Good poems of the day
Is there a snow that leads to your past life?
I'm no longer obsessed with a bleak narrative
No longer crafted from icy snow
This is your city alone
Those boiling blood
Or a collection of poems written with blood
Only suitable when the moonlight is rising
Tell you through the blue Qianmo
My life may be your own flame
Those that lurk on the back of the moonlight
How to use a warm tone
I would like to tell you about my bumpy life
It's just the moonshine, it's the middle of summer, it's the flowers that bloom
It doesn't matter what lies in the white snow
What secrets are sealed
I still found the black butterfly that had died in the moonlight from a bush
The creature that only lived one second longer than the fish
How to survive that bloody night
Far better than a lore order
The tragedy and tragedy brought by it
No one speaks of that false flame in the wind and frost
Burn a lifetime in time
The only remaining oath
Or a parting without a farewell
A goodbye to each other
Words of Time (group of poems)
One
It's snowflakes that are too superficial
Or the night wind is too arrogant
Those who hold prayer flags in their dreams
has long looked down on everything in the world
Crows, clouds, paper, brocade
These are words with gray tones
One by one, they come to life
It didn't seem like a dream
Those with their silver wings may also be bulbuls or other species that can fly alone at night
Unknown object
Two
In the icy winter months
My rage
Not limited to descriptions of snowflakes
The lone weasel crouched on top of a swarthy pine needle tree
I heard the bright moonlight
from its soft body
Make a loud noise
Like me in the quiet of midnight
Knock on your spirit
Those roses that have long fallen in love maybe
is experiencing an indescribable catastrophe
Besides
My soul is slowly resting
When the otter emerges from the water
In the voice of a venerable elder
Said in the moonlight
I wrote to Huynbel
promise
Three
In Narati or Namtso
I hear those roselles
Dance on the water
Raised swords
On the beautiful Hulunbuir prairie
Hand up and knife down
I hear hunters
Surrounded by a wild muntjac
Or rats that are more agile than wild muntjacs
Those wild mice also have the goodness of humans
Describe a piece of snow
When I'm no longer obsessed with
Description of a snowfall
Those objects that are lighter than a feather
- Snow temple gardenia
Flame of light, dust, feathers
These are objects that are lighter than the soul
Often when I'm leaning over
It's gone
It's gone
I still can't forget it
There is too much confusion this winter
These are thousands of times heavier than a shell
Like a rock, like a tumble, like a desert
It's hovering in my heart all the time
These are adrift in the distance
Huge objects
I couldn't get to the shore for a long time
Wandering, floating, exile
These are tearful verbs
Perhaps the hope of the past has long been erased
It's still the icy midnight
Bow down to you as a palace of snow and ice
Be your king
And I can only look around
Except to pray for you with a green lantern
Your prosperity has my back
- A lonely and vain man
It's just this snow
He will no longer be at my mercy
I don't know who it is to bury Nong in the coming year
One
The orchid leaves in the Book of Poetry are still crying
I heard the cold moon on the banks of the Chu River
The object that belongs to the poet's repeated chanting
Roll down the steps
All I can think of is the death of a warhorse
or
Just swaying in the bright moon
Absolutely stationary
In those noisy falling flowers
No rain-soaked gardenias can be found
White as anyone's eyes
Two
Tomorrow is coming with the bones of the late Qing Dynasty
The rotten wood that was blown away by the twilight wind
(These are just the objects I saw, hanging upside down outside of the dream)
I can find out
Gently moving around in time
Remnant Sun
Holding some pitch-black prayer flags
There seems to be a lot of new things
Soon to be born
Like waking up a fat feral cat in the middle of the night
Three
In those rains
I could see some transparent objects
For example, in a calla lily
A hotbed of your slumber
And those flowers always pass through
Galloping wind speed
In a certain part of the body
With a balanced tone
Practice repeatedly
And the results obtained
It's just in those tombstones full of fragrant flowers
That suffocating humble word
Four
The solemn Tang Kaili
The resurrected cuckoos
The essence of flowing water is no longer waded from the rainwater
I still haven't learned to forget
In all the landscapes
I'm just a frame of text engraved in rhetoric
on those shy flowers
There was a pause in the perfect pink butterfly in Zhuang Zhou
In the spiritual world of selflessness
With pure love
Write an elegy of sorrow for a philosopher
Five
I saw snow and some cold objects in the snow
It's like the Yin Shang period
character
On the bustling coffin
Embroidered with white platinum-like stars
One by one, those tombstones that stand in the world
It will always be filled in my psalms full of grief
A pool of clear spring water
Or maybe it's a wine that's sweeter than the spring water
In the world, my unaccompanied footsteps are stepping by step
From reality to the emptiness in the distance
