Once a soldier, formerly known as Qin Guangdong, pen name, member of Shandong Young Writers Association. 1972, a native of Jinan, Shandong Province, works in a certain department. 1990 started writing poetry, 1998 stopped writing, and picked it up again after the blog was established in 2009. His works are scattered in People's Liberation Army Daily, Qianwei Daily, China Writers Network, Tianjin Literature, Langfang Literature, China Poetry Daily, Yellow River Poetry Daily, Homeland Literature, Vanguard Reference, Sun Poetry Magazine, and online poetry selections. Blog: /u/ 1639090 185
wait for
Push open the door left unlocked.
Still unrecognizable
Which drop of water are you in the sea?
In my painful lines
Search every corner
Hope to walk with you
The dream of waking up is a pale sea.
I quietly look forward to it.
Walking in spring
Facing the coming of every night
I think of the color of the sun.
Footsteps become plump and heavy.
Think of rain, rainbow and a beautiful story.
Start or end?
I see
I touch the world with affectionate eyes.
Touch the abandoned wound.
My eyes become sore.
I can only lie in the lowest valley of my life and listen.
The world, a word I have been unable to get close to.
Your breadth and richness
But I can't put my lonely language
I hid in the corner and cried.
One day I got up the courage to approach you.
Only then did I discover your depth and indifference.
Finally, I yelled at you today.
You are also a bully.
Therefore, I want to be an unreasonable advocate.
Dare to talk back to you, desperately
Poke you with knife-like language
Because, I want those honest people to stand up straight.
Know very well
I am familiar with the city behind me. and
His breath, bones and every cell of his body.
Always sit quietly in the evening of May.
Like an old man sitting in front of the children
Embrace the night with kindness.
I walked slowly.
Too familiar will be too strange.
I suspect that my surroundings are full of traps. because
Coming and going wind, moonlight, the soul of the city and the world.
All my friends.
Stick to the earth
Your historical backbone rises in this land.
There are too many things in it.
The cries of sorghum, corn and cattle
On the branch of life
Write down every chapter of sunshine.
In your bones
You know, land is the only lifeline.
A drop of water blooms here to feed future generations.
Spring still likes your earthy taste best.
Roll up your sweat and walk into the depths of your soul with seeds.
Tonight, the moonlight casts pain.
Open the book, toss and turn and still can't find it.
Your inexplicable memories are thrown away.
Leaves fall one by one.
Fall into your body tonight. perhaps
That autumn is a true story.
You've been looking for the ending of the story.
Never stop.
A night like this passes through your fingers.
The night is as cold as a pool of water.
The wet nightingale flew by with a letter.
Left that autumn night.
Take you into another lotus pond
Another declaration
Wandering in June
Like an erratic cloud.
Whether it's gently.
Let's go quietly.
Always remember the watch in the sun.
I am an amateur.
In this secular world.
The end of this poem
I can only shake my head helplessly.
Let the tears fall into the hurried night.
if
If life is a flowering tree
I want to wait quietly under your tree.
Even if it becomes a butterfly in a thousand years.
Or stop on your branch.
If life is a song dedicated to your lover.
I want to be that little note.
Even if it becomes a butterfly in a thousand years.
Or do you want to stop on your palm?
identity
Good people curse dark space.
There are no labels for sunshine and luxury.
At one time, the gap deepened.
Buried all the history.
All the reasons are death, and the body doubles.
Because it was a journey of death from the beginning.
The rain in my hometown
Sitting on the threshold of hometown
Listen to the whispers from the sky.
This is obviously a song, isn't it?
Wandering tears
The moment you fell from the sky
It is bent.
Mom, the smoke in the yard
Poor poetry
Night falls like water.
Sprinkle in the poet's eyes.
He held out his poor palm.
Want to sprout in the palm-sized land
The faint voice trembled a little.
This is a strange world.
Everyone is wondering.
Like a poet hollowing out his thoughts.
Let your little dignity fall on paper.
Die laughing.