New Village
Text: White shade. The new village is no longer new.
Grandpa lived there.
My father lived there.
I also live there.
Called Ah San's nickname.
Got into a fight, scolded and crossed the street.
It is too high than the tree in front of the door.
Also in a river in the village.
Fish in troubled waters. Jumping up and down the stairs.
The path of the egg lattice.
Left a lot of naughty.
Of course the girl with a crush.
Also live next door.
Now grandpa doesn't know where to go**.
The father slept.
A cemetery in Qingpu.
The sun is still the sun.
The moon is still moonlight.
I drank at the small table.
Nagging and nagging.
Alas, ordinary people can stay.
That is, the memory of three generations.
Wind
Text: White shade. Wait for the wind to come
It's better to chase the wind.
I still remember when I was a child.
A sudden gale.
What a surprise it was for us.
We shouted in the wind.
We run in the wind.
Forget the time, forget yourself.
The wind blows and the wind and the sun are beautiful.
The winds are vivid.
We are one with the wind.
This is how my childhood passed.
The past is still. Left in the wind.
The dripping sound of the air conditioner
Text: White shade. One.
The water here does not flow.
The water here is dripping.
Self-produced and self-sold one at a time.
Talk to yourself again and again.
You are not like the tiles on the ridge.
Hide some rain if you have a heart.
So that when the weather is fine.
There are a few memories.
You are not like the willows by the river.
Branches of the water spirit.
It looks like I've just gotten up from the river.
There are also crystal droplets.
Two. A lot of the time.
You let me in the middle of the night.
I felt that it was raining outside the window.
More illusions.
From insomnia. I'll follow you to count the falls.
Drop by drop. Like the ticking of the hour hand.
I opened my eyes wide in the middle of the night.
I read the time minute by minute.
Three. It's about water.
* The first suspicion.
and the white clouds in the sky.
It doesn't matter anymore.
Four. What a quiet night it was.
You shouldn't be from above.
Fall on the canopy.
So loud and loud.
It has to put a lot of people.
Calling from a dream.
Read the Sleep Poet Shooting.
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life.