See clearly the wandering track of Chu Moon,
Publicly put children's stories,
Scattered gently in the fog ...
When the dance of the stars dissipates,
Pink summer can't wait to set up a stage on my face.
The village is very quiet, as if I were the only one.
Actually, it's not quiet-
Chengcheng's vegetable basket has followed her footsteps to the market.
It's a temptation-
Poetic temptation!
I know, your food basket is the same as all food baskets.
Full of life stories and country slang.
The taste of the vegetable basket is my long-lost grandmother of the same kind!
This is also a kind of desire-
Desire as soft as smoke!
I think I have learned to return to nature.
But it turns out that its truth does not exist outside the ocean.
It should be in the basket, in the bird's mouth.
Birds' mouths can peck through the dawn bit by bit.
Listen! Here they come, sing a song for me.
This lyric just fills the huge time difference between my hometown and Wang Yang.
Pink Xia dances more and more enthusiastically.
My melancholy and love, and a group of admiration for the peace of the vegetable basket,
All dance with ... ...
The rising sun politely wrote poems in Huang Ju, Weng Tao.
The first draft of agave 20xx/71is in my hometown.
20xx/8/2 was completed in China.
Modern poetry is a little shy at 2 a.m.
And live up to your mission.
You try to clean it.
Dust in the air
Try to bury the filth
Your innocence
A row of dazzling silver flowers decorated in the crown of the tree.
Those depressed plants
Vivid because of your existence.
Dense pine branches support it
Clouds of sugar.
Will breathe slightly sweet.
Enter the heart and spleen
You didn't stay long.
When the howling wind blows
Your beautiful image has quietly gone with the wind.
Leave only a few memories
Tell people
There you are. ......
Although you are a little stiff and shy, you live up to your mission. You try your best to clean the dust in the air and bury the filth in your innocence. You decorate the trees with silver flowers, and the gloomy crown is vivid and dense because of your visit. Pine branches hold up clouds of sugar and send sweet breath into your heart and spleen. You didn't stay long. When the sun rises, your beautiful image has quietly died, leaving only some memories to tell people that you have been here. ......
Although a little stiff and shy.
And live up to your mission.
Try to remove dust from the air.
Try to bury the filth
Your innocence
Dazzling silver flowers dotted with trees.
Those sunken canopies
Vivid because of your existence.
Dense pine branches support it
Clouds of sugar.
Send a slightly sweet breath into the heart and spleen.
You didn't stay long.
When the sun rises in the sky
Your beautiful image has quietly left.
Leave only a few memories
Tell people
There you are. ......
Modern Poetry in the Early Morning 3 Early Morning in Summer
chhirp
Express everyone's thoughts.
Everyone is aware of it.
This is a vibrant season.
Roses are in bud.
The weeping willows are affectionate.
Grass in the cracks of corner bricks
Shiny naughty eyes
Pick it with your little finger.
Laugh like tears
Summer is short and romantic.
I saw a heart-shaped flower.
Open and close.
I never got a chance to say that sentence.
but
Give birth to a green fruit
wait for
Mature autumn
Morning of Modern Poetry 4 A Pedal Tricycle
Some simple vegetables
An old man with thick hair.
Yelling at the gate of the park
Start a new day full of hope.
One leek at a time
How many crows are there?
And the light of the stars
Dewy
Fragrant, crowded
A laundry list, root
Comfortable ground
Confess to people
This is not greed.
Is to keep
Every drop of fragrance
Radish after radish.
And the moon, in
In the same basin
Bath, water
Skin, let the morning light
Put on pink yarn, carcass
More and more delicate and charming
also
Pepper, tomato, cabbage
Let this morning
Assemble in the carriage
At different times
Different areas
Different quantities
The same thin shoulders
And uneven moonlight
Cloudy eyes
Glow in search
A tired face
Save the best smile
A hoarse voice
Imitate shouting
Rough hand
Trembling with endless hope
Chinese chives
Pick it up from the ground.
A vegetable leaf
Take back the carriage
It belongs to the chickens and ducks at home.
breakfast
or ...
Morning of Modern Poetry 5 (1)
Wearing headphones,
Loose hair,
Wandering in the street by bike.
Tired,
Squatting on the side of the road,
Holding his chin in his right hand,
Looking at the dying leaves on the ground tortured by pedestrians.
Lift your head slightly,
Through the lens,
And then through the hair,
Looking at the pedestrians coming and going in a hurry,
Laugh,
It turned out that I was the only one.
Hold your head up,
The long-lost sunshine makes people dizzy.
Habitually raise your right hand,
Cover your eyes,
Fingers slowly separate,
Let the sun shine on my face through my fingers.
As it turns out,
The sunshine is so warm.
(2)
I like the sunshine in winter,
Sprinkle it all over your body to keep warm,
It makes people sleepy,
Have infinite yearning.
I like the warm wind in spring,
Embrace her with open arms,
A kite lies on the grass and looks at the sky.
Follow your heart,
Fly in the blue sky together.
