Han Niu
Not late autumn
Just in early summer.
Shuyinxia
Countless flowers have fallen.
The flowers have fallen
On the wet grass
Be covered with dew
Emit fragrance
Hongyan Huang Cancan
Long-lasting colorfastness
flower bud falling
Still like to grow on branches.
Continue to open up
Butterflies and bees fly around them.
The fallen flowers here
Will not wither
It was not blown away by the wind.
flower
In the lush forest
Open happily.
Fall happily again, fall ...
They, beautiful lives.
Around the trunk
Gather into a wreath.
Dedicated to the land where they grew up.
The fallen flowers here
No sadness
indifferent
defecate
The house is parked lightly.
Just like the green duckweed by the water, it looks better every year.
What autumn is it to walk home now?
The reed wind is whiter than the sunset.
The mountains in the distance are like touching memories at the edge of a dream.
I looked at the place where the years were blurred.
Silent water bypassed the manor.
These villages must have existed for a long time.
These waters must be the source of my destiny.
After acacia and echo become soft.
The days gradually calmed down.
There is always a distant hand reaching out like an illusion.
Gently ripple my mood.
Where did the silence come from?
In the haze of the people
Waterbirds fly out of the reeds.
There are dancers on the building.
There is a peaceful and kind language in the sunset.
I live on my home land.
No one is sad about this long breath.
Nobody told me about the coming year.
This house seems to be ancient.
Just indifferent to the water of nostalgia
Don't sink or drift ...
Wait quietly for the children.
What about spring?
Air dried memory
Ye Yanbin
Faded photograph
Dark time is like chloasma left on it.
Those air-dried past events
Passing in front of your eyes
Turn into a tear hanging on your cheek.
A leaf has fallen.
Lush summer and budding spring.
Into a mature trunk.
On both sides of the street
Write many pictographic memoirs
Clear skies again and again
The shadow of the lone goose becomes out of print.
Maybe spring will come again in autumn.
Only when we look for it.
The dried geese were scattered by the wind without a trace.
Dull memory
The title of a poem
I wonder if there are any tears blown dry by the wind.
Can I soak in dry ink?
The wolf's hair tip is like a bud in bud.
Silent brick
week
There will be such a day.
Brick by brick, under the building, they decide everything.
Moss marks are not just the obsolescence of the years.
Ants or other insects will visit these silent bricks. They may climb out of a height. They didn't realize that walls are also height.
One day, these bricks will determine the shape of the building.
It's up to these bricks to decide whether a magnificent palace is a humble hut.
What is the weight of the superstructure?
The brick of silence, the burden of loneliness. They are hard bones to chew.
They just don't talk, let alone talk much.
They live a down-to-earth life, brick by brick, they are not lyrical, they are logical.
The wind hit the wall and the bricks were silent. The wind has been blowing for a long time, just like the sound of history.
apricot flower
Niu Qingguo
Xinghua flowers in our village
If you stand high in spring.
Like a cliff doll
Cry apricot flowers
Smart woman
It will open immediately *
Jia Jia Hu Hu Gou cha cha
The pink one among them.
It's my sister and lover.
When the suona crosses the mountains
Blow red and green.
Thanks, big guy.
And thanks to those little guys.
I put down the flowers and called Xinger.
Sweet and sour days
It's a folk song flowing out of the loess.
Xinghua, are you okay?
Standing under the apricot tree at the entrance of the village
Take the apricot stone.
I'm really afraid of a bite.
No one can reduce me to dew.
Bai Lianchun
No one can reduce poetry to
White paper, reducing the text to
Essence, blood, tears and milk
First, essence, symbolizing life.
Reject metaphors and compliments
No one can turn ashes into flames and light them.
Turn it into a forest and an axe into iron.
Turn iron into stone
Lies are the depth of the ocean.
Standing is the height of the mountain.
No one can make the grave tremble in the autumn wind.
Mom and dad who returned to work in the spring.
Relieve father's cough.
Let mother resume smoking.
No one can put me
Turning into dew, the earth is the smallest.
The cleanest child
Call home. "
Milky Way
I can't sing when others sing hometown.
I can only shout
Call my hometown
My hometown is in Jiangnan.
I shouted at Jiangnan
Shout with your heart, with a pen, with my broken voice.
Shout out, cry out tears, shout out blood.
My hometown heard my trembling voice.
Shout to the sun
Yell at the moon
Shout out mountains and rivers.
Shout out the village
Shouted out grass slopes, cattle and sheep, fields and vegetable fields.
I want to shout louder. The wind blew and I shouted.
Stand higher and shout loudly.
Let those running water, crops, cooking smoke and love
Become my eternal echo.
Tribulus by the roadside
Sun Fangjie
This is hatred,
This is the hatred of roadside thistles!
No one can be like it,
Lying quietly on the road.
With bright yellow flowers,
On the other side of its body,
Full of prickly knots,
As long as you dare to step barefoot,
It will stab you with its whole life.
No one can be like it,
In the struggle against human barefoot and the smell of beasts,
Sharpen one's own prickly bones.
No one can be like a thistle on the roadside.
One by one,
Aligning life with the earth.
That fingernail-sized yellow flower
Swear silently,
Let all roads bleed!
wooden comb
Luye
I brought a wooden comb to see you.
In the frivolous south wind
Go with you to the province, a city with east longitude 1 18 degrees and north latitude of 32 degrees.
I don't have a treasure chest, only this mahogany comb.
Sorting out leisure troubles and minor migraines.
I want you to give me a nickname.
Call me after those plants planted everywhere.
Plum blossom, cinnamon, jasmine, Pterocarya stenoptera or water chestnut will do.
They are my sisters, homesickness in my previous life.
We live by the water.
The river around us is called Yangtze River, and that river is called Canal.
There is also a ferry called Guazhou.
We are under the carved wooden window
Eat water shield bass and drink Biluochun glutinous rice wine.
Writing poems makes Luoyang paper expensive.
Talking about life on the chessboard
Send away grievances with a rocking silk fan.
I often want to go back to ancient times and enter the ink landscape.
Live a happy life called Qinyuanchun or dream.
I am your lady, and you are my official who ruined my career.
Slow love
Li Tang
I want to love slowly, my love.
When I sit in this room
I will gradually like the moonlight in the evening.
Move from the window to the windowsill
I will gradually fall in love with these times.
I want to change 1 hour to 60 minutes and 1 minute to 60 seconds.
I want to love you every second.
Just like I love your hair, one by one.
Love them from green hair to white hair.
Others will only feel it for a moment.
Snow falls on your head.
Just like I am in the corner of your eye, I love your crow's feet.
It took me 60 years to like it a little.
It's like we're sitting side by side
There is a distance of 0.5 meters between us.
I'll divide it into 500 mm,
Love one millimeter at a time.
It seems endless.
Just like in hard days, I love your tears.
I also love ...
In my slow love, I spent my life quickly.
Should these poems be enough? Not enough. and ...