Sleeping in Shuanghe Inn | Pansy
Tonight, the breeze is accompanied by light rain.
With Schubert serenading, I still can't bear to sleep.
I can only do it at every possible moment.
Eyes are tightly conquered by those old things.
I started a dialogue with history.
Qing dynasty plaque, carved wooden windows in southeastern Guizhou.
The homestay and exquisite old embroidery in northern Guizhou
All reveal traces of history.
On this cotton night, in the inn that exudes historical body temperature.
In this dusty wooden attic
I want to write a poem about it.
Write about the ancient smoke rising in the dark.
Write about the warmth of a slightly drunk glass under the light.
Write down the quaint and elegant charm of each inn.
Chen wrote Columbus-
Let history and modernity collide with a silver texture.
Tonight, all the words are destined to coincide and arrive here.
Destined to enjoy the soft silence in the serenade.
After the expedition, Shuanghe Inn is more suitable for lodging and writing poems.
Someone has a baby | Zhou Sese.
Someone is holding a child.
One mountain carries another.
The father cheated on his son.
The son is holding his grandson.
I have a mountain on my back.
Walk behind twelve for three days.
I want to go to the other side of the mountain.
But there is another mountain beyond the mountain.
There is a river.
It stood quietly with its back to the mountain.
I bent down by the river.
Put down the child
Li Yuansheng likes to track butterflies here.
The pain of breathing-also for Nan Li | Mubai
Meet maples and reeds in Guizhou
Acer, Heather, Huang Jinju, Plantago.
In the evening, the green hills are washed and the streams are gurgling.
It's quiet here, a little out of touch with the world.
I didn't know these plants would be accumulated.
How many tears and vicissitudes
So as to produce red, yellow and blue flowers with three primary colors.
All flowers are withered, and the plants are carefree.
Life is not easy, and every life deserves respect.
Writing poetry is also a kind of breathing pain.
But poetry is useless. I drank several glasses of white wine last night.
I began to lose sleep again, thinking.
Lying in the bed of Shuanghe Inn, tossing and turning
How powerless the poet is
No matter where it is, no matter how big the bed is.
The soul is always more difficult to sleep than the body.
We are all travelers, and no one will live forever.
The testimony I could not bear to write was Hugo's fate.
I saw it in the WeChat circle of friends in the early morning.
The fire is Notre Dame de Paris.
Eight hundred years of infatuation with human beings have vanished.
Shuanghe Inn is located in Yelang Ancient Country.
I don't seem to hear any spring rain.
And the local bananas I borrowed outside the house.
Living like me has no purpose.
I have never left my life in the north of Guizhou.
Year after year, the baptism of wind and rain.
Silence, quietness, introversion and modesty
Look up at the stars overhead and stick to your bottom line.
20 19.4. 16
A few kilometers into the cave and hundreds of millions of years of darkness are all miracles.
Shuanghedong | Meier
I can't tell you all the secrets
My secret is still growing.
-inscription
( 1)
The sea has risen again.
With all the surging desires
From the tip of the tongue to the depths of the soul
Those creatures can't escape
Earth, please accept the body of their hero.
Insects, fish, even
Including pandas and rhinos.
In 700 million years, people will find their fossils.
Worship like a god
Forget my pain again and again.
Sharp as a second hand.
I started sneaking around inside, too.
Inheriting the bonfire of 700 million years ago
I've been alive.
Like a legend
(2)
I swallowed the flame.
Through a crack.
The heartbreaking pain is full of water.
That is my clear and deep blood.
The wound no longer heals.
Stone flowers are growing everywhere.
That calcified pool, big or small.
This is your balcony.
In your sun and moon, they all blossom and bear fruit.
Your temperature is her sunshine.
Your eyes, through the tunnel of 700 million years.
Fell on her, full of affection.
(3)
The stone was forgotten.
Another kind of stone grows from stone.
Stone abandoned itself in another form.
The stone blooms its own crystal flower.
Sometimes, stones forget the outside world.
As light as cotton
Like rippling tenderness
Get through difficult times
Just, but not alone.
My clear and loud voice never sings.
700 million years of silence is like a starry sky.
In order to wait for you, stones cherish words like gold.
It's a three-hour drive from Chongqing, the kingdom of biology. Open the door and see the dead butterfly.
Qingxi gorge | Wang
In mid-spring, yellow leaves and dead branches occasionally flash.
But it does not affect people's praise and attachment to life.
Blue sky, clear water, gorgeous cliffs,
It was a long-lost scenery, almost a lifetime experience.
At the moment, in Qingxi gorge, I saw it.
Green comes from ripples in water and cracks in rocks.
Mimi oozing, and a beautiful mandarin duck.
If the insider tells the truth, he can only travel alone. ...
Kazakh riders play sad winter blah,
Sing a western folk song loudly;
"Don't forget that your promise has changed your mind.
I am yours, you are mine, Swallow ... "
A speedboat flies gracefully on the water.
Huge emeralds are cut by love,
At the top of the cliff, a yew is in full bloom.
Xiangu silently receives all love, hate and enmity.
20 19.4.23
The most beautiful hiking route can also go upstream.
Shuanghe Inn B6 13| Jin Lingzi
Ancient villages, distant mountains and sunsets live here.
Scholars who have lived and studied.
Attracted by the beautiful scenery, I have the idea that I won't win the prize.
I live with dignitaries and their beloved princesses.
The insects survived, and the bones survived all the hardships in the world.
Here lives the soul, time and legend of all things.
I also live among villains like Jin Lingzi.
Overlooking Shuanghe Inn
Twelve, behind the white-headed reed | Flower language
Aging comes so fast.
From the roots of reeds
Go straight to the top
Pieces of white, pushing the twilight to infinity.
Water, add fuel to the fire
Ignoring the ongoing anti-crime activities and committing crimes.
There are some reeds in the water.
Dark blue shadow
Scoop a pot of night
Xuan Yue No.8 Station
At both ends of fate
A reed handed the blowing head to the north wind.
The water that reeds absorb from the soles of their feet.
Give it to Qiu.
Ren LULU's tears
Blown away by fate again and again
Cold air in Siberia
Wet it repeatedly, throw garbage, and then dry it.
20 19/03/25/07:53 Zunyi