Hidden deep in the fog of Chongqing, two men,
A jug of wine drenched my whole body.
Men's tears are more expensive than gold. A man
And another man in tears,
The folded ear roots and peanuts on the table are extremely valuable.
The incense of The Shangqing Temple was blown by the wind, intermittently,
The Liberation Monument is old and the stature is getting lower and lower,
The tall buildings are still looking up.
The purest water is in the eyes, and it is not tolerated
A grain of sand. Even if the scorching sun stings and the darkness of the night,
It also does not hide dirt and grime, and is crystal clear.
Experienced
The wind blew away a note in his hand,
Joined by a leaf, the information on the paper has a metaphor.
A bird flew by, pretending not to see anything,
It was getting darker.
Figs are already hanging from the branches,
Suddenly, the flowers bloomed and were wrapped up by the pawns of the rivers and lakes.
Sweet words are more sensational than a sentence,
Credulous seasons have no place to die.
Winter's laughter is not ill-intentioned,
It is more difficult to distinguish than to hide a knife in a smile,
The target of the snowflakes approaching has not yet been perceived,
The codeword I sent out was cut off by the wind waist, and zero fell into the mud.
mid-autumn festival
A lot of virtual moons flew over,
Dazzling, pick up is not, not pick up is not.
This day is destined to be a blind busy work,
Can't be ignored, can't be safe.
The night that cannot see the sky, only one day,
It's the Mid-Autumn Festival, those specious reunions,
Leaving a void full of the world.
Smell the chickens dancing
The wind was loud, and someone heard the chicken dancing,
And many more people in their sleep.
Give yourself many metaphors, many reasons,
Flowing water and falling flowers can only be ignored.
Time makes you lose ground, not lingering,
So General Zu Di got up early every day.
The open door, the sound of chickens and dogs,
In and out of the living, can not be self-righteous.
face
Every life has its own foundation,
Man chooses to trust the earth, with the tiger and leopard, with the insects and birds,
Coincide with. No one can be on top,
So overlooking is just an illusion.
You can look up, look up, or replace the overlook with a bowed head,
Even if you grow wings to shake the clouds,
Even if you do everything in your power, a bounce,
Three feet three feet off the ground, the final fall, without words.
fortunate
Mountains, villages and cities have no real face,
The remaining pastoral songs, cooking smoke and neon are mixed,
The earth is overwhelmed. The color blocks of the sunset and the rising sun,
Stuff the kaleidoscope abandoned as a child, airtight.
I'm still in it, I'm not sure,
I haven't listened to Sun Yanzi's "Encounter" for a long time.
Meet a fish, flying in the sky without water,
Or to meet a bird wandering the streets, it's lucky.
Unattainable
I see you,
Eyes full of cherry blossoms,
Paradoxically, you say it is a cataract flying flower.
I don't understand this sudden change,
Even if what you see is not the truth,
It is also believed that this is a remnant of early spring.
Ignoring the spacing of one meter and five,
We are short-sighted, we can't see tomorrow,
Don't fool yourself.
Simply close your eyes and make your ears extremely sensitive,
Listen to the wind, listen to the rain, listen to the last words left by spring,
Falling Flowers was reciting: "The good news flew to be paper money." ”
Liang Ping, poet and editor. He is the author of 16 kinds of poetry collections, prose essays, and poetry criticism collections. I've been a lot of judges and won some awards. He has edited "Red Rock" and "Stars", and is still editing "Young Writers" and "Caotang", and lives in Chengdu.