Modern travel poems

Modern poetry, also known as "vernacular poetry", can be traced back to the late Qing Dynasty, which is a kind of poetry. Compared with ancient poems, although they are all written for understanding things, they are generally informal in format and rhythm. The following are my modern poems about travel (6 selections). Welcome to reading.

Poetry 1: a figure in the distance

I really want to travel on the snow-capped mountains;

Send my decadent soul and body to the snow mountain for storage and tempering for ten thousand years.

I really want to have a trip to the mountains and rivers;

Give my beautiful dream back to the color of nature.

I really want to go over the mountains;

Let my vision be broadened between heaven and earth.

I really want to travel in the desert without a figure;

I just want the wandering footprints to write a permanent memory in the dry desert.

I really want to have a breezy trip;

Because I want to touch your lovely face gently,

Blow your hair gently.

I want to stay if I can!

But please forgive me!

Because I can't help it,

All I can leave you is the long hair fluttering behind me.

Poetry 2: Traveling Modern Poetry

The door is ignorant

The light is always awake like a gentleman.

Look at each other in the mirror

Step by step up the stairs, worried

Always repeating a long journey

Credit cards are close to the heart.

Put your thoughts in a shy bag.

Wisdom lurks in books.

The password to stand on the cliff

Used to break all the hard ice

Not all for dreams.

A lot of helplessness

A flat tire

Show a heavy life with great responsibility

Complaining about being skinny.

My love, you always hide out of the window.

Thickness of door

Orbit two planets

Looking for a lost life.

It's hard for the love of a lifetime

travel

It's already half dusk.

Half is dawn.

Poetry 3: Travel

Always meet.

Beautiful maple leaf

Maybe it was fate.

Otherwise, we have to say goodbye quietly.

After all, I have to go.

Difficult times.

I also know Chunlan can be envied.

I only remember the chrysanthemum season in autumn

Choose these rhymes

I didn't arrange this carefully.

It's an unintentional emotional diarrhea.

Poetry 4: Travel

I woke up before dawn, in a daze.

A roaring train. A deformed face

The passion of having sex with the headlights on at night is shaking.

A bloodshot eye opened the empty station.

Birds are scribbling in the mother tongue of the condemned man outside the window.

"I want to go home!" logged

The clock plate crawling in the snow, there.

The wolf of memory is biting a lost child.

Poetry 5: Travel

Always meet.

Beautiful maple leaf

Maybe it was fate.

Otherwise, we have to say goodbye quietly.

After all, I have to go.

Difficult times.

I also know Chunlan can be envied.

I only remember the chrysanthemum season in autumn

Choose these rhymes

I didn't arrange this carefully.

It's an unintentional emotional diarrhea.

Poetry 6: Traveling together

Pack your bags and unload the heavy rural customs, in order to

The artistic conception of a dream, I resolutely walked out of the nostalgic yellow land.

Don't ask me how long the road is, I think

The road is at your feet, and there is no further road than footsteps.

Looking back at my hometown, collecting thoughts and searching.

A real road, the taste of loess is my existence outside.

The rugged mountains erased the sadness of wandering for me.

Don't ask me how difficult the road is, I will.

Bitter journey, laying the ladder of growth.

In a foreign land, I learned firm life skills, often.

Recalling my father's teaching, I remembered the crooked reality.

Children walk on Wan Li Road, and parents' words are perfect.

My father's back is getting hunched, but he is still as tall as a column.

Walking on the quiet Fenhe beach, I once had a stupid dream here, just like yesterday.

The past flies like a meteor, and the beautiful outline of the metropolis, I marvel at you, bustling.

This is just my simple reasoning. Things have changed, and life is just a journey.

My heart has not stopped, and my steps have not stopped. I wander around every day and want to do it.

The old farmer who worked in his hometown buried the vicissitudes of life in the yellow land and wrote the Spring and Autumn Period year after year.