I like cloudy days in summer,
Somewhere in the dark room,
Quietly waiting for a rainstorm,
Covering the earth in an instant,
At that moment,
Finally find your own world.
I like the fallen leaves in autumn,
With the autumn wind hovering in the air,
Squatting on the side of the road and enjoying it quietly,
Everything seems so lonely!
(3)
A piece of paper,
A pen,
A piece of music,
Endless nights,
This is my world.
Staring at the night sky,
Write yourself on paper with a pen,
Hide deep and deep feelings.
Only then,
Very quiet.
I fly in the dark like an elf.
As it turns out,
Night is my paradise.
Some people say,
I'm like a mystery,
It's hard to read.
I want to say,
In fact,
I am very simple,
Just a little lonely.
(4)
I often have a dream,
Walking alone in the maze of black holes,
No matter how you go,
Finally,
Everything is back to the starting point.
The cold wind blew on me,
There is a feeling of being in the middle of the year.
Cut the skin with a knife,
Blood oozes out slowly,
I was so scared.
I started yelling,
Shouting every name in my memory.
however
Except for his own echo,
It is the silence of death.
Fear makes me cry,
Tears fell on my face,
There is a trace of warmth.
The voice began to hoarse,
Tears began to dry up,
I'm really tired,
Slowly lean against the cold stone wall.
Suddenly,
My chest is stuffy,
It's so stuffy that you can't breathe.
At that moment,
I feel that death is coming,
The soul slowly leaves the body,
Without any struggle.
Then,
I woke up from my dream, clutching my chest.
I bought a cross and hung it on my chest.
Let him bless me,
however
To no avail.
I think maybe my dream is not controlled by foreign gods.
I bought another jade Buddha.
Hanging on your chest,
It still doesn't help.
I think maybe I committed too many crimes in my last life,
Let me suffer endlessly in my life.
Modern Poetry in the Early Morning 6 Winter Morning
There is a thick layer of white fog on campus.
I walked on the tree-lined road covered with fish fossils.
It's like walking into a rolling river of ideas.
The thick fog passed me slowly.
All I have to do is wave gently.
You can make it soar.
On such an awakening day.
I have never longed for the arrival of the sun.
Eager for the enemy's attack
Live between darkness and light.
I may not be another Haizi.
Become a martyr of another thought
However, I can be on thick yellow soil
Make up another brave and strong me
Why not take advantage of this foggy morning?
Introduce this torrent of ideas into the fountain of university campus.
Let it emerge from the enthusiasm of ideological enlightenment.
Let it flow to the long sword waved by the old man in the morning exercise.
Let it pierce every young man's heart.
Let that heart fall every time.
Enough to cause a disturbance on the earth.
And all this may happen on a winter morning.
At this time, most people are still sleeping in warm dreams.
I walked on the tree-lined road covered with fish fossils.
With the determination to die
Declare war on the cold winter
Collided with white fog
There are too many modern poems in the morning, and I have been trying to look out from the whirlpool of consciousness.
It is not necessarily clear at a glance, and it is not necessarily clear at a glance.
-Insects chirping on the window, larks purring, and support from far and near.
Innocent silence, static progress, hopeful gathering,
Turn a blind eye to the heat, imitate the disordered god, and
From the rhythm of the mud pit
A beautiful and interesting day to lubricate nature.
I am sure that the billowing clouds in the distance are turning into gray convection.
Drag back to reality with difficulty
But I dare not assert the axis of the vortex above it.
Could it be an unusual shower?
I look at you, not to see you, but to care what you have made me.
I care that you hold me without a definite view, holding my sacred hostility and ignorance.
Early in the morning, now!
Because you are still working hard, still working hard for me, fighting for that wonderful melody for me.
Don't hide me too deep in your metaphor, because I'm waiting for you to like me.
I'm sure you are, too, and more than that.
Modern Poetry in the Early Morning 8 In the early morning of April, the sky is blue.
It's blue, blue and a little transparent.
Clouds are floating in the air, hazy and fuzzy.
Looking forward to the wind blowing from the gap outside Shan Ye, embrace it.
In the early morning of April, there is no sunshine.
Flowers shy smile, stretch soft waist, charming and moving.
Wait for dew to fall from the sky and kiss them sweetly.
This moment is beautiful and sacred.
In the early morning of April, it seems a little fascinating.
The girl leaned against the windowsill and combed her long hair carefully.
Sweet smile, slightly overflowing from the wind.
The smell of missing pervades the surrounding air.
Filar silk soft, mixed feelings. ...
Honey, tell me.
What could be better than this April morning?
Some miss, some miss, silently. ...
Modern poetry in the early morning sent away the dusk in March and walked into the confused night.
Early morning in April
Girl, leaning against the carved window, looking into the distance.
Clear drizzle moistened deep eyes.
Waiting quietly, the sun warms her face.
In the early morning of April, the girl has put on some purple.
Drift across the path of spring
The boat of the heart stays in the drifting time like a stream.
Smile back and say goodbye to the clouds in the sky.
That tree is pink and green.
Spring water has been flowing on the bridge of years.