Turn it into a charming painting.
A beautiful woman stroked the strings.
Give an intoxicating smile
Keep the breast
Fell on the branches of the village
Sparse rain
Moisten the leaves of osmanthus trees
An old woman who faltered.
Put away the supported flower umbrella.
Walk into the pink attic
Gray sky
Express faint feelings
Yellowing bamboo branches
Swinging and haggard lines of poetry
Ink-splashing artist
Straighten the camel's back
sunflower
Dew falls in the morning
Bathe in the warm sunshine.
In the spacious yard
Rekindle hope
Looking at the beautiful butterflies in the distance
Fly over the fragrant garden
Look down quietly
A truant child
Slowly go to sleep.
Forgetting is not a sad statement.
Waiting for handling
A trace of deep relief.
When autumn geese fly over the blue sky
Heavy sunflower
Finally lowered his shy face.
Too many people went.
Feel the charm of harvest
But few people.
Read its mind
Is it selfless dedication or
Silent expectation
Dream in February
Although countless years have passed.
But why?
You can also sleep for a long time.
encounter
It's a corner of the same city
Or on the other side of a foreign country
Someone really misses someone.
Speak sweet words
Nobody takes it too seriously.
promise
I have been waiting silently.
Disappear together
Time has diluted all the scenery.
Leave mottled marks on the ground
Modern Poetry: Morning 2 Although a little stiff and shy
And live up to your mission.
You try to clean it.
Dust in the air
Try to bury the filth
Your innocence
A row of dazzling silver flowers decorated in the crown of the tree.
Those depressed plants
Vivid because of your existence.
Dense pine branches support it
Clouds of sugar.
Will breathe slightly sweet.
Enter the heart and spleen
You didn't stay long.
When the howling wind blows
Your beautiful image has quietly gone with the wind.
Leave only a few memories
Tell people
There you are. ......
Although you are a little stiff and shy, you live up to your mission. You try your best to clean the dust in the air and bury the filth in your innocence. You decorate the trees with silver flowers, and the gloomy crown is vivid and dense because of your visit. Pine branches hold up clouds of sugar and send sweet breath into your heart and spleen. You didn't stay long. When the sun rises, your beautiful image has quietly died, leaving only some memories to tell people that you have been here. ......
Although a little stiff and shy.
And live up to your mission.
Try to remove dust from the air.
Try to bury the filth
Your innocence
Dazzling silver flowers dotted with trees.
Those sunken canopies
Vivid because of your existence.
Dense pine branches support it
Clouds of sugar.
Send a slightly sweet breath into the heart and spleen.
You didn't stay long.
When the sun rises in the sky
Your beautiful image has quietly left.
Leave only a few memories
Tell people
There you are. ......
Modern Poetry: Morning 3 Summer Morning
chhirp
Express everyone's thoughts.
Everyone is aware of it.
This is a vibrant season.
Roses are in bud.
The weeping willows are affectionate.
Grass in the cracks of corner bricks
Shiny naughty eyes
Pick it with your little finger.
Laugh like tears
Summer is short and romantic.
I saw a heart-shaped flower.
Open and close.
I never got a chance to say that sentence.
but
Give birth to a green fruit
wait for
Mature autumn
Modern poetry: the crisp birdsong in the morning
Make this morning more peaceful.
Slightly yellow leaves seem to be waiting for something.
A gust of wind blew. Who is whispering?
Frost is coming.
Two fallen leaves gently kissed the earth.
LAM Raymond is burning.
Are you drunk? Are you drunk?
How can you talk nonsense when you are drunk? Touch your heart?
You should go to bed.
I am particularly awake during the day.
At night, I think of you all the time.
bewilder
You read my words.
But I can't understand my inner struggle
Shall we go?
It is for these contradictions and entanglements.
Are we finished?
You will suffer all kinds of hardships and misfortunes.
Is it true or not
We can also be like this season, this autumn morning.
Calm and calm has a substantial peace.
Is this the last "last"
After everything, my heart can still be the same.
I'm still passionate about everything behind the peace.
This is the last, the last, the last.
My tears are still there.
Can give your heart a gentle touch.
Modern Poetry: At 5 a.m., the brakes screeched.
Through the hazy fog in the morning
A poem that went wild in a hurry.
Be beaten to fly on the concrete floor.
Tire man
A line of bright red ellipsis
The ringing that was fresh just now.
Lyrics of dismemberment
Caught up by the winter frost.
On the way to 120
Sighing and gasping bystanders
sun
Gradually exposed the eyes in the clouds.
Expectation of osmotic reversal
Only pigeon whistle
Follow the apex of pain
Flying around with a helpless vibrato
At this moment
The track of the city
Slip into the rhythm of punching in at work.
Countless surviving metrical poems
Another neat day in ordinary life.
A flood of interrupted poems.
Sanitary handlebar ellipsis
Rush into a deep manhole
Modern Poetry: 6 a.m. A pedal tricycle
Some simple vegetables
An old man with thick hair.
Yelling at the gate of the park
Start a new day full of hope.
One leek at a time
How many crows are there?
And the light of the stars
Dewy
Fragrant, crowded
A laundry list, root
Comfortable ground
Confess to people
This is not greed.
Is to keep
Every drop of fragrance
Radish after radish.
And the moon, in
In the same basin
Bath, water
Skin, let the morning light
Put on pink yarn, carcass
More and more delicate and charming
also
Pepper, tomato, cabbage
Let this morning
Assemble in the carriage
At different times
Different areas
Different quantities
The same thin shoulders
And uneven moonlight
Cloudy eyes
Glow in search
A tired face
Save the best smile
A hoarse voice
Imitate shouting
Rough hand
Trembling with endless hope
Chinese chives
Pick it up from the ground.
