Love poetry, read poetry and write poetry. 10 for many years, poetry has accompanied me through the ups and downs of my life. When it comes to the story of poetry, we have to mention the autumn of 1996. Because one of my poems won an award in Beijing, I took 1500 to attend a pen meeting in Beijing regardless of my family's worries. The biggest gain is not only knowing Han Niu and other famous old poets, but also enjoying the beautiful scenery of the capital, which broadens our horizons. Half a month later, when my family was anxiously looking for me in Beijing, I returned home safely and smoothly. Not only my classmates spoke highly of me, but also my school praised me. At that moment, I felt that poetry was the wing of my life, and I could fly to the ideal "Guawa country" with a few flapping wings.
Poetry is always associated with love. /kloc-When I was 0/6 years old, I met a girl from a neighboring village and my heart was pounding. She wears a pink coat and wants to talk to her, although she is shy and doesn't know that this feeling is love. I couldn't sleep at night, so I wrote a line of jargon: "Pink you/Slim/Twist my head/Peach blossom turns red/Miss you/Be a seed/Be accidentally left behind by time/Wait for the sunshine ...". When I showed it to an uncle, he smiled and said it was a love poem. Who do you miss? Make a scene. I am a red-faced adolescent, and I always miss my first lover, because I have never seen her, and writing when I have time has gradually become a habit of life. So I have been writing until now. If I can't write a poem in two or three days, I will panic. Of course, poetry is no longer about who you miss, but about writing more widely. It's basically about feelings in life. Writing poetry is also very interesting. The greatest pleasure is to go home from work, take a leisurely walk and look at the streets and clouds in the sky, and inspiration comes. I quickly engraved the inspiration in my mind, and then rushed home to write it on paper. I can't wait to feel happy and full.
Because of my own poems, I didn't spend much money talking about people in those years. Today, poetry still plays the role of persuasion. If there is a contradiction between us, she will put my old "courtship" poem in front of me. Reading my own poem, no matter how angry I am, it instantly turns into a gentle breeze and drizzle, and finally I have to apologize.
I remember that when Beijing poets told us poetry, they said, "Poetry is the window of the soul and the coastline; You appreciate others, and others appreciate you. " Over the years, poetry has not only taught me to explore and appreciate the beauty in life. More often, when you appreciate yourself from the perspective of appreciating others, you can always get lasting love and persistence in life in poetry.
navigate by water/air
On the blue water, there are wooden sails gliding like arrows, eyes staring at each other.
Read each other's hearts, I am in front of the waves.
You chase the romance I evoke.
The sky is clear and blue, and the sun bathes the horizon.
You and I are close at hand and take care of each other's feelings.
Enjoy the meaning of silence
That black ripple marks a shallow route in the water, and we
The operation of the paddle breaks into rough waves. Think more and enjoy it.
Subtle solidification moment.
Your creeping lips cover my Adam's apple, under the full sail
A kind of information and idea pervades the whole body.
The breeze blew through the blue water.
Fold out the image and spread the rhythm. This is an unforgettable voyage.
Plan on a hazy moonlit night, from that area.
The reef and floating began.
There are no extra stars there, and the artistic conception of the night is very hazy, just like us.
Like hazy love, here used to be.
An ancient route
I have been intoxicated by the dim light and am on the verge of death.
The drummer in my childhood memory.
Dead.
Euphemistic cello and dazzling waves also left memories, which I like.
This quiet and deep night doesn't need a motor to open it.
We use ancient dates as pulp.
Set sail with our ancestors' homespun. When we are tired, we look up quietly. Which one?
Is it you and my star? Can you reach the other shore? The waves are swaying.
Tired ship, can there be a rest harbor ahead?
Sunshine is very satisfying.
There is endless soil.
But the desert can't provide it
The nutrition my poetry needs.
Swallow a lot of dew and sunshine.
Bones without souls
Shishi still feels hungry.
She curled up helplessly in the corner.
Left out in the cold
Only stick to your own strength.
The west wind is tight.
Whose plums have been blown thin?
My poem
Always shed tears for the injured ants
Snow can't stop sadness.
Poetry is hungry and it is bleeding.
She will never get enough to eat.
Wandering the streets alone on a winter night
She is too poor to smoke.
There is no wine to drink.
My poem is as thin as a bone.
More aloof than May.
It is colder than Antarctic ice.
My poem is cast as the sword of the Millennium.
Nerve endings that sting time
Even without applause
She still dances devoutly.
No applause.
Then slap your hard bones hard.
I have an agreement with my poem.
We had a deal.
Hold each other's hands until death do us part.
Wandering the world together
Carve a will somewhere
A remote promontory
Right and wrong in the world
Leave all this to time to solve.
We get together and go back to the free country.