New Year's group of poems
Directions home
The sun in early spring. Every ray
Guide an energy to the earth.
Trembling slightly, it was the temperature of the heart brewing.
Coming home is always a topic of the year.
Touching the eyes, gentle, resolute, are all moments of attachment.
Thousands of mountains and rivers, wind and rain over there.
The eyes in the wind and rain are still as clear as promised.
A breath in and out of a city block.
The light line is the rotation of the scene.
Even if the mountain is blocked, the curtain cannot be opened for a long time.
The flight of the heart has been connected by the more and more Qiandu Mo.
The smell of home wakes up the mist that has been silent for a long time.
A greeting or two is like a fish gliding under the water.
Sometimes, the memory is the old owl tree at the head of the village.
The bird's nest on the warm tree is the comma of nostalgia.
Sometimes, there is a cry in the corner of the city.
The country sound is melodious, and the reason for going home is dyed with fireworks ordinary.
The fibers of light, boiling each particle of dust.
Its direction is settled on last night's clear dream.
Hurry up today and take away new feelings.
Again, be the source of your next rafting.
Round table for the year of the reunion
The round table has a congenial atmosphere.
The turntable spins, stirring up the thoughts and topics of the year.
Record, there is a mellow piece flowing slowly.
The river outside the window is reluctant to give up day and night.
The laughter in the room is frozen in the sunlight at this moment.
On everyone's face, there is the splendor of begonias at the end of the year.
The passing clouds know that spring is bright in advance.
Despite the chill, I was immersed in the shiver of water and weeds.
The idea of returning to the bud sprouts in the expectation of every inch of grass.
Every plate, open flowers.
At the very least, it lights up the season of reunion.
Put down the chopsticks of a year's sorrow.
Dripping with a touch of sadness, while raising the cup.
It is full of spring flowers.
The pass of the year
Half of it is the cold wind passing by.
Half of it is to open the half curtain densely woven by the spring breeze.
Old and new, the scene changes in fact, just a thought of the year.
If it should be over, it will not be able to pass the pass of time.
Across the valley, the lush greenery of flowers and plants is surging.
A piece of music, with rests marked at **.
At the end of the year, there is a stop between the two solar terms of the score.
It seems like just yesterday, the pass of the year.
Open your heart and murmur about the churning of the winter mist.
A thick outfit can't get rid of the heaviness of the soul.
The whistle sounded, and the tunnel was long.
The new gift of sunshine crosses thousands of mountains and mountains.
The glow of the couplets
Pull two bright rivers, lying in the harbor in and out.
The warmth of the diffuse soothes every gaze.
It is as if the Yangtze River and the Yellow River are guarding China.
From snow-covered plateaus to oceans.
The replacement of the old and new charms is not a deliberate abandonment.
Horizontal criticism, a promise is an oath.
A reckless plain left for memory and placed in the years.
A silver overlook, paved to the surging ocean.
Stir up the sun and quietly melt the wind and frost of last night.
The moon has risen into the clouds of the East Mountain.
Greeting each other, full of halo mood.
Start year after year, full of interesting day and month signs.
The lights of Chinese New Year's Eve
Tonight, don't let the lights close your eyes.
The eyes of the keeper are all burning lamps.
Wind and rain are still brewing outside the distant mountains.
The emotions that have been brewing for a year have filled the wine glass tonight.
Ferry, from the stormy left bank.
Shake to the right bank, and the waves of the river shimmer.
The lights of the years illuminate the long river with flickering light and darkness.
Actually, all it takes is a glimmer of light.
The night sky on Chinese New Year's Eve is bright enough.
Put the light in the lantern and gaze in the cold wind.
Focus on the smoothness of the long street, silent.
Occasionally, a firecracker or two, playfully sounded.
The lights of thousands of homes are floating, and the cheerful Liuyun Chunen is floating.
Author: Jia Zhangmin
Participated in the establishment of Sichuan Legal Newspaper, and served as a reporter, department director, deputy editor-in-chief and editor-in-chief of the newspaper.