Six
Lakes swamps prayer flags
Momoka Hoshijuku Light
Lingering in my amorous palms
Like an unspeakable pain
Seven
I heard a faint singing
It's like a Maitreya who lived in the past
When I want to get closer
But I found that there were too many crows around me
My tearful gaze turned out a shiny bronze
This piece is only a sheltered home
The soul that is only alive
That one doesn't belong to
territory
Peach bouquets, flower pots, clay pots, grains
These things sink into the bottom of life
Once again, the wind loads into my spiritual world
Eight
My fear comes from the field or the sky
The wild chrysanthemum is like the blank morning star in the sky
My back in the sunset
It has been detached from a sense of attachment
In front of the blue gates of hell
With a trembling look, he excused the people of the world
I stand above the nine heavens
Look at the Bodhi of the world
How
In the tone of a sage
Deliver the ultimate salvation for life
Middle-aged resignation
One
Stand quietly in the flowing water
Watch the sun set
Watch the crows disappear
Perhaps all this has long since become a reckless thing in the past
I still hear the wind
and some dead trees in the wind
When I'm no longer addicted
For a description of a snowfall
That seems to be a more concise overlay than knotweed
It is the white salt of the sea in a dream
Or suffering
These are enough things to make me feel lost
exacerbated my interest in winter
opinion
-- Depression, withering, dissipation, and misery
These withered things
It was placed under the bamboo fence of Shen Yuan
I use my hands
Stroking these
Bumpy text in the cold wind
These are the imaginations that make me shudder
Under the temptation of the autumn wind
Hand over the keys of fate
Two
Those meteors that fell on earth
to maximize space
Replace the moon with a beam of light
Replace those who walk in people
The Bodhi of the world
And I just asked again and again
The faint lamp
That delightful summer night
Some unsettling premonitions have gradually emerged
——Tulip flowers bloom Tuli flowers fall
When the sea breeze is in the starry night
Piggyback on the desire for blue
Only then did I know that in those flames
There is no longer your beautiful shadow
The half-blooming afternoon of the flowers
There is destined to be a never-ending autumn rain
The bouquet of white roses that shuddered in the autumn rain
It is an elegy that can never be found again in this life
Three
Over these mountains, lakes, deserts, and the Gobi Desert
I'll be able to find the legendary Pandora's box
A legend about moonshine
maybe
My tears are a little redundant
And I can rely on that empty wilderness
Find the grave, find the tombstone, find the life about
Description of Three Lives III
Gunshots, feathers, white apples
These are gloomy chapters
No poet has ever carried out
Final Submissions
And I'm still looking at the stars in the sky
Speak of the abyss, the extravagant hope, the ocean, and the large expanses of mountain flowers that are softer than water
Four
I hear the spring of the grassland
Populus euphratica yurt
Hear the shepherd girl under the flowers of Gesang
She was tapping the text in the scroll of poetry in the evening
That slightly vibrato-black character
It is a code word and foreshadowing left by a Bodhi
The characters flashed one by one in the black faces
Li Kui, Zhang Fei, Bao Gong
These are far more anxious characters than the long night
Maybe it has already brought me to tears
Five
I hear the wind in the dark night
Clouds, rain and snow
These are spiritual things
Definitely after a hangover
Split with a sharp axe
The shackles that cling to the flesh
When a bowl of wine
It has been engraved with many star seeds
I can't swallow the rain of this earthly world
Those soft camphor trees
One
In Vienna you can think of the height of summer as:
A glass of wine
Those liquors that overflow with the fragrance of women
Serve quietly in a goblet
Become the Mona Lisa in the eyes
Amorous teardrops
I used my ears more than once
Listen to the sound of the waves from the Aegean Sea
Sunset
These tearful pasts
After countless waves crashing
If your chase is already there
Hometown stay
Please not be in the midst of five thousand years of splendor
Pointing the way
Behind those exhilarating words
Maybe it's just a proposition left by the sky
Two
Scented with some gardenias
Graffiti in an ancient clay pot
Our ancestors
Haven't learned to use flames yet
to ingest civilization
These words of Ru Mao drink blood
When you are still stretching your muscles on the turtle's back
I heard the howl of a wild wolf in the valley in the middle of the night
Those shuddering sounds
Through the forests of the Amazon
Hit a young rat in the heart
The wilderness is unimaginable
Maybe it's just a short second
Anything other than that
will be buried in the crocodile's body
Three
When the wind blows
Nothing can stop it
Divine Steps
Those sea of songs that are not silenced
There was a dangling blade
These souls tempered in the light of fire
It will be sent out every late night
The sound of a charming fox
I still can't forget it
I'm in another country, I'm in Vienna
I will receive this grace or baptism from a foreign land
Four
What's next?
