Author: Ma Weiju, male, born in 1957, from Huining, Gansu Province, living in Beijing. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association, the China Railway Writers Association, and the Chinese Poetry Society, and a columnist of the Reading and Sleeping Poetry Society. His poems have been published in dozens of publications such as "Poetry Magazine", "Poetry Monthly", "China Railway Literature and Art", "Ginseng Flower", and some of his works have been included in various anthologies. Published poetry collections "Gap" and "Deep Snow".
rainy weather
On a rainy day, swallows land on power lines
Threes and threes talked
From time to time, he shakes his wings and pecks at his feathers
They are more like the aunts and sisters-in-law of the old home
Only on rainy days can you sit together like this
Talking about the topic of women
Writhing rusty joints
Pick up the critter through the seams in the clothes
Gently snort
When the swallows are quiet
Like a quiet God
Floating in the upper echelons of the world, neither high nor low
When the women are idle
I realized it in a trance
And God sat in the midst of them
Handlebars
Originally, I had a lot of sharp thorns
Love and hate
When I don't like it, I scream
Fall into the hands of the years
Who's on the patient turf
I fade away the greenness and the thorns
The edges and corners are finely polished
The sizing of the bone is revealed little by little
They say: close to perfection
I pushed back the thorns that were growing outward
Inverted eyelashes, pierced into the eyeballs
I tied the scream to a dead knot
Helplessly
Become a piece of the handle in their hands
Under the slurry
Dull, if there is no pain
My respect
I respect moments like this—
The sun sets
The wilderness is silent
The remnants of the clouds that retreated plunged the earth into darkness
Only fireflies carry lanterns to guide the way of past creatures
I respect such occasions -
Police cars are not allowed to enter
Official buses are not allowed to enter
Luxury cars of bosses and celebrities cannot be entered
Only wheelchairs, strollers and garbage trucks are allowed
I respect people like that—
Do not bow to power
Don't bow your head to bullies
Do not bow down to the claws of fate and the despicability of human nature
but bowed his head to the wailing in the dust
Author: Ye Xiaosong, born in 1964, screen name, Prometheus (fire thief), columnist of the Reading Sleep Poetry Society, poetry writing enthusiast. Some of the poems are included in "Reading Sleep Poems: Spring Blossoms" and "Reading Sleep Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". The language of poetry is unique, the poetry is agile, and he is good at digging out the poetic soil and building the castle of poetry from the silhouette of life. Poetry has its own unique meaning and specialness, and has a certain degree of recognition.
Stubborn love that has been seen
Tonight, Xinjiang is in my body
A meandering vein
It's as if my ideals are watering both sides
Tonight, memories revived,
That's how I have been for thousands of years
Grow and grow. Don't be nostalgic
I was destined for nothing.
In the cold season of spring, the river water is light
For some reason, my body
Constant washing of sorrows. It's been ten years
Like a seed of sorrow
Twitching my heart. This is
The seventh day of the year, I thought
Lip untened, but
Things in the world have long been wrong
On the shore, I see the years
Take off the mottled figure, I know
It wasn't someone else who destroyed me
It's the love I've been stubborn with all my life.
What they said to me
What they said to me
is being optimized, my life
I am paying for traffic in the packet
Like a shooting star
But I don't have a song
I can't replace anyone
This is fate, like the wind blowing through the lilacs
Dripping sorrow. It's like autumn again
A shelf full of grapes
Starlight. And me
It was destined to be just a dream
It's just a memory, like a rose
After a love opening
Only to express nostalgia. -- I didn't even cry anymore.
