Author: Ding Jingxian, pen name: Shuiqi Yeke, male, from Fan County, Henan, farmer, veteran, member of the Communist Party of China. Reading Poetry Society military poet, loves poetry, occasionally publishes.
Blue tiles
A dream of smoke and rain. Blue tiles
It grew wings
Fly low in the quiet years of your hometown
Every plume
All covered with a smooth dream
Days in the countryside are too lonely
sometimes
Some barrenness will also grow between tiles
As soon as there is a wind and grass. Dove
Then the pigeon whistle at dusk is blown
Dusk, preferably a light rainy dusk
On the eaves, slipping raindrops
Tick - tick, knock on the bluestone slab
Reminiscent of -
The green tiles from the fire, even if they are broken
There is also the sound of good jade
Clams under the tiles
The night has no end, and the sound of insects is the shore
The wind and moon are boundless, and the sound is bounded
Compared to the sound of geese, the chirping of clams
Closer to the earthly world. Leave behind the attachment of the homeland
O man who travels far away! You should
Put the small courtyard of the hometown, the clams under the tiles
Packed into a bag -
People travel thousands of miles, and dreams will not be desolate
The moon is not alone
Clams outside your window
The lamp in her window
A silk thread runs through the eye of the needle you miss
Embroider a pair of mandarin ducks to play in the water!
Sleep together in dreams night and night
Clams can't call for winter
I was waiting under the tiles for the spring to begin
The shock passed
In your arms, sing sorrow into it
A song of the Prime Minister
Mailbox
Like a green leaf, it is full of yellow leaves
street corner
It's a bit abrupt
The love letter sent that spring never heard back
Woman on the water side
Never heard from again
The apricot blossoms fell - peach blossoms
Osmanthus falls on old chrysanthemums
That lock never opened again
Just fold the ups and downs of the years into memories
Become an old landscape
About author:Zhang Zhanyun, born in the eastern mountains of Ningxia in the sixties of last century, now lives in Lanzhou City, Gansu Province, a shepherd in the city, poetry lover!
Old Shop (Outer Song)
The temptation of haggis
It's a worn-out bellows
Whoosh
A handful of garlic seedlings
A spoonful of red pepper
Not many guests
All are familiar faces
Nowadays small restaurants
It became a restaurant
It's just that the owner is old
For years
There are no more spoons
Spring
The water in Xizhou is green
Light and crisp Yanming
Dancing
Delicate fine willow
And the story of Tilian
Floating among the lotus leaves
A lake of spring colors
One Lake Song
Beacon ( Outer Song )
Where the eagle flies
It's a shepherd
Husky singing
A white cloud drifting
Your loneliness
Smoked by the wolves of yesteryear
Brewed
The vicissitudes of brownish-yellow
Like a glass of wine
Wolf smoke
Horn horn in the distance
It's a blood-red sunset
Full
A large porcelain bowl
In the horse's foot bones
Burning field
war
A bundle of firewood is needed
Listen to the Rain (outer song)
A worn-out cloak
The fine willow of the South Mountain
Dancing in
The wood door was pushed open
Bluestone path
Dusk boiled in a teapot
It's a blossom
The sound of peach blossoms dripping
Where cooking smoke rises
Carrying a drinking sheep cone
Carry a shepherd whip
Father's pipe
Lit
Sunset over Western Liang
In the gray one
Among the bushes of bitter bean grass
Husky sheepbells
Dragging a tired figure
Singing on a summer night
Hope to hear
It's your voice
Lying on the cool ground
Watch the moon drift among the clouds
Watch shooting stars streak across the sky
Beautiful beast
Dive deep into the earth
Heard
It's its heavy footnote
In the grass countless pairs of eyes
Look at me curiously
I don't know if it's midnight dewdrops
Or the great sun rain in the depths of the soul
After a gust of wind
I saw a green cicada playing a big piano
Frogs chirping in the distant pond
Calling you
It's your singing
The soulful call of the wilderness
Author: He Shiqi, a native of Naxi, Lijiang, Yunnan, likes poetry and likes to express ordinary days in simple language.