A vegetable leaf
Take back the carriage
It belongs to the chickens and ducks at home.
breakfast
or ...
Modern Poetry: Morning 7 (1)
Wearing headphones,
Loose hair,
Wandering in the street by bike.
Tired,
Squatting on the side of the road,
Holding his chin in his right hand,
Looking at the dying leaves on the ground tortured by pedestrians.
Lift your head slightly,
Through the lens,
And then through the hair,
Looking at the pedestrians coming and going in a hurry,
Laugh,
It turned out that I was the only one.
Hold your head up,
The long-lost sunshine makes people dizzy.
Habitually raise your right hand,
Cover your eyes,
Fingers slowly separate,
Let the sun shine on my face through my fingers.
As it turns out,
The sunshine is so warm.
(2)
I like the sunshine in winter,
Sprinkle it all over your body to keep warm,
It makes people feel sleepy,
Have infinite yearning.
I like the warm wind in spring,
Embrace her with open arms,
A kite lies on the grass and looks at the sky.
Follow your heart,
Fly in the blue sky together.
I like cloudy days in summer,
Somewhere in the dark room,
Quietly waiting for a rainstorm,
Covering the earth in an instant,
At that moment,
Finally find your own world.
I like the fallen leaves in autumn,
With the autumn wind hovering in the air,
Squatting on the side of the road and enjoying it quietly,
Everything seems so lonely!
(3)
A piece of paper,
A pen,
A piece of music,
Endless nights,
This is my world.
Staring at the night sky,
Write yourself on paper with a pen,
Hide deep and deep feelings.
Only then,
Very quiet.
I fly in the dark like an elf.
As it turns out,
Night is my paradise.
Some people say,
I'm like a mystery,
It's hard to read.
I want to say,
In fact,
I am very simple,
Just a little lonely.
(4)
I often have a dream,
Walking alone in the maze of black holes,
No matter how you go,
Finally,
Everything is back to the starting point.
The cold wind blew on me,
There is a feeling of being in the middle of the year.
Cut the skin with a knife,
Blood oozes out slowly,
I was so scared.
I started yelling,
Shouting every name in my memory.
however
Except for his own echo,
It is the silence of death.
Fear makes me cry,
Tears fell on my face,
There is a trace of warmth.
The voice began to hoarse,
Tears began to dry up,
I'm really tired,
Slowly lean against the cold stone wall.
Suddenly,
My chest is stuffy,
It's so stuffy that you can't breathe.
At that moment,
I feel that death is coming,
The soul slowly leaves the body,
Without any struggle.
Then,
I woke up from my dream, clutching my chest.
I bought a cross and hung it on my chest.
Let him bless me,
however
To no avail.
I think maybe my dream is not controlled by foreign gods.
I bought another jade Buddha.
Hanging on your chest,
It still doesn't help.
I think maybe I committed too many crimes in my last life,
Let me suffer endlessly in my life.
Modern Poetry: Morning 8 Winter Morning
There is a thick layer of white fog on campus.
I walked on the tree-lined road covered with fish fossils.
It's like walking into a rolling river of ideas.
The thick fog passed me slowly.
All I have to do is wave gently.
You can make it soar.
On such an awakening day.
I have never longed for the arrival of the sun.
Eager for the enemy's attack
Live between darkness and light.
I may not be another Haizi.
Become a martyr of another thought
However, I can be on thick yellow soil
Make up another brave and strong me
Why not take advantage of this foggy morning?
Introduce this torrent of ideas into the fountain of university campus.
Let it emerge from the enthusiasm of ideological enlightenment.
Let it flow to the long sword waved by the old man in the morning exercise.
Let it pierce every young man's heart.
Let that heart fall every time.
Enough to cause a disturbance on the earth.
And all this may happen on a winter morning.
At this time, most people are still sleeping in warm dreams.
I walked on the tree-lined road covered with fish fossils.
With the determination to die
Declare war on the cold winter
Collided with white fog
Modern Poetry: There are too many mornings, and I have been trying hard, even though I tried to look out from the whirlpool of consciousness.
It is not necessarily clear at a glance, and it is not necessarily clear at a glance.
-Insects chirping on the window, larks purring, and support from far and near.
Innocent silence, static progress, hopeful gathering,
Turn a blind eye to the heat, imitate the disordered god, and
From the rhythm of the mud pit
A beautiful and interesting day to lubricate nature.
I am sure that the billowing clouds in the distance are turning into gray convection.
Drag back to reality with difficulty
But I dare not assert the axis of the vortex above it.
Could it be an unusual shower?
I look at you, not to see you, but to care what you have made me.
I care that you hold me without a definite view, holding my sacred hostility and ignorance.
Early in the morning, now!
Because you are still working hard, still working hard for me, fighting for that wonderful melody for me.
Don't hide me too deep in your metaphor, because I'm waiting for you to like me.
I'm sure you are, too, and more than that.
Modern Poetry: Morning 10 In the early morning of April, the sky is blue.
It's blue, blue and a little transparent.
Clouds wander in the air, dreaming and drifting away.
Looking forward to the wind blowing from the gap outside Shan Ye, embrace it.
In the early morning of April, there is no sunshine.
Flowers shy smile, stretch soft waist, charming and moving.
Wait for dew to fall from the sky and kiss them sweetly.
This moment is beautiful and sacred.
In the early morning of April, it seems a little fascinating.
The girl leaned against the windowsill and combed her long hair carefully.
Sweet smile, slightly overflowing from the wind.
The smell of missing pervades the surrounding air.
Filar silk soft, mixed feelings. ...
Honey, tell me.
What could be better than this April morning?
Some miss, some miss, silently. ...