Babble
People who don't want to wait
The sun fell on his face
It's just a drowsy stagnant water
He didn't know why
This world is every day
Hugging the head of the rat
The sun sometimes wants to understand
The hometown of butterflies
If the moon falls on the back of a dark cloud
The beeping will stop even then
The night will also stop rippling
People who can stop in moderation
It's not about giving up on opportunities
That's a philosophy
Put it on the face of the open-minded
But even a hundred years later
You wouldn't have thought of it
I'm writing a love poem at the moment
In this night when the Grim Reaper had harvested half of it
I can't help but miss that
The one who gave up on me in the first place
Author: Chen Wenbin, pen name: Shu, born in February 1964, from Lingshui Li Autonomous County, Hainan Province, graduated from Hainan University with a major in agronomy, and is a member of the Sleeping Poetry Society. Since childhood, he has loved literature, especially poetry and prose, and has published short stories in "Oasis".
The shimmering blue light of the window
The shimmering blue light of the window
The dark eyes in the corner of the wall are smooth and moist
A black cloud fell in front of the window, and everything fell into the primordial night
A faint orange yellow through a black cloud sieve
Wobbly and swaying
is playing an ancient and lingering tune with the night
And all things returned to the night of the past
The night melted the dark eyes
The dark eyes melted into the cosmic night of cosmic thinking
I picked up a smile on the corner that day
He held her in the warmest part of his body
That night, holding her, following the guidance of the nightshade
Look for places that you dream about in the morning
A white horse sprang out of the white clouds that covered the moon
With a Northern Lights
With a shudder, he became an ice sculpture
Trembling, he came to the corner of the street
He wanted to slam that smile on the black tiles
Laughter has been tied to warmth by a bunch of soft silk
Untitled
Once a crane.
In the clouds, in the fog,
Half a century has passed.
Even one day,
The clouds are gone, the fog is gone,
Looking back, I couldn't help but sigh: I see.
What book has its own golden house, and there is Yan Ruyu in the book.
You know,
There is a way, beauties love heroes, there is a way, beauties love scholars?
Everything is inferior, only reading is high.
You can see,
Everyone on stage is a doctor
Who are the audience?
The crane that once stood proudly at the desk,
Lucky to be the counsellor of the chicken,
Complacent at the Eagle's Banquet.
The taste, it seems to be easy to solve, and it is not easy to solve,
When it is solved, the sideburns are frosty.
That's it, that's it.
It doesn't matter if he's the Golden House or Yan Ruyu,
It doesn't matter if he's on stage or offstage.
Back in the dream,
Go and see the village stream where I fished and caught shrimp as a child,
To repeat the freedom and joy of playing in the water,
Go and see the bare farts that have been sunburned and are neither black nor white.
Laughed, laughed, relieved, relieved.
The secret of life cannot be revealed.
The truth of the existence of the vast universe.
Author: Jin Kui apprentice, formerly known as Yuan Jianping, a member of the Sleep Poetry Society, a native of Qin'an County, Tianshui City, Gansu Province, with a university degree, likes to write, and loves traditional Chinese medicine. In the past three years, nearly 100 poems, micro-novels, essays, and essays have been scattered on online poetry platforms such as "Xinjiang Literature", "Today's Writers", "China Poetry Network", "Reading Sleeping Poetry Society", and "Such Poetry Magazine".
