Corridor of memory
Riding on the wings of the wind
Cross the mountain
Climb over the mountain
Fall on the river in my hometown.
The river in front of my hometown.
Winding circuit
Almost exhausted
Still nestled in the arms of the mountains
Pregnant with a son and a daughter.
People who have worked all day.
Carry a plow
Lead a cow
Gently approach the river.
Bend down and pick up a clear spring.
Sweet bottle
Hit the heart directly
Wandering in the distance
Do not hesitate to climb mountains and travel far.
Not all old children.
Looking forward to the return of the holiday
Go back to which side
Give birth to me and raise my land.
Gaze intently
Sincere feelings
There is nothing to hide.
show off
Used to be a little naive.
How beautiful
How many pictures of memory?
Everything fell into this deep river bed.
The constant change of events
The Big Dipper moves from star to star ―― The passage of time
The only constant
Only this mother river
Always flowing quietly
Who accompanies
Love flows in time.
My mother got a serious illness when she was pregnant with me and took a lot of medicine. You are a doctor, and you know what drugs affect the fetus. Discuss with your mother and decide to abort the baby. But grandma strongly disagreed, because according to hometown customs, if the first child is not needed, there will be no more children in the future. Although you knew it was superstition, you listened to your grandmother. And said to his mother, "No matter what kind of child I have, I will recognize it as mine and raise it."
At the age of five, my mother was pregnant again, and she made up her mind to do it herself. After you know it, point to me and say to my mother, "You see, she has been in poor health since she was a child. It's pathetic. If she has no brothers and sisters, we can't take care of her for life. Let's keep the child. " Mom listened to you, so I had an extra sister that year.
10 years old, you started drinking. In the past, you never touched alcohol and never complained about life. At that time, you quarreled with your mother with all kinds of trivial things in your life every day. At that time, I was scared. I'm afraid of your divorce. That's when I began to hate you. And tell yourself in your heart: I won't take care of this man when he is old.
14 years old, in junior high school, that is to say, you can cut your hair short on the grounds that you are busy studying (in your eyes, women should have long hair). You saw my newly cut short hair and had a quarrel with your mother that day. I remember that you haven't even looked at me since. At that time, I was in a rebellious period, so my hair became shorter and shorter, although later I envied girls with long hair. ...
17 years old, school holiday, my mother asked me to help with farm work at home. You said to her angrily, "What did you ask her to do?" What can you do if she is so thin? "I saw you yelling at my mother. In order not to disappoint my mother, I worked hard. I hope you can change your prejudice against me. My neighbors praised me as a scholar, and I didn't fall behind in farm work, but you still complained, "No matter how good I am, I have to get married when I grow up." "When you said this, I ran home and cried.
19 years old, you suffer from depression. Under the influence of a lot of alcohol and aspirin, you ended your 45-year-old life with a bottle of pesticide. I found a suicide note when I was sorting out your belongings. The general content is that you admire your mother, because she always encourages you whenever you have no confidence in life. You said that your mother gave you a second life, and you appreciated her education.
But, father, I was so naive, I couldn't understand your heart at all, just thought you were an irresponsible husband, father. And I also regard all men as irresponsible "people". At that time, I decided that I would never get married.
Last year, I went home and had a long talk with my mother all night, letting me know that you didn't want my mother to suffer, but you couldn't change the status quo, so you drugged yourself with alcohol, didn't want me to have long hair like a boy, and didn't want me to do farm work, so you "angry" me home. ...
I am 22 years old. I watched a video today. Every father married his daughter. Don't look until you see it halfway. I know this shows that I can finally feel a father's love for his daughter. Although it is the distance between heaven and earth, I can still feel your deep love. The word "dad" has been changed to "he" all these years, and I don't think it will ever happen again.
Love, just as it flows through time, melts the water in Qian Shan, melts the desolation of time and melts the distance between heaven and earth, but it never diminishes.
(Original author: When flowers bloom)
On Miscellaneous Poems and Practical Poems in Life
Tell the truth and write poems naturally. I have studied for two years in my life, and I am ignorant by experience.
When it comes to rhyme and style, I never dare to speak. Practical poetry is really good, fluent and funny.
Being close to life is not boring, and there are many human stories. Although the significance of literature is not high, ordinary people will understand it after reading it.
This poem also contains philosophy, and every sentence is full of enlightenment. Comprehensive reflection of things, modern people like to watch.
You don't need to know the caller to read it, so you don't have to read it. Look at literature positively and stick to ancient poetry with prejudice.
Ancient culture is rich, and learning ancient archaeology is development. Although practical poetry is simple, it is still a member of poetry.
