Good poems of the day
I want to wait for the spring flowers to bloom
You are trapped in the here and now
Wear a fur coat left by your ancestors
You have clear eyebrows and beautiful eyes, and you have the charm left by your distant ancestors
(White and red, like one.)
Fast-ripening apples. ）
Then you sat on top of the temple
Lingering fragrance in the abdomen. You bathe, pray, and then burn:
The earth after 10,000 wormwood soaks -
You write love regardless of it
It's like the spring flowers I wait for day and night
Years later, I passed through this place
Fallen leaves caress the skin of the autumn wind,
A few yellowed photos leave lamenting eyes
When people touch my memories again
The grief that endured for many years
It flowed out with a "whoosh".
Sometimes I want to ask for help with a cigarette
When there is nothing to do
I crouched at the base of the wall, like a stray old dog
Timidly revealing to the world the dignity of poverty
In the past, I was strong and powerful, and I also fell in love in the summer
My arms are like the wind
I've been tired of butterflies, and I've been tired of dragonflies that dot water on the pool
But why do you have to say that the spring that leaked out unconsciously
Why do you have to say that this is innate
Why do you have to say me?
Loved you
Now, you're like a gust of wind
Skimming by in amazement. (My proud heart.)
I don't want to keep you)
But, I love your wandering wreck
It's like loving a person who grows in spring
note
Sometimes, I even want to ask for help with a cigarette
Plant colorful neon on on the sand where you can kneel
But I'm not May's Eros
I'm just a passerby
Tired, melancholy and forgetful
Love-
I don't have extravagant hopes anymore
I don't expect love anymore
I just wish I could hold me tight tomorrow
Beauty, please let go of my hand
Let go of my steps that I can't move freely
Give me another Band-Aid
Let the white clouds of heaven cover me
You say there is no suffering
Why do I always want to wander the world?
Could it be the wound of the sun's bleeding?
Add a layer of sorrow to the annual rings?
If not
Please bring back my dead love
Please stop my whistling heart and rush to the sea
Please take sorrow from my tormented heart
Scattering, blowing—
Life is short
Life is short,
It's so short that it calls it by its name
Strange neighbors
Float past me gently
Like a wisp of smoke,
No, more like a young cloud
My steps are heavy,
The mind is tired and dazed
Nostalgia for this world,
I think of the sincerity of a shy smile
The cunning of childhood slipped by
Sky –
How many years
I'm like a mussel shell
Open, close, and on
Statue Loneliness
This weight-bearing organ
It's old
Stair handrails are mottled,
It seems to be the skin of age
But
I'm still passionate about freedom
Passionate about following young lives
Not constrained by cross-examining gaze
Like the flowers that fall -
open
I won't tell you (one song)
I won't tell you
I'm just a poet
Loved, hated
In a world where there is no love and honey
Such as grass and trees to spend spring
Autumn—
Such as the process of the growth of things
Frost, dew, tears
Touched by you, cared for by you
But I'm not going to tell you
My dear, I will never tell you
I cry every night
Hour, and won't let you know
I love you every moment
per point
Unavoidable
You don't have to hide your melancholy
No, it's always on the way home
Tangled childhood curled dreams
It really doesn't have to-
There, it seems, there were
You sleep with the moonlight all over the place
There has been a chest that embraces ideals
When your native accent
Sandwiched by all over the world, how do I know
What the years have given you is the vicissitudes of life
Or innocent hope
Like how can I say
I love you, the earth is desolate
Penance Monk
Even if there is no love in life
We still chose to survive
The gods on the trees never eat away at the fireworks of the world
They live a life of ingenuity
Lonely old ascetic, you know
I also love the coolness of the former side under the linden tree
Did you know that there is light in the eyes of the blind?
Fantasy groped for hope out of the darkness
Sleep, since you can't get rid of it
The misery of life, since fate has been
Knock out the potholes, since every day
All have to wait for the sun to set
It's been done day in and day out
The world is so big that we can still bury it
How much secrecy? And what pain
We can't put it down gently
inverted image
A tree reflects in the water
In July, the sky fell
It's like an adolescent child
My heart is full of jumping and melancholy stars
Through the tired, lazy branches
The water ripples and sighs
It was as if an old man suddenly remembered
A nursery rhyme sung by his mother when she was young
When the crow of pain wakes up from insomnia
I saw myself drowning with yesterday's tree
It flew away
Leaving behind another miserable self
Like my wandering heart......
Clouds
A puffy cloud is another one
Feelings of sadness can also follow
I was outside the door for a long time
I didn't cry out loud until now
Except for the whimpering wind outside the window
Almost nothing
What kind of vertigo is the desire to cry without tears
Who saw it, in order to find the feeling of wetness
You swim out of the river into the sea
A beautiful woman sitting on top of the totem
The tribal god of the ancient corner of the grass memorab
The bride who bathed in orchid
Your excited chest rises and falls
My sentimentality
It's time to set sail
Fog looms from Dawn's mouth
To welcome the first drop of dew
A welcoming procession is in the water
I say goodbye to my parents at this time
On a horse without a bridle
Forgotten time, jewels of youth
At this moment, it became the moon in the water
The fertile soil of goodness is returned to open-minded feelings
Return to the dream where you slept with the moon
At the top of the mountain rock there is a fluttering flag
It is written that the song is high and low, passing through the eyes of children
Immediately a look of surprise appeared
I just woke up to the fact that I was human
It's really not a god—
When the wild geese flew over the pun song of September
I'm ashamed of what I used to be
I'm ashamed to fall in love with you. I'm dusty
Underneath my body
Only the dirt that was ploughed day and night
No need to say more green peach and plum!
The rolling crystals are the tears of thought
But the back of my hand
Thousands of dream words were uttered
When the wild goose flies over the basil in September
The finches swallowed their anger
The setting sun drops burnt briquettes
Like fireworks in a crematorium, they continue to torture and grief
Whenever after July, Vega
will reveal the hard work of lovesickness
There is always a piece of love in the world in the past life
A passage is left for this life-
I love you, at least fifty-three years
My face reflects sadness
Reflecting the sun, reflecting the colorful kingdom of water
Reflect your skirt
The broken shadows of the kapok flowers floated down
I love you, at least fifty-three years
But I, asleep
I may still be asleep for a while
Saraku—
You imagine mine--,
Except for what I imagined.
My native language is at least from Spring and Autumn
From a migration, a ceremonial shame
An encounter outside of the classroom
As in the imaginary evening
I've hugged you
I love you and nothing else
Just because you look back and smile.
On a dividing line, love is like a junior high school student
A knife in your hand
Divide the green, but also divide pi
Divide the youth of my love for you
The minutes of time
Seconds, seconds—
Fly like Fei'e
She's far away
If not in the Northern Hemisphere, then in the Southern Hemisphere
It's just that the latitude and longitude of the foothold are unknown.
Maybe it's the rainy season
Some can be found
Sad fallen leaves
When the stars have not yet completely set into the sea
Early in the morning she said: she needs an autumn and winter
It also takes a spring and summer
It takes a spring-like reflection
As if in need of caresses,
A sleepy-eyed midnight
Listen to a piece of music sung by hundreds of people
Yes
She always likes to keep one eye open
Close your eyes and get rid of loneliness
It's as if it can fit anything
For example, some pieces are broken, and some are caught off guard
But I didn't tell her
I fly like Fei'e, not to fight fires
Rather, it is a futile search for hope
Fire seedlings
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.