Modern Poetry Moon 1: (Author: Jiang Feng)
As night falls, the stars stir up lanterns, and the moon closes the door, leaving only one window to peep at the dust and catching the appetite of the world with a silver hook with cold light.
I took a gourd ladle of Yue Hui and put my thoughts into the spirit in the luminous cup. My empty stomach accumulated into sadness, my heart floated on a boat, wobbled on the ferry, and the waves of my thoughts.
It's September 6th, and it's autumn. Come on, moon, your hook, with barbs, has deeply hooked my yearning for the distance.
Moon of Modern Poetry 2: (Author: Fengqi Wu Tong)
On the new moon, Chang 'e sometimes cries. She covered her tearful eyes with long sleeves, so she only saw sad and delicate eyebrows.
Half a month, when I went to Guanghan Palace. Not necessarily thinking of loneliness, she had to break off half of the mirror in her dowry, give it to her lover and hang it in the sky.
Full moon, 365 days a year, only a few rare parties, look! Chang 'e's face lit up, radiant, and everything was aboveboard.
Modern Moon Poetry 3: (Author: Cupid)
That night, the moonlight bloomed with distant sounds, stroking the hieroglyphics of "green white dew is frost", which were hazy and full of images.
You seem to have broken free from the shackles of time. Tonight, the stars are shining. You are plump and fit, which is the joy from the golden autumn.
Looking at the golden particles, the west wind waved away the wet sadness, wrote a maple leaf full of acacia, and gently sent it to the distance.
When the clouds faded, I shyly lit the lanterns on the fruit trees, whispered sweet nothings in the moonlight and hid the skilled white clouds.
Fade the gorgeous clothes and touch the shiny strings. The cicada chirps and the frog disappears quietly. Tonight you are the bride of the earth.
The Moon of Modern Poetry 4: (Author: Liu Hongyuan)
Poets always write the moon so beautifully, but who really knows the old man? As night falls, birds return to the forest, pedestrians return home and stars whisper. Isn't it overlooking the warmth of thousands of families?
Homesick people say, the moonlight at home is how bright! The drinker said, bring my shadow, let the three of us talk about the moon, and those who miss their hearts also talk about the moon. The old man is a universal spiritual sustenance.
Roundness and lack are its happiness and boredom, brightness and darkness are its height, and it is also lonely. When the stars are frolicking and playing, the lights on the earth go out. It looks at the sun with its pillow in the universe, and it's time to go to bed while listening to lullabies. Good night moon, good night my love, I want to meet you in my dream.