Last year
Last year, I was at night.
Guarding a mosquito and sitting until dawn.
They speak Min Nan dialect with a Jiangyou accent.
Whirl in the mud with the wind.
It was August, and the landscape was tiring.
I threw myself into Luxi.
Throw into my veins, that one from the mountains.
Ran out of the river.
My head is perched on the top of a mountain.
Perched on Longhu Mountain, dwelling in the world.
It's like Danxia, just like the one who married from afar.
Sunset. However, the mountains are heavy.
Mountains always carry mountains and rivers.
Like a counselor with a red scarf.
Stand on the mill of lost years to count.
Number. Oh, autumn.
I eat coastal umami.
The mountain love that eats the skeleton and indulges it.
Eat the way of human beings.
And drink my blood.
The one that runs to the sea.
RiversI sing the praises of an image
The first time is the green bud of the flower bush.
Trembling branches, dew.
Gently slid into the earth.
The tender goose on the tip of the grass replied shyly.
Like a girl who has just come out of the bath.
The second time was several times in a dream.
Touching the youth of thirty years ago, these thirty years, dreams are crammed into little by little.
Mind; Just looking forward to the millennium Zhuangzi dream.
The tail butterfly chases. The third time was later.
It's the time when spring is blooming.
The sea water is constantly washing my bowels.
But the stars hid out the window.
Like a jumping child lifting the curtain of dark clouds.
What happened last time.
He's not the same cloud.
It's a cold dream.
tormented the rest of the memory.
Tortured the bitter saltiness of the sea.
Head buckle frosty sky.
Listen to ants gnawing on their winter rations.
In his trouser pocket, some troublesome change.
I am busy sending out spring cats.
Call. The human cat is in the heart of the universe.
Staring, looking up, silently pondering.
Rummaging through every speck of dust.
Needed answers. And I always believe it.
Behind the evil of people's hearts lies a blue treasure map of goodness. ――
I only have an empty world
Forgive me, that's all I can do.
Tell your sorrows. Forgive me!
I have only an empty world, with neither roses nor lilacs.
My world is narrow, and I only have temporary years.
and wind and frost. I tried my best, but I no longer had the strength to cry out for love. Forgive me!
Forgive me for having nothing, forgive me for being premature.
Pouring out of the nest. Forgive me!
I have only an empty world, with neither roses nor lilacs.
I have only one thing left to survive, relying only on memories.
Spend your days. ――Author:Ye Xiaosong, born in 1964, screen name, Prometheus (fire thief), columnist of the Reading Sleep Poetry Society, and a good poet in poetry writing. Some of the poems are included in "Reading Sleep Poems: Spring Blossoms" and "Reading Sleep Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". The language of poetry is unique, the poetry is agile, and he is good at digging out the poetic soil and building the castle of poetry from the silhouette of life. Poetry has its own unique meaning and specialness, and has a certain degree of recognition.
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.