Poetry in modern Chinese is interpreted as a literary genre of lyrical expression. So, what are the beautiful poems?
Article 1: "In a foreign country"
Bir
Poetry in modern Chinese is interpreted as a literary genre of lyrical expression. So, what are the beautiful poems?
Article 1: "In a foreign country"
Birds are like a blue flower or a stone in their hometown.
Flowers and stones
You blew a fresh and lasting wind from the dripping river.
The moon is like a beautiful village, which makes my old love unforgettable.
The cooked food in the hands of relatives grows a cup of good medicine and saves everything.
This is a ballad about land and water.
Let suffering walk on wine and enjoy life.
The ridge will be empty.
Do wanderers often think of distant places when they are alone?
A cloud that only left me a moment of happiness.
Maybe I won't see you clearly in my life.
I will hug a silent tree trunk in loneliness to bury my tears.
Silence silently wrapped my inner wounds.
The warm ashes took away the steady lamp.
I can't sleep tonight because my heart is desolate and dark.
The city is full of drug addiction and diseases, and my hands are empty.
A finger writing a poem can't hold a dusty tear.
I was looking after the crops when the lantern bearer came to this barren hillside at night.
A full moon with great failure and pain is shining.
How are you going to put it on your head like a wreath?
A cold star walks in the wilderness.
Where the cold light falls
That's hometown.
My free body lies flat on the dirt floor.
Once again, where the clouds pass, there are many flowers.
Chapter 2: I don't want to think of you tonight.
Read the dream again at night.
Eyes immersed in tea, in the moonlight
Wait at the starting line
Waiting, the morning is darker than the night.
The night awn collides with the morning fog.
Wear heart tears into beads and hang them on branches.
I don't want to think of you tonight.
Heart, translated into burnt white Yue Guang.
But I spread it out one by one.
Those falling moonlight are gentle.
Weak but stinging countless times.
Maybe you're not that bird anymore.
Spring breeze is ringing in my ears.
But your voice has been following your heart.
On rainy days, my heart hurts.
We have to find the fragment antidote.
Then put those romantic, floating red.
In fact, you and I both know that in my soul.
A feather you left me.
Lift my lightest inspiration to fly.
Order songs in our era.
Don't talk about love, but you can't get out of the alley.
You are tired, birds have no wings anymore.
But transplant these wings to me
I will embrace the world with a natural attitude.
The spreading wisteria is fragrant and pure in your paradise.
Vine-wrapped stamens wake up at night.
Sleep in the moonlight
In the sound of dew falling to the ground
Sleeping soundly, still dreaming.
I vaguely heard your nightmare crying.
Chapter 3: Valentine's Day in China-My smile has turned gray.
* * * A * * *
The demon knocks on the door every August.
Guarding a warm noun
Dust is hidden on the back of the calendar.
I cut off my sight.
Staring at the mystery of disappearance in cross section
take a look
I stopped for a whole August.
Time is as beautiful as a flowing circle.
Let your fingers shift again and again.
You turn around every night and let me talk.
Involvement pain
Charming words are like flowers today.
Your sadness is quiet and beautiful.
Blooming on the water between my fingers
* * * Two * * *
The demon knocks on the door every August.
Guarding a warm noun
The sunset overflows, and August is not golden.
The mood of walking on the earth
Desire grows violently.
Always thinking about what kind of gestures to use.
Can embrace your sunny life.
The time of existence is scattered and contemplative.
I was trapped in a silent town.
Fall ill in a joke all over the sky
You are like a leaf that grows in summer.
Worried time zones pin tears on your chest.
Spread silence into an umbrella.
Cover my eyes and don't let me look at you.
* * * Three * * *
The demon knocks on the door every August.
Guarding a warm noun
August and a poem with a broken leg
A lie about a nap
Walk through the wheat fields and catch up with your eyes.
Leave a poetic heart in your crowded sky.
I closed all the rivers for you.
Let the tentacles wait quietly for the dawn.
The car that saw you sitting at the door waiting for dinner.
The reason for passing by smiled at each other.
Embrace you in my dialect.
Reading your smile is my life.
My beard has become forgetful.
Even if one day the smile turns gray.
I also hope that the paragraphs that have been deleted during this period.
And engraved with the calendar I love.
* * * Four * * *
The demon knocks on the door every August.
Guarding a warm noun
The butterfly landed at your fingertips.
Wicker and clue stand in confusion.
The city at noon, tears streaming down her face.
You always smile so cleanly.
Witness the path my words have taken.
You sleep in the bookmark of life.
I dreamed of the rusty man in rural Sichuan.
He stood in the waters where his ancestors rested.
Tear up the hard years and habitually amplify laughter.
Try to live with a lifetime of regrets.
He leans against your sight and blows out every meteor.
Weeds withered in the night rain passed through the fields.
Embroider a clear pattern in the depths of your soul.
Let the unspeakable fruit
The words in my heart tonight
be filled/suffused/brimming with
The rain fell on the roof.
I penetrate all sounds.
Read sacred metaphors many times.
I haven't found your whereabouts either.
The peach tree falls in your palm.
Birds are singing in the wind.
Lost water Mae
I'm ferrying for a name
Chapter 4: Life Playback
Touch the road you have walked.
Like clouds and wind, take a nap halfway up the mountain.
Trembling on the branches. In the fog, in the rain
Secret travel.
The curtain swings into the heart, a layer of dense.
Hidden mountains, like my heart.
Stripping silver wire
I feel life.
Peach blossom red, grass green.
I hid it in the folds of my diary.
The arrival of a butterfly
Reminds me of my selfishness.
The past is in my heart.
Suck greedily, time
Scar left behind
Such as turning over soil and earthworms.
I played it again and again.
Yellowing photos, moldy memories
The footsteps of running water, the brilliant starry sky
The song is fading and the wind is tired.
The earth woke up and the red lanterns were shaking.
The idea rooted in spring is generated together.
Like fireworks, sleepless.
I wait for you devoutly.
The dam of time, the continuous trend.
Autumn is the cover of life.
Each ear of rice contains
A tortuous and beautiful time
Just like the dusk in my hometown, the smoke from every household.
Chapter 5: "I am in the breeze"
I am in the breeze.
The cervical vertebra of the gourd sank in.
Pour out the fragrance of wine with the leisurely last paragraph.
But to reveal the truth in the joint of Xiaque.
An old man came with strength.
Cut with the sound of flowers.
So there you are.
Li Qingfeng
Time has a knife on their heads.
As before
Just like the future.
Squashed treetops, withered cantaloupes, rotten peppers.
Know nothing about the facts.
Just like facing your finger.
Even if it is buried.
Wait until there is a breeze.
all the time
I imagine a water lily.
Even if it rains.
The wind is coming.
Here comes the old farmer.
I am very happy.
Because I was drunk.
Water is pure wine.
Summer is coming, it's time to sing.
It disappeared.
Leave cicadas in your eyes.
There is a flame on the mouth.
With an orange smile
The stomach at sunset
Take another step and smell the fragrance of the breeze.
Sweat like rain to the western hills
Dashan shook his head.
500 years old
The last breeze