Fairy tale poet
Shu Ting
You believe the fairy tale you wrote.
I became a blue flower in a fairy tale.
Your eyes are omitted.
Sick trees and rotten walls
Rusted and collapsed iron fences
With a simple signal
Gather a team of stars, Chinese milk vetch and slug.
To an unpolluted distance
leave
The heart may be small.
The world is very big.
So people believe you.
Believe in Tasong after the rain
There are thousands of little suns hanging.
Mulberries and fishing rods bent across the river.
The cloud entangled the kite's tail.
Countless shaken memories
Shake off the dust of the years
Accompanied by the sound of pure silver.
Talk to your dreams
The world may be small.
The field of the heart is very big.
(1980.4 Shu Ting)
I am a wayward child, written by Gu Cheng in March, 198 1.
I am a wayward child.
I want to paint windows all over the world.
Let all eyes accustomed to darkness get used to light.
perhaps
I am a child spoiled by my mother.
I am very self willed
I hope
Every moment.
As beautiful as colored crayons.
I hope
You can draw on your beloved white paper.
Freedom to paint clumsily.
Draw the next picture Never.
With tears in my eyes
A piece of sky
A feather and leaf belonging to the sky.
Light green night and apples
I want to draw the morning.
Draw dew
The smile you can see.
Draw all the youngest
Love without pain
Draw an imaginary picture.
My lover
She has never seen a cloud.
Her eyes are the color of a clear sky.
She always looks at me.
Forever, watch
Never turn around suddenly.
I want to paint the distant scenery.
Draw a clear horizon and water waves
Draw many happy rivers.
Painting mountains—
Full of fuzzy fluff
I put them together.
Let them fall in love.
Let every acquiescence
Every quiet spring is exciting.
Be a little flower's birthday.
I also want to paint the future.
I haven't seen her, and I can't.
But I know she is beautiful.
I drew her autumn clothes.
Draw those burning candles and maple leaves
I paint a lot because I love her.
Extinguished heart
Hua wedding
Draw an early-rising festival-
There is cellophane on it.
And illustrations of northern fairy tales
I am a wayward child.
I want to erase all my misfortunes.
I think on earth
Draw all the windows
Let all eyes get used to the darkness.
Accustomed to the light
I want to paint a style.
Draw a mountain higher than the last one.
Draw the desire of the oriental nation
Draw the sea—
Endless sweet sound
Finally, in the corner of the paper
I want to paint myself, too
Draw a koala
He sat in the dark jungle of Victoria.
Sitting on a quiet branch
stare blankly
He has no home.
There is no heart in the distance.
He only has, a lot.
Berry dream
And big eyes.
I hope
think
But somehow,
I have no crayons.
Don't get a color moment.
I only have me.
My fingers and pain.
Just shredded pieces.
Beloved white paper
Let them find butterflies.
Let them disappear from today.
I'm still a kid.
A child spoiled by an imaginary mother
I am very self willed