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I don't know what poetry is. I don't know what the meaning of poetry is. I don't know how to write a poem. Every time I read the poet's poems, I feel a sense of admiration, which is definitely not a love for poetry, but more out of the psychology that poetry brings infinite glory to the poet. This also led to the fact that I only knew the famous works of celebrities before. When they read catchy poems, I wouldn't feel the inner beauty of poems. More often, I remember the names of poets and forget poems. I know, under this kind of psychology, I am in awe and fear of all the famous poems I have read before, rather than really like poetry.
There is nothing I can do about this kind of psychology, and the way I think of it is also very clumsy. I look for the poems of foreign poets that I think are the best, but I can't read them. I read something I can understand, then record my favorite poems as audio and listen to them again and again. Suddenly one day, I can't remember which day, and I began to write my own poems. Of course, writing poetry is just about writing your own emotions. For example, this song "Crow on the Peak" is when I climbed Baiwang Mountain in Beijing and saw Beijing from the top of the mountain. I wore a black jacket and saw a crow with feelings.
Crow on the top of the mountain
October, late autumn
I climbed Baiwang Mountain.
The wind at the top of the mountain is a bit strong and cold.
Being here is like being outside Beijing.
Look at Beijing, there are so many houses.
But it's still so expensive
I have been here for a long time.
Want to think about life
But I can't think of anything.
A crow flies in the air.
I really want to fly with it.
Take a good look at the city when flying.
I looked at myself, wearing a black jacket.
I smiled. I fantasize about jumping off the top of the mountain.
Turn into a crow
Suddenly, I got a cold shiver.
Turn around and walk down the hill.
20 16/ 10/22
That's how I started writing poetry, because I didn't know how to write it, so I had to write it myself. It is also writing poetry that gives me some spiritual comfort in this smoggy and high-pressure city. Many times, the poems I wrote are not poems, just like this poem "Love", which describes the embarrassing situation that I can't love, and it is also my powerlessness to reality that forces me to give up love. At the same time, I also look forward to love. This may be to express my ambition through poetry. I'm also embarrassed to tell others about the words in this poem. I will feel artificial and false after saying them, so I will write them to people who have nothing to do with me in the future. She is my muse. She left me with poems.
yearn for
I developed passionate love into silent love.
Finally become a person's unrequited love.
Even like unrequited love
I know why, but I can't tell you.
Say it out, I will think it is not true love.
I was thinking, in a few decades.
I am old, and I will remember this love.
I will smile.
Will it be a beautiful story?
I just wanted to tell her.
Or holding her hand, needless to say, she knows everything.
Even if you don't understand, just hold her hand.
20 16/ 10/ 18
I don't know what I will write. I just think I'm going to write a poem, so I'll write it. Even in the middle of the night, I am anxiously waiting for the dawn. This song "Waiting" was written the night before I went home for the Spring Festival on 20 17. Before going home, I was so excited that I couldn't sleep, thinking that it was almost dawn and I was going home. There is also a song "I avoid thinking about you at night", which means I miss her.
wait for
Waiting for the Light
Please give me a sharp knife.
Toward the night, gently touch.
Knife light illuminates the night sky
At the moment, a light appeared on the blade.
The night will dissipate.
Waiting for the Light
wait for ...
I avoid thinking of you at night.
I was lying in bed,
I breathe through my nose,
Listening to the sound of breathing,
Listen to your own voice,
My hand touched my cold waist,
My brain is locked in bad whiskey,
I want to miss a woman in my mind,
But this person can't have feelings late at night,
I calmed down,
Thinking about Proust's way of being alone,
Observe yourself, observe the bedroom,
Do some strange imagination.
20 17/03/ 18 late at night
And some poems. After I finished writing, I didn't believe that I really wrote them. I want to write real poems as much as possible, poems I can feel, poems I can understand ... but sometimes I do write some poems that I find incredible now, such as this song "I am a singer of my soul" I can't even imagine this is my poem now.