Life has become more and more popular in recent years, and future generations will certainly improve. I have seen several poetry clubs and have been arguing about the style of poetry.
It is not good to talk about the past, but to combine the present development. Ancient culture is wealth, making progress step by step.
Archaeological research should persist in making the past serve the present and learn from ancient poems. Otherwise, it's still a pearl dial, so don't use a computer.
We should not only attach importance to ancient literature, but also combine it with the present. There is no big conflict between the two, but the concept is trapped.
In fact, miscellaneous brands are not simple, and poems without life are tasteless. It is really difficult to conceive and create, but there is a wide market for miscellaneous poems.
Both SMS and MMS are reflected, because the public is watching. Reading and understanding are convenient, and creation also has its advantages.
Materials keep pace with the times and can persist in fighting for a long time. Because of the limitation of time and space, ancient poetry is difficult for ordinary people to last.
People who are bound by their hands and feet and write ancient styles. Although it is good, it is difficult to last, and most people will show it several times.
Finally, there is no export, and the theme of miscellaneous poems is very wide. As long as you observe carefully, the material will never be finished.
Individuals have their own uniqueness, and their own style becomes a poetic fairy. There is a deep meaning behind oil poems, and each song ends with its own solution.
After laughing, I often read it, which is better than the writer's words. The shallow pool is invisible, and the goods come in every day.
It's wonderful to call yourself a poet, and fools can be happy. Immortals have their own way of being immortal, and the world can't be as tall as usual.
We are far away, and we are close at hand.
Cicada singing is accompanied by the noise of sultry summer, and people who come and go pass by. At this moment, the campus is already hazy. The final exam is approaching, and the number of students who endorse it has increased several times than before. The lights are on one by one, and the figure gradually disappears, leaving the street lamps elongated. Sitting on a marble bench that has been baked all day, there is still a little residual heat from evaporation at the fingertips. I think it should be a hot day!
Through the high wall of the school, thousands of lights and neon lights on the bridge are brighter. Whenever I look into the distance, I can't help but miss my family and parents. I called my parents yesterday. My mother said that a pig was killed at home, and all the other meat was cut by neighbors. She pickled the pig's head and trotters and kept them for me to eat at home. She said that my father said that I like pig's trotters best, so he kept them for me. When I heard my mother say this, I was at a loss. Tears had already slipped into my mouth ... Parents' love is like tears in this mouth. One drop is too heavy and one drop is too light.
I think every time I go out by car, I always have to wait until dawn because of the inconvenient transportation. There is always a figure on the gravel road for more than ten minutes, and a lamp illuminates me with me until the rows of trees recede and the houses are far away. The figure gradually became a black spot in my eyes, but the words became clearer and clearer, and the waving arms seemed to be just hugging. In this way, my parents sent my brother and me back and forth, giving the best to their beloved children, without putting the words "I love you" and "I left you my favorite pig's hoof" above everything else. Before, I was not so homesick. The farther away from home now, the older I get, and the deeper my concern and love for my parents. We are far away and close. My parents and I are far away, and I am close at hand.
We can communicate more. When you make another call, don't be stingy. People who are worried about waiting for you are always parents. Like my parents, thousands of parents in Qian Qian may still be excited about your sudden call and miss every little thing you say. Love begins at home, and love begins with parents.
"Hey, girl, how have you been recently?" Every time I call, my father always asks me this sentence, and then tells me to eat well, dress well and have a good rest. After several pauses, I handed my mobile phone to my mother and said that the child and mother had a lot to say, but I always didn't say much. Chatting with my mother is like asking about family affairs. I briefly talk about school, pause a few times, and then hang up after all kinds of persuasion. Considering that each call is only ten minutes, it seems to be a routine. I am used to calling at that time, and my parents are also used to waiting for the phone at that time. Occasionally forget to call, my father will say that my mother has been nagging me for a long time. Why didn't I call at the usual time? I urged my father to send a text message to ask. I hurried back when I saw the information. My mother will nag me a few words, just to tell me to pay attention to my health. Sometimes I call my parents, but I just talk to my father for a few words and then I stop calling. My mother nagged me next to my father without receiving the phone call.
My character is partly like my father's silence and stubbornness. His inability to express his feelings is a natural inheritance. But after several times, I always try to choose the time when my parents are together to make a phone call. If my mother is not here, I will call her every other day. I know my mother must be waiting, but my change suddenly makes my mother very happy, although we still don't talk much. In my little change, I suddenly realized how easy it is for parents to satisfy their children. As long as one more phone call is enough to make parents happy for half a day and let neighbors talk for half a day.