All afternoon
I fell into Platonic thinking
Or Socrates
This is the existence of nothing
Will it be on my clamp into the Yin Shang clay pot
Those suffocating deaths on graffiti
prostitute van gogh abstract painting woman sunflower
These dull dark objects
In the background of the blue Danube flowing
In the insolent soul of the beast
Bloom flowers, sunsets, palaces, temples
Five
The sound of dark rain
Like a pious mourner
At the top of the cliff
Jump to my canyon
In the subtropical jungle
Walking apparitions of the moonlight
These are slightly dark blue landscapes
Be awakened by the boisterous waves
The sunflowers wilted
Those famous paintings of Van Gogh have long since jumped out of the library
Jazz Dance Spain
Congo
I hear these things that have lost their Chinese elements
Again in Laos, Myanmar, Vietnam or some small town
Draw a bright red five-star red flag
Six
Follow the sheep intestine trail in Lijiang
I can find 5,000 years of time
It's nothing but a curtain of the heart
We stopped
Make a musical instrument out of horns
In a market town in Portugal
Peddle
Civilization beast firelight
These ancestors are in the bones
Something arrogant that shines brightly
Once again, it has been smelted into the integrity of our nation
antiquity
Nobody knows
Your past life
Is there a sorrow like snow?
- I can only ask a group of pink butterflies
Your story, your legend, your preferences
These are painful propositions
It resembles a white flower at dusk
The same loneliness
It's like the mesmerizing white jasmine in the rain or the rose peony
I humbly imagined that I was just a dogwood born in the mountains
Those white ones don't blend in with me
In the rain, in the dream
I walked gently
Wandering alone
Tears flowed slowly
These raindrops are my tears of indulgence
Thin, weak, humble
These are like me
Like me
Not with heaven and earth
Resonating souls
I may just be a hard rock
Waiting for you
Waiting for you in a pack full of roses
Load me on
- A black pebble or a piece of wood that doesn't make sense of the world
I know
I am so vain
So persistent
So anxious
When your figure dangles past me
You would never imagine the disappointment in my eyes
There was also a torch-like light
You can't see it, you can't hear it
Nor will it be perceived
I'm just a sentimental stone
No one will touch my heart
- There will also be gurgling blood
Don't know your past life
Is it the majestic Kunlun
Everyone admires your height
And I can only wait quietly
Waiting for the clear mountain spring
Wash me
The dust on the heart
It's the dust I think about day and night
Is there a road?
A way to your past life
Or maybe I fantasize about one day
Plug in a pair of flying wings
Glide on your snow
Look for the life in your brilliant light
Peach blossoms or roses
- These flowers that you cherish
I'm just on those flowers
Butterflies that refuse to leave
Please don't
Banish me with the dust of your hand
I'm just a butterfly waiting for a thousand years
author
Geng Bing, net name: Houde Zaiwu, post-70s, college culture, member of Jiangsu Writers Association, columnist of Reading Sleep Poetry Society. In 95, he began to publish his works, and his works were scattered in more than 100 kinds of literary publications such as "Writer's Daily" and "Poetry", and won more than 30 national awards.