I am the singer of my soul.
I don't want to hear compliments.
Success, leave me alone.
These are all what I hope.
They are all buried objects,
Erosion is accompanied by the death of the body.
I just want the crow's cry,
I just want the roar of the sea,
I just want the violence of the storm.
Among these sounds that produce death,
I hear the song of my soul,
I listened carefully, but I couldn't hear the lyrics clearly.
20 17/03/ 19
After all, I am a migrant worker in Beijing. I have to work if I want to live. Every morning, I walk almost a fixed route at a fixed time and take a fixed subway to a fixed office. It doesn't feel fixed. I will follow my feelings and create my own unfixed poems in this relatively fixed time and space, just like the following poems.
They don't eat breakfast.
Have breakfast in front of girls,
Steamed buns, fried dough sticks, eggs, purple rice porridge.
They were steaming and listening to the girl's breathing.
They waited for the boy,
Try not to let the temperature drop.
The boy soon sat in front of the girl.
The joy of breakfast,
The girl's face showed a melancholy look.
The boy stirred the purple rice porridge several times.
Put down the chopsticks and look at the girl with a straight face.
The girl in the boy's eyes has changed a little,
It's complicated,
Purple rice porridge is no longer steamed.
After a few conversations, the girl got up and left.
The boy took a bite of the fritters.
Follow the girl's direction,
Leave a whole cold breakfast.
20 17/03/09
Grandparents and children
Two children are skateboarding,
One is dressed in blue,
One was dressed in gray,
They skate on a scooter,
Slide around.
They were followed by a grandfather and a grandmother.
I looked at two children,
One looks like grandpa,
One looks like grandma.
How many times will this scene be repeated?
Grandparents know, but children don't.
I saw the smiles on their faces,
Don't think about it.
A few years later,
The children may remember this morning.
20 17/03/ 18
I am the shadow of my shadow.
I walk against the light,
I looked down and saw long shadows,
It skimmed the big trees and small trees by the road.
It goes through the wall.
Better looking than me.
When I stop, it stops.
Or does it stop and I stop?
Maybe I am the shadow of my shadow.
20 17/03/ 12
As I wrote, I thought, I have to write myself clean to get closer to real poetry, or I have to write some poems other than me, instead of writing about nature in my world as I do now. I know I can't leave me to write poetry. I have been writing poems. I just want to get rid of my narrow self. The following poem can reflect my struggle. I am crawling both subjectively and objectively, and I sincerely pursue writing poetry.
The end of the gale
When the wind blows, the wild sand forms a big net.
People in the wind can't open their eyes
I am like dust, and I will eventually be dust.
I can't stand the wind,
Become part of the big net,
Using the power of the wind,
Let everything in the wind be messy.
What is the wind like?
Custom-what people around you and me say and do,
What is the dust like?
Man-an advanced animal that only lives for decades.
I can accept what nature gives me,
Can also withstand the plunder of nature.
I just hate the secular wind,
I became a tool and a victim at the same time.
I can't blame the wind,
I can only blame myself,
Don't blame anyone.
20 17/02/23
I gave my eyes to the night.
I was walking down the street,
The night is blue and black,
There is no moon in the sky, only a few stars.
I look for the eyes of the night with my eyes,
I can't find the eyes of the night,
I want to give my eyes to the night,
Let it see me in the dark.
20 17/02/24
I saw big birds flying in the rain.
It's raining,
I looked up and saw two big black birds.
One in front,
There is a hole in the wing,
The flight is unstable,
One flies behind it,
Flying is difficult.
I'm thinking about wings wet by rain,
The big bird is still flying.
20 17/03/23
I don't want to express myself, I still can't escape me, so I will continue to write poems in my name and write down my meaning. I just want to express myself sincerely, to express nature, to express the world, and to express what I can't express ... as Camus wrote in a primary school exercise book: "1May 935. What I want to say is: ... "
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