Mother's hand
It always amazes me
Everything that can be picked up in the mountains
Picked it up
It always excites me
Put the green and yellow ears of wheat on the fire
Then rub out the grains with both hands
The scent of wheat handed over
Imprinted in memory
For the last time, trembling
Stretch out your hands, as if again
Give me everything she has
Many years later
I will go back to the mountain village
Raise a flock of sheep, a cow, a horse
A vegetable garden is indispensable
The daily job is to drive the sheep into the mountains
Pull the oxen into the fields and ride horses in your spare time
Play against the sunset
Learn to abandon your son and don't care about winning or losing
Light up at night and write poems
Just write about the eyes of a goat or dusk
Field is an old word
If you are coming
Please don't talk about house prices and the stock market
Talk about temperate cereals
Pulling weeds, mountain eagles
Don't go back to your city after you
I plow my fields
Stone ballads
Burn as much as you can
Burned to ashes
You can paint the world white
Carve as much as you can
No matter what it looks like
I'm still off a cliff
Pave as much as you can
I'm not afraid to crush
The closer you are to the center of the earth
Don't put me in my heart
I am afraid of becoming a stone in your painful life
Drifting bottle
Poetry posted in WeChat moments
It's like dropping a drifting bottle
Expect someone to pick it up
Expect someone
Throw out the excess inside
The rest is still me
My words are still drifting
Still searching for soulmates in the waves
Author: Cheng Jianping, screen name: Tsing Yi people, Yanguo call sound 1, polar bear, Nanchang Xinjian District people, Jiangxi Province Writers Association, Nanchang Economic Development District Writers Association director. He loves poetry and prose, and his works have been published in newspapers and magazines such as Jiangxi Daily, Nanchang Evening News, Jiangxi Prose Selection, Old Friends, Qilu Literature, Changjiang Poetry News (Chongqing Primary School Edition "Me and My Hometown"), and won several awards. Poetry: Poetry is like my eyes, insight into the world, analysis of life.
Liu He, Emperor of the Han Dynasty (Seven Songs)
Text/Cheng Jianping
You play all the time
Fate, a character with twists and turns
But your heart can't escape fragility
Your heart has always been reluctant
But your tears are always left for the dark marquis
Your words are always interpreting themselves
But what you want to express most can only be hidden in the bottom of your heart
27 days of emperor dreams
Impeach you for 1127 absurd things
Huo Guang covers the sky with one hand, which allows you to judge
The dream wakes up, you just do
It is a doll among the members of the Western Han royal family
But you know, the more you cover up
There will be more exposure, actually
You don't have so much to hide
Grief, crying...
But you can't get rid of your own human destiny
It was the same then as it was at the beginning
Ill-fated, no wonder, the river of the Hou Kingdom
More than two thousand years have not washed your innocence
1) Horseshoe gold
There was a lame horse
The rainy day of exile in the marquis of Haidu
In the fields of Yuzhang County
Bitter tears flowed from a limp
A palm that can be nailed to its hooves
Sucking the dew of Pohu Lake, the grains are crystalline
Chewing the green grass of Hou Guo, bundled with clear fragrance
In the muddy water of the Ant River
Rubbing out a sparkling golden light
Palms and hooves remain lonely for a long time
Towards the setting horizon
Do deceleration exercises
It is timid, so be cautious
Will be the treasure of the ancestors
Unknowingly give to the palm
The palm accumulates energy and rubs out heat
The sun is hot and calcined
It is quenched into gold in muddy water for more than 2,000 years
Horseshoe gold, horseshoe gold...
Capture the heavenly and earthly eyeballs
Chase the smoke-like past
Chase the unknown
Cut the horizon of dawn
Control and restrain your own indulgence
Lame in the swamps of the Marquis of Haidu
Ask me to be courteous, I can't stop
There are wet plants and burial museums
2) Seimyo
Think of that wine, it is with clear rainwater
I don't know how much stubble is soaked in the aroma of glutinous rice
Since the Western Han Dynasty, it has been brewed like this
Intake glycol, like a woman's tenderness
After that, it seems that the man is persistent and tenacious
To think of that wine, put acacia in the steamer
Collect the blood of those cuckoos in the field
A bottle of koji treasured by the pillow of the ancestors
In the long-standing wine culture corridor
I don't know how many green lights have been illuminated
Think of that wine, is a large pot of sticky rice
Tweave, compact, seal
About three or four days
The cold and cold land is rich and fragrant
A glass of wine is faintly reminiscing about the deceased
A glass of wine in full prayers for tomorrow
3) Dongpo meat
Legend is in Datang
There is a pure land where the gods and gods gather
Cooks always clean the pot first
Pad with straw and put a little water
Shan waited for Su Dongpo to send good pork from Hangzhou
Then, tie it with a straw
Burn firewood to suppress the fire
Then simmer over that non-flaming fire
Wait for it to ripen on its own
Don't rush it, wait for the fire to be enough
The natural taste is beautiful
At that time, the rich did not know how to eat
Poor people can't cook
The immortals got up in the morning and beat two large bowls
I ate it myself, but I forgot it
Greet those salivating mortal cooks
4) Qingming and homesickness
Year after year
That plate of rough stone mills
And trying to grind out something
Grind out the inadvertent coming and the inadvertent going
Yuzi added a spoonful of acacia to the grinding eyes
And spring mud and rain, or life and death
Then, in time and space, a monument is erected
Tears will flow from the monument
Until the wanderer can't push it
That plate of stone mill is in the addition of boundless acacia
Never last a day
Cover with thick dirt
5) Wangshan Tuku
Many rooms, many patios
Many advances, many things...