It is said that people are always harsh on people they are familiar with, but tolerant of strangers. They often ignore those who are used to it, but they are eager to pursue the unknown. I used to think that not contacting does not mean forgetting, and not contacting does not mean not missing. But now I know that I will be unfamiliar without contact. Why don't you say so much? A greeting, a phone call, and heaven remains our neighbourhood, isn't it close at hand? But so what? It's still a long way. When passing by, a figure is your awkward greeting. Gradually, the footsteps of travel trample on a pair of helpless eyes again and again. Then, when you walk, everything will be scattered, and the stars are very dark. Without you, I suddenly panicked.
Yes, I was afraid you weren't here, and I suddenly panicked. My best hope is that you are all here. I hope I love you, you love her, he loves you, you are at the end of the world, and we are close at hand.
my younger brother
My home is in a remote mountain village, and my parents are farmers with their backs to the loess.
I have a brother who is three years younger than me. Once, I stole fifty cents from my father's drawer in order to buy a flower handkerchief that all girls have.
Father found that there was less money that day, so he let us kneel by the wall and hold a bamboo pole so that we could admit who stole it.
I was so scared by this scene that I bowed my head and dared not speak. Father refused to admit when he saw us, saying that they had played together. Say that finish, he raised the bamboo pole in his hand. Suddenly, his brother grabbed his father's hand and said loudly, Dad, I stole it, not my sister. Hit me! The bamboo pole in my father's hand fell mercilessly on my brother's back and shoulders, and my father was out of breath.
After the fight, I sat on the kang and scolded, "Do you know now that you steal from home, and will you get it when you grow up?" I'm going to kill you. You're so disappointing. "
That night, my mother and I held my brother covered in scars, and he didn't shed a tear.
In the middle of the night, I suddenly cried. My brother put his little hand over my mouth and said, Sister, don't cry. Anyway, I'm finished.
I always hate myself for not having the courage to admit it. Many years later, I still remember my brother blocking the bamboo pole for me.
That year, my brother was 8 years old and I was 1 1 year old.
When my brother graduated from middle school, he was admitted to a key high school in the county. At the same time, I also received the admission notice from the provincial university.
That night, my father squatted in the yard, smoking a cigarette in his bag, still mumbling. They are both so disappointing.
What's the use of mom secretly wiping her tears and saying that she is trying to succeed? For what?
The younger brother walked up to his father and said, Dad, I don't want to study. Anyway, I'm full.
The father slapped his younger brother and said, Why are you so worthless? Even if I sell iron, I will give you both up.
Then he turned and went out to borrow money from door to door.
I stroked my brother's swollen face and said, you should continue to study. If a boy doesn't study, he will never get out of this poor ravine. My brother looked at me and nodded.
At that time, I had decided to give up the opportunity to go to school.
Unexpectedly, before dawn the next day, my brother secretly took some rags and some dry steamed bread and left a note on my pillow:
Sister, don't worry. It's not easy to get into college. I'll go out and work for you. Brother.
I took the note and lay on the kang crying.
That year, my brother 17 years old and I was 20 years old.
With the money borrowed by my father from the village and the money earned by my brother moving cement on the construction site, I finally went to junior year.
One day I was reading in the dormitory, and my classmates came in and called me, Mei Zi, a fellow villager looking for you. Why would a fellow villager look for me?
I went out and saw my brother waiting for me in the distance, wearing overalls covered with cement and sand. I said, how did you tell your classmates that you are my hometown?
He smiled and said, look at me dressed like this, saying that I am your brother, and your classmates don't laugh at you?
As soon as my nose is sour, my tears come down. I patted the dust on my brother and choked and said, you are my brother. No matter what you wear in your life, I'm not afraid of jokes.
He carefully took out a butterfly hairpin wrapped in a handkerchief from his pocket, measured it on my head and said, I think all the girls in the city wear this, so I'll buy one for you. I couldn't hold it any longer, crying in the street with my brother in my arms.
That year, my brother was 20 years old and I was 23 years old.
The first time I brought my boyfriend home, I saw that the glass that had been lost for many years was installed and the room was spotless.
I spoiled my mother after my boyfriend left. I said, mom, why did you keep the house so clean?
Mother is old and smiles like a chrysanthemum, saying that your brother will come back early to clean up. Did you see the cut on his hand? I scratched it when I was loading the glass.
I walked into my brother's cabin and saw his thin face. I was very sad. He still smiled and said:
The first time I brought my friends home, I was a college student in the city. You can't let others laugh at our family.
I put medicine on his wound and asked him, does it hurt? He said, no pain.
I'm at the construction site, and my feet are so swollen that I can't put on my shoes. I am still working!
