Original Poetry | Reading Sleeping Poetry Club with picture | network
"There is a breeze blowing in the field"
Text/Little Brute
When I was a child, there was a breeze blowing in the fields.
It's also fun to run on the road when it's raining,
At that time, we didn't know how to protect plants.
The walnut tree at the entrance of the school is carved with our childhood;
At that time, we weren't so fond of beauty.
After lying down and watching the sky, the clothes were washed and washed, and we were still dressed to school;
The grandfather who sold popsicles at the door always smiled and looked at me,
He said his old dog had given birth to a little treasure and wanted to give me one.
.
When I was a child, there was a breeze blowing in the fields,
Barefoot cattle always graze back and forth in the fields,
At that time, I didn't understand the hard work of farming.
I always think about eating quickly, and after eating it, it will be easy in the autumn.
Just go home sick and take medicine,
Clothes that wash too much will turn yellow,
That puppy has not been born in my house anymore,
"Nostalgia"
Text/Small bridge flowing water
The moon fell in the clouds
Footsteps, waiting on the way home
It was a few brilliant fireworks that fell and sighed
It is the soil of deep ploughing and a rainy ground facing each other
The heart, accidentally, fell to the ground
The sound of breaking is clear but cold to the bone
Yesterday I was also fishing in the water of the Fenhe River
Today's dew has dried up the memory of the falling window
Each call was close to the village, close to the field
And every inch of the gully is so pale and powerless
Miss, it turned out to be just a bud with buds
The flowers can only bloom once
But it can't open its vastness and far-reaching
Sixteen Moons
Text/Bear
A look up
The moon was so round that it startled me
The frog returns to earth
Gentle breeze
If no mosquitoes chase
So comfortable that people don't want to go home
I don't understand the frog's dialect
Call me:
Can I have a drink?
The past is like a fish that slipped through the net
Remember bittersweetly in the river of memories
I just remember
The moon was also round that night
Crooked melons
It's all cracked
The passage of the mosquito is full of sorrow
Look up at the full moon
Tears welled up in an instant
"Stubborn"
Text/Leaf Komatsu
I'm leaving, with a storm on the stars
Also with lightning. My kernel is small
Can't store anymore
The content of pathos -
The tired fruit is bent
The age of a tree. A new generation
It's like confusion, and it's like twilight
The shadow of the tired tree
The train roared --
Roll the light of lightning into the night
Shake every speeding window
Secluded fields, scattered villages
I'm leaving, but I don't know
When will we be able to figure out the world
When will it be considered a complete withering.
Oh, all the prayers
Less than a dying pain
In the eyes of the stars, in the myth of dead wood and spring
"If the Sun Never Abandoned The World"
Text/Hawkeye
The river of time has taken away, and it is not known where it is going
Everything that is lost will not be lost again
If the same person
He was the only one who experienced it. For example, the world is exaggerated
Love and hate, and the heart of suffering
The flowers of dawn, collected by the setting sun
The night is not nothing. It leaves a crystal clear dew on each leaf
That's the best but fleeting gift
If you love someone
Please don't wait
The waiter keeps looking, keeps comparing
They leave the trust to time
Surrender yourself to the lonely God—
Pray all the time
Although the moment is safe
Dusk thus flashed the gaze of the pretender
To get the answer, the flowers are in the seeds
Human reproduction
Answer similar questions
When the river is swirling in one place, that lake is water
Also flickering the same wave of light
If only the sun had never abandoned the world
We sleep
It will fall on a diamond of dawn
Green Train
Wen \ Jiang Zuo
On the way
These slow hours, wobbly
Arriving in a beam of light —
July, the month when the grass seeds are about to ripen —
July of the child, berry
And the July on the fence wall in the memory—
A little ashes of July
Yes, you know July
July far from the south and north -
Reading Sleeping Poetry Society: Facing the sea, looking for light with black eyes! The mission of the Reading and Sleeping Poetry Club is to "speak for grassroots poets" and carry forward the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, and the spiritual pleasure of poetry. Original contributions are welcome!