Along the splendor of your "one door and three superintendents"
Ponder your "five miles and six hanlin" past
Crowd the corners of your "small court in the south of the Jiangnan"
Memories overlay memories
On top of the vicissitudes of life are entrenched vicissitudes
So, once the door to the Internet was opened
Those things in the cultural residence of the Chinese mansion
It has continued on WeChat yesterday and today
6) In the country, wine is plain
In my hometown
The wine was in the hall of the father's old man
Be baptized by growth
Qingming season
Everyone sat around the clean Eight Immortals table
Sharing a pot of cooked sticky rice
The wine lady doesn't like it or not
Bring a basin of well water, not forgetting to be shy and gentle
Let everyone scrub their flushed faces
Then wipe the rice stains from the corners of your lips
That's when I found out
Those older than me were amiable
7) Brewing a pot of wine and spring farewell
You hold an umbrella and come as promised
The mind of the rice follows the water of the ant river
You hide a flower in a green tassel
Mature with a green dream
A willow is no longer yellow and young
A waiting adds to the nostalgia of a tree
Ziyan's return tells the joy of returning home
Willow's star dance is no longer swaggering
Yang Hua Luo gave his concern to the earth as soon as possible
You are washed by the valley rain
Use your green finger to uncover a dusty past
Put you with the legend of the Sea Dusk, together
Your story with Inarika
The mellow aroma before the rain is packed into the Datang wine cellar
You have made the years into an altar of April red
Ten miles of fragrance
It has become the talk of people's gastronomic feast
You cut a cut in April's skin
The river of ants flows quietly to the east
Author: Shen Zhangbao, pen name: May Water Bird. Born in May 1963 in Yuxikou, Wuhu City, Anhui Province. He is currently a member of Anhui Writers Association, Wuhu Writers Association, Tianxia Poets Association, and a columnist of the Sleeping Poetry Society, and has published a collection of poems "On the Road".
In the twilight, the youth that once burned
A corner of the world
The flowers are close to withering
The disappearing years of youth
Covered with thick shade
Occasionally there are one or two blue birds
Snuggle up to each other
Shuttling through the sight of old tree trunks
Already provoked envious eyes
Cut the wings of the blue bird
Flocks of three or two like ducks gather around
The high-pitched part of the voice has long been gone
Wind over the lake
Spill all those gossip
Light penetrating the clouds
After being filtered by leaves
Broken silver is missed on the pebbles
Listen quietly
Those gossip that fall down
Rabbit standing outside this corner
It has also taken a step forward
Step by step towards this twilight
You have to be careful along the way
Hope to go far
A corner of the world
There is no longer the vitality of the rising sun
In the twilight
Those once burning youth
It is being slowly swallowed by the cool moonlight
Lost wings
The haze of many days melts day by day
The sky began to clear
Laughter slowly came back to my ears
A world of disorder
Precipitate those unwarranted worries
Lingering pain
Scattered by the wind at once
Melancholy rose
A long-lost smile unfolded
You're still the same person I used to be with
Like lost wings
At the spring equinox
Back in the field
Face your face
My sky is clear blue
The air is fresh and elegant
Days like this are really cherished
Dusk will eventually be swallowed by moonlight
But before the moonlight comes
I will watch over the wings that come and go from south to north
Protect the roses that accompany me
Until the lights come on
Author: Fan Futang, a native of Zhengzhou City, Henan Province, a registered poet of China Poetry Network, and a columnist of the Sleeping Poetry Society. Adhering to the concept of pursuing harmony between man and nature, and pursuing peace and happiness of the soul, enjoy a poetic life in the ocean of poetry. He has published more than 1,000 poems in periodicals and micro-journals such as Feitian, Poetry Monthly, Poetry Magazine, Today's Headlines, Chinese Poets, and Henan Poets.