fall equinox
The phone screen pops up
Today's autumnal equinox
Wallpaper is
A basket of melons and fruits
Reminds me
Mother's vegetable garden
drink
If you didn't come
You won't know
How many cups I drank
If you come
You know I haven't had many drinks
House slaves
Inside the bus
A little girl of two, eight or nine years old
Talk about hardcover rooms, rough rooms
Buy a big house when you grow up
An old man in his seat cast his gaze
The kid is so smart and gives a thumbs up
I said softly
Reality is too poisonous
Another generation of house slaves
Honest nurse
A trainee nurse measures a patient's blood pressure
The first time, I couldn't hear clearly
The second time, I couldn't hear clearly
The third time, I couldn't hear it clearly
The old nurse reminded
Fourth, a standard blood pressure value was reported
80，120mmHg
cough
on the bus
I held it for a long time
I still coughed
All heads, masks
It turned around neatly and in an orderly manner
I coughed hard a second time
Hold back
Ocean Island Trip (2 songs)
Text/Cao Hui
Walking around the island
The sea is dressed in blue and flutters in the wind
The celestial dome also put on blue clothes and swirled silently
The wind blew through the woods, shaking a patch of reeds
I'm reminiscing about the way I came, the sunshine
The feeling of hitting the body. Suddenly
A burst of snow fell on my head
First there was surprise, then surprise
What kind of experience it was, I just was
was full of green silk, but in an instant he turned into a white-headed old man
Chrysanthemum field
The blue sea calms down
A pod of white dolphins leaps out of the water
A splash of silver splashed
Autumn colors are beautiful, they belong to me or to you
It doesn't matter, it's just this piece
The chrysanthemums are blooming vigorously
No one can stop it, and no one can clean it up
The waves fold along the surface of the sea with the years
It doesn't take into account your sadness or joy
Nor do I pay attention to you on the way in late autumn
I am passing by this chrysanthemum field
I wrote the Psalms on green leaves
Text/Thorough Heart 66 (Jiangsu)
Let go of your unbearable self, a leaf dream
Caught Haru off guard
I can't remember who to find to drink, in the poem
on the ruins. Green leaves
Intersect with me
The hour of the heart is not allowed to linger
Posing in poetic poses, occasionally leafy
Tale. recall
It's a kind of loss, who
Folded up the wind
No leaf is superfluous, poet
I did the punctuation of the time cycle
The shadow of the flower moved the silence of the night
Text/Thorough Heart 66 (Jiangsu)
The night breeze sits on the branches
Teasing the shadow of the flower
It's empty and concrete, who knows what's in it
Drunk. Moon
Float in
Crooked Old Street
Blurred eyes, moved the night
Quiet. Ink
description
The story behind it
The buds can't help but bloom
One called
More than half a step away, who sang off forever
String. star
Spilled
Nan Wu's tears
Wipe a page of dust, in exchange for a thought
Befall. Rocking chairs on the balcony
Misunderstood
The moon and the stars
Get used to walking in the light
Text/Thorough Heart 66 (Jiangsu)
When the birds flutter their wings, they sweep through the dusk
of the afterglow. It still is
Habitually searching
A seed lost in autumn
On a field hollowed out by the wind
I walk in the light
Look at the picturesque scenery and watch the birds leisurely
Everything with my steps
- Naturally
The waves in the sunset, plucking the heart
Sea. A
Clouds on the shoulders
Sketch out the blank space that turns into an empty space in the blink of an eye
lake surface
Text/Lesheng
Beneath the footprints of the years
The man who had collected his steps went away
As the wind blows, the mountains will block it
My yellowed things are still shaky
This makes me ashamed
Is it more historical to dig it out of the night and bury it back in the soil?
There are many stubborn yearnings in the world
My humble pain
Frost and snow fall on the eaves, and there is no purity
It's like just escaping from a double dream
The man left his emaciated past on the cigarette butt at the intersection
Bear doubts and pity in the spring rain and autumn wind
The wind blew the night into the boundless air
He saw another one in the darkness walking around the corner
The cricket sings the farewell speech of the evening star
But I still chose to confront myself and indulge in the lake
When the water is shallow, the aquatic plants show their shoulders
Shake the dark brown stones out of your body
remember
Text/Lesheng
I think of iris, the lake, the reeds
Teardrops, laughter
And hyacinths
I think of the home I copied in the painting
and wrinkled by the wind
My scribbled signature is scattered
I think of the reunion
But every reunion is a farewell
Every tomorrow is saying: see you at the next intersection
I think of the lonely stars shining in the night sky
The doves took off on the eaves, and the sun set in a panic
Fade away in melancholy
I want to get past the fog of the hordes
Go to the top of the next mountain
Go to the top of the last mountain
I'm going to leave a few tears
Some laughter and some of the things that people can't see
A more permanent memorial than hunger and death
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting 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 poetry to living life. He has published a collection of poems co-authored by poets, "Reading Selected Sleep Poems: Spring Warm Flowers" and "Reading Sleep Selected Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". Poetry friends have been working hard, the poetry club is forging 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 appreciate poetry culture, we are on the move!