Shut up halfway.
I turned my face away and cried.
That year, my brother was 23 and I was 26. |
After I got married, I lived in the city. My husband and I tried to bring my parents to live together several times, but they refused, saying that we didn't know what to do when we left the village. The younger brother didn't agree, and said, elder sister, you can take care of your brother-in-law's parents wholeheartedly! My parents have me.
My husband was promoted to the factory director, and I discussed with him to transfer my brother to the management repair department. Unexpectedly, my brother refused and insisted on being a repairman.
Once my brother climbed a ladder to repair the wire, so he was shocked and admitted to the hospital. My husband and I went to see him.
I caressed his leg in plaster and blamed him for letting you become a cadre early. Now that you fall like this, can't you be a worker to do that job?
He said seriously, why don't you think about my brother-in-law? He just came here, and I have no education, so I just became an official. What's the effect on him?
My husband was moved to tears, and I cried and said, brother, you are uneducated because my sister delayed you.
He took my hand and said, it's over. Why did you bring it up?
That year, my brother was 26 and I was 29.
When my brother was 30 years old, he married a filial rural girl.
At the wedding, the host asked him who your favorite person was, and he replied without thinking, my sister.
My brother told a story I don't remember:
When I first went to primary school, the school was in a neighboring village, and my sister and I had to walk for an hour every day to get home. One day, I lost a glove, and my sister gave me one of hers. She walked so far wearing gloves herself. When I got home, my sister's hands were too cold to lift chopsticks. From then on, I vowed to treat my sister well in my life.
The audience applauded and the guests turned to me.
I said, the most grateful person in my life is my brother.
I couldn't stop crying when I should be happiest. ......
oil light
Dim kerosene lamp
That's my mother's burning heart.
Since I can remember.
Mother is in the dim light.
Under a kerosene lamp that is not very bright.
Mend the seam, mend the seam.
One stitch, one thread, one stitch.
Day after day
Make cloth and get lasagna
Cook until your hair turns white and your legs bend.
Under that dim kerosene lamp
Mother's place was covered with scars and wrinkles.
Rough and chapped hands
I don't know how much I knitted when I was a child.
Colorful dreams
I don't know how much it ignites me.
Infinite reverie and loneliness
Mother under kerosene lamp
Highlight someone
Kind-hearted country old man
A great woman who pursues life and future.
Photos under kerosene lamps
Quiet and beautiful pictures
As I grew up.
until one day
The light at home is on.
That dim kerosene lamp
fulfil a mission
Since then, it has become a history.
I still can't forget it today.
Kerosene lamps emit light.
I can't forget the dim kerosene lamp.
Leave me a lot.
The best memories of childhood
Live like a jujube tree
In the 1980s, my father had an enviable job as a driver. Most people who have this profession like drinking, playing cards and bragging, while their father has a lofty hobby: reading. Read widely and miscellaneous, and have a good memory. I like to tell others after reading it. Astronomy, geography, ancient and modern history and social customs are as beautiful and charming in his thin mouth as the sound in a recording box.
The books my father read moved from Longnan to Baiyin, and finally all of them moved back to their hometown in the countryside. My father lost his job in the system reform. He's not as heroic as Liu Huan's song: it's a big deal to start over. What can I do when I am over half a year old? There are several acres of wasteland at home, and it is not very laborious to deal with it. However, it is no economic benefit to grow food alone. There are not many places to borrow books in the countryside. Father's spiritual food is yellow and green. He is hungry and full.
My father, who has no books to read, is full of troubles and worries. Mom cooks and dad makes a fire. Father picked up a handful of wheat straw and stuffed it into the stove chamber at random, and the fire was burning brightly. As soon as the water at the bottom of the pot rolled out, the salamander spit out the scarlet letter and fell down, wagging its tail. Put the noodles in the pot, simmer, drain, scoop into a bowl, and paste with soup and rotten flowers. Mother was so angry that she threw an iron spoon and smashed the noodles at the bottom of the pot. She said that her father had to eat and wear warm clothes to make a living. It was idle and cheap.
Father walked out of the house in the eyes of his mother's resentment and confusion, not looking for a job, but looking for someone to squat on the sunny slope to bask in the sun and pass a cigarette. Father smokes for himself and others, and he doesn't talk about the things in the book. Smoking in a muffled voice, laughing rudely, time slips through burned fingers. Two or three packs of cheap cigarettes a day completely burned mom's patience and expectations.
Mother dug out a set of clothes covered with mud and grass leaves and held it up. The clothes were draped over his father's shoulders, and a trouser leg just covered his muddy yellow eyes. She packed her simple clothes, left a few acres of young crops and her father standing on the ground, and panted back to her family.