In the lower parts of the earthly world
In the lower parts of the earthly world
The grass blooms silently and sets seeds
Silently continue a lifetime of joy
If we can't stop
Gaze with an inquiring heart
It's easy to miss
This inch of brilliant time
In the lower parts of the earth
The lake slowly pushes the ripples
Step by layer
If the birdsong can't stop the storm in the world
Peek with a gentle breeze
will be hastily ignored
The love and disputes of this lake
I focus on things that are low
Just as I am concerned about my own destiny
All turn around no longer adrift
It's as if you've returned to the countryside
All unyielding growth
It's all about tightening my mother's clothes
Attachment-like meekness brews
The days are so peaceful
The days are so peaceful
The wind of the years is more delicate
Like casual ripples on the surface of a lake
A time that people can recognize at a glance
It has begun to plump
Tree by tree has stepped forward
Day by day, the grass is in full bloom
All expectations will be
Bright in the sun
And constantly close to the heart
Because it's too simple
The sky is always pure blue
Because I love it too much
The earth is constantly blooming
If you can hold back your inner compassion
We'll give each word
Give an abundant soul
Let them be delicate like mallows
Supporting each one
An auspicious day at your fingertips
Wheat covered with yellow
The wind of May sounded
Wheat ridges are yellow
The edge of the day
Harder and harder
From soft to old
Always relentless years
Too much goodness filtered out
Too much sadness
Sometimes the liver sausage is broken
Not hesitation
But the final bleakness
From grout to fullness
Always selfless sunshine
Too much desire added
Too many dreams
Every hint of maturity
All with the new fragrance of childhood wheat
Joy and joy
Life is like that
The more heartfelt impassioned
The more it makes sense
It will be a colorful time
Engraved in our hearts
Author: Wan Qian, a native of Xinjian District, Nanchang City, Jiangxi Province, has been working in Fujian for a long time, is a member of the Fujian Writers Association, and has now retired to his hometown. His poems, essays, and literary criticism have been published in state-level newspapers and periodicals such as "Poetry Journal", "Literature and Art News", "Works and Controversies", "China Youth Daily" and more than a dozen provincial pure literary journals (provincial newspaper supplements); He has published 6 poetry collections, and his poems have been compiled into various editions.
Love in May (Outer 2)
Text/Thousands of thousands
May, all the days are in love
Bright and amorous
Sunlight is the blood of May
Your mind is no longer moldy
- May days are always dry and refreshing
New Valley is your feeling
The particles are full and flawless
Like your passionate passion
- The days of May are ripening
The harvest is your hope
An open scythe
Vast expanses of joy rose and fell in the chest
As you embrace sweet love
- The days of May are pregnant with brewing...
Step into May
All days are fragrant
Beautiful and welcoming
July, a kind of anticipation
I live on the floor closest to the fireball
In July, I was surrounded by red flames
Drought spreads from beneath your feet Noble aspirations
It is a call for an elegant and amorous rain
Moisturize my anxious heart
Ideally
Whose umbrella floated towards me like a cloud
In a dreamscape of thick shade
I perceive the season of sowing
Approaching again
Since my youth rice harvest has failed
Rush to plant autumn
It is our generation's last chance
August Reiki
- Read photos of your friends' seaside landscapes
The days of August are not burdened by fruit
Unload its own heaviness
Right at this very moment
All days ride
Your shawl hair
Revel in the sea breeze
You don't have to chase where your gaze is hidden
Contemplating the artistic conception
It is enough to make a season
Subtle and fragrant
Cross the height of the spire of a Gothic church
A strand of hair runs like a flag throughout August
Through the casually combed cover, August
There is a hazy fragrance of thoughts
There is a hidden meaning sprouting up
As a result, there is still a fish's mood
Cutter along the waterfall of memory
Sense the passion of August flowing endlessly
Like a laurel tree standing in the wind
Don't ask about the glitz of the fruit
but made heaven and earth
Full of divine meaning...
Face the sea and look for light with black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "giving voice to grassroots poets" as its mission and promotes the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of life and life by poetry. He has now published a collection of poems co-authored by poets: "Reading Sleeping Poems: Spring Blossoms" and "Reading Sleeping Poems Anthology: Grass and Warblers Flying". Poetry friends have worked tirelessly, the poetry club has forged ahead, constantly innovating, recommending excellent poems, producing high-quality poetry collections, reciting excellent works, recommending poets' works in various forms, so that more people can read excellent works and taste poetry culture, we are on the march!