Beidao, formerly known as Zhao Zhenkai, was born in Beijing on August 2nd, 1949. Born in Huzhou, Zhejiang Province, he is a lecturer at the Chinese
Beidao, formerly known as Zhao Zhenkai, was born in Beijing on August 2nd, 1949. Born in Huzhou, Zhejiang Province, he is a lecturer at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. The following are the modern poems of North Island that I compiled on the Internet for your reading.
Modern Poetry of North Island: Hello, Baihua Mountain
The sound of the piano is unstable,
The snowflake in your hand trembled slightly.
When the fog recedes,
The rolling hills.
I collected the heritage of the four seasons.
In the valley, there is no one.
The picked wild flowers continue to grow,
Open, that's death.
Along the path of the virgin forest,
The green sunshine lingers in the gap.
A reddish-brown goshawk,
Translate the horrible rumors in this mountain with bird language.
I suddenly shouted:
"Hello, Baihua Mountain-"
"Hello, child-child-"
The echo came from a waterfall stream in the distance.
That's the wind in the wind,
Make everything harmonious and stir up unrest.
I whispered,
Snowflakes in your hands float into the abyss.
Modern Poetry of North Island: I Walk into Rain and Fog
Dark clouds are the time for takeoff and landing.
The birds are scattered.
Blue slash,
Whip the dark Woods,
It's like hitting a thousand sticks,
Touched the hearts of a thousand old people.
-heart, where is home,
Where is your roof?
Grass leaves, intoxicated with sobs,
Daisy, imitate awakening.
The wind said to the rain:
You are water, and you will return to water.
So the rain gathered at its original edge,
Into a stream, into a river.
Silent lightning on the ice,
Let the heavy banks rumble,
Suddenly it closed again.
Modern Poetry of North Island: Song of Migratory Birds
We are a group of migratory birds,
Fly into the prison in winter;
At the green dawn,
Explore the end of the world
Let the fallen feathers,
Fall on the girl's head;
Let strong wings,
Hold up the sun.
We swept through the dark clouds,
Shake your temples over the rainbow;
We gently brushed the wind,
Flying pocket is full of songs.
This is our cry,
The iceberg was scared to cry;
Is our ridicule,
Ross blushed with shame.
North, hometown,
Please accept our dream:
Trees grow from every crack in the ice,
Bells and bells full of joy ...
Modern Poetry of North Island: The Answer
Mean is the passport of the mean,
Nobleness is the epitaph of noble people,
Look, in the golden sky,
Full of twisted reflections of the dead.
The ice age is over,
Why is there ice everywhere?
The Cape of Good Hope was discovered,
Why did Qian Fan compete in the Dead Sea?
I came into this world,
Just paper, rope and numbers,
Before the trial,
Read those condemned voices.
Tell you what, world.
I don't believe it.
Even if you have a thousand challengers under your feet,
Then count me as 10 1.
I don't believe the sky is blue,
I don't believe in the echo of thunder,
I don't believe that dreams are false,
I don't believe in death without retribution
If the ocean is destined to burst its banks,
Let all the bitterness pour into my heart,
If land is destined to rise,
Let mankind choose the peak of survival again.
New turning points and shining stars,
Let the sky have nothing to hide.
This is a 5000-year-old hieroglyph,
Those are the eyes that people will stare at in the future.
Modern Poetry of North Island: Everything
Everything is fate.
Everything is a cloud of smoke.
Everything is the beginning without an ending.
Everything is a fleeting pursuit.
All happiness has no smile.
All sufferings have no tears.
All languages are repetitive.
All contacts are new.
All the love is in my heart.
All the past is in a dream.
All hope is accompanied by notes.
All beliefs are related to * * *
There was a moment of silence when everything broke out.
All deaths have long echoes.
Modern Poetry of North Island: A Bundle
Between me and the world
You are a bay, a sail.
It's both ends of the cable.
You are the fountain, the wind.
It's the crisp cry of childhood.
Between me and the world
You are a frame and a window.
This is a field full of wild flowers.
You are breathing, not sleeping.
This is a starry night.
Between me and the world
You are a calendar, a compass.
It's the light sliding in the dark.
You are a resume and a bookmark.
It was written in the last preface.
Between me and the world
You are a veil, a fog.
This is a lamp in a dream.
You are a flute, a silent song.
It's a stone carving with drooping eyes.
Between me and the world
You are a gap, a pond.
This is a sinking abyss.
You are a fence, a wall.
This is a permanent pattern on the shield.