Father hunched over and worked in the field, and rows of rice swayed in the wind. Yellow-green ears have some weight and hang their heads slightly. My father, honed in wild wind and poison, is like a real farmer. Under the shabby straw hat, his dark cheeks were exposed, deep wrinkles extended from both sides of his nose, and tight corners of his mouth were covered with fine cracks. There are dark clouds covering the sun and large shadows in front of him. He only looked up at the distance, his eyes confused. The sea of rice fell from the sky, ups and downs, magnificent, as spectacular as the tide of the sea, reflecting my father's heart as still as stagnant water. He held a shovel soaked in oil and sweat with his hands and stayed for a long time, having spiritual intercourse with nature.
In a vegetable garden built earlier in the yard, my mother planted Chinese cabbage, rape, pepper and rose dahlia, and let them grow without planning. Father pulled out some plants, pressed several ridges of plastic film neatly, and dug up the vegetable seedlings cultivated in the greenhouse. There is a circle of autumn chrysanthemums around the vegetable garden, and there is a vine near the kitchen porch, holding tiny buds and climbing the wooden frame built by my father.
Father found a thin sapling in the west of the garden. After studying for a long time, he didn't know what kind of sapling it was. Mother took one look and immediately pointed out that it was a jujube tree. Father removed the weeds around him and slowly exposed his roots. Some of them doubted my mother's judgment, but they were transplanted outside the vegetable garden. As my mother said, jujube trees are very drought-tolerant and don't need much water and nutrients.
Mother and father often sit under the grape tree at dusk, with rice bowls in their hands and chatting about the vegetable garden. My father took a few sips of home-brewed rice wine, his dark cheeks flushed and his muddy eyes sparkled. All kinds of plants in the garden are now covered with transparent and colorful glow, smiling at the brilliant sunset in the west.
The saplings outside the vegetable garden have branches half a person's height and finger thickness, and a few curly green leaves. We can only look at the mother's correct judgment at the beginning, and it is impossible to give birth to the extravagant hope of picking dates to eat. Father's eyes are full of love. He knows which leaf grows thicker than the previous one and which branch is thicker than the previous one.
Mother's chubby body flexibly turned into the vegetable garden, picked a green cucumber and snapped off most of it. My dad laughed at my mom for not being attentive at all, and my mom retaliated against my dad for pinching everything, not being too tired. Zizyphus jujuba, who is thin, understands the ridicule between her parents and is used to her father's civilized school.
Four seasons pass through my father's works at sunrise and sunset. My father likes this kind of life. He no longer misses the days when he had books to read or smoked. He went home in a proper way and sat in the yard with his mother to watch the jujube trees grow thick and tall.
In the year when the jujube tree bears fruit, the old house will be torn down and rebuilt. The newly built road outside the courtyard wall is nearly one meter higher than the foundation of the house. When the rainstorm came, the water pouring into the yard flooded the vegetable garden, and jujube trees stood upright with thin breasts to meet their parents who had returned from refuge. Father found a thick wooden stick to make an artificial support for the jujube tree, cut down the hanging crown, and left the trunk pointing to the sky alone.
The foundation of the new building is very high, half a meter higher than Malu. The jujube tree went through the chaos of demolition. Half of the trunk was buried in the soil, and the crown suddenly grew. The craftsman who built the house was afraid of obstructing the construction. His father stopped him from lifting his axe several times to cut it. Father is reluctant to part with it, watching him grow up like his own child, hanging a basket of agate-like dates. Shiny luster once wetted my father's muddy yellow eyes!
Newly built buildings need to be decorated, messy yards need to be tidied up, old things and old furniture need to be disposed of, and piles of things flock to our eyes. My father just had heart surgery, so I can't do anything difficult. My mother's job is not as good as before. Swallows carry mud and do a little work every day. It takes nine rooms for ten months to clean. There is no time to repair the yard, so we can only wait until next year when the weather is warm and the soil thaws.
Father remembered the jujube tree that he hadn't seen carefully for a long time. The vegetable garden was buried in the foundation, and jujube trees stood on the foundation withered and scattered, pinching a handful of bark, and the feeling of youth was passed on to my father's equally dry fingertips. Father grinned, his face was covered with autumn chrysanthemum-like wrinkles, and the petals were dotted with a drop of crystal tears.
Spring has come again, and my father's body has regained its vitality. He waved a hoe to restore the prosperity of the vegetable garden. The brown bark of his jujube tree is green, and the fresh green leaves on the branches carry sunshine one by one, like a boat on a long trip.