Poetry In the crevices of the mountains, the stiff bones of the living villagers

Mondo Social Updated on 2024-01-19

Sheepskin rafts

They are partners in life and death.

Once huddled together to graze.

Stay up late huddled together.

Huddle together for the winter.

When I grew up, I huddled together and went into town.

Flesh and blood, scattered in the bustle.

The city soothes the smell of life.

On the raging Yellow River, again.

See them. And as before, tightly.

next to each other. Crossing.

Gaps

In the crevices of the loess, there are live earthworms.

In the cracks of the old wall, there are living sparrows.

In the crevices of the abandoned land, the sadness of the living mother.

In the crevices of the mountains, the stiff bones of the living villagers.

I, through a series of gaps** escaped.

I don't think about it, but there is a voice in the depths of the mountains.

Night after night. Old trees

Old trees stand on the side of the street.

Many voices entered the canopy and never came out again.

I've seen a couple of lovers arguing under a tree.

I also saw the homeless woman holding the stump and howling, beside her.

Lying on a dying child.

I heard a madman screaming under a tree.

These sounds must have been put away by the tree.

I was a little scared as I passed by at night.

In case a voice suddenly escapes......

Shallow autumn

Pick a leaf and put the day in it.

Follow the footsteps of the season to turn yellow, fly, and precipitate**.

Find a stream and put the monk's robe in it.

Wash away the dust of half your life, revealing a tranquil soul.

Find a white cloud and put footprints in it.

After drifting, gathering and scattering, it turned into a drizzle and returned to the world.

Cut a piece of geese chirp and put the wings in.

Skimming through the desolate north, fleeing to hope.

Raise a bunch of words and put nostalgia in it.

Be a shepherd and catch them up to the mountain beams in the shallow autumn.

Autumn is ripening in my mountain country.

In the long night, my mother's white hair was covered with frost flowers.

Author:Ma Weiju, male, born in 1957, is a native of Huining, Gansu Province, and lives in Beijing. He used to be the executive deputy secretary of the Party Committee of the Ministry of Railways and the China Railway Corporation, and was a member of the Chinese Writers Association, the China Railway Writers Association, and the Chinese Poetry Society. His poems have been published in hundreds of publications such as "Poetry Magazine", "Poetry Monthly", "Stars", "China Railway Literature and Art", "Ginseng Flower", etc., or have been selected into various anthologies such as "Chinese New Poetry" by the Chinese Poetry Society. Some of them are on the **People's Radio "Voice of China?".Read Poetry for You" was broadcast. Published his personal poetry collections "Gap" and "Deep Snow".

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.

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