It's okay to have a long wind.
Blow a little harder.
The spirit of freedom.
Grow with the waves.
The big waves wash the sand, and only push the quality ones
Good night, Mr. Ant
I'm sorry to say to you first, Mr. Ant.
The rain all day quietly wet the entire rhododendron forest.
The clothes that were too late to take away were stuck in the water droplets.
I'm really sorry, but the food is still growing on the ruins.
I couldn't do it for you before the sunset.
Enough to store up a lifetime of exhaustion and sighs.
I made up my own pleasure at one point, I'm sorry.
I can't compare to the heartbeat of a kangaroo and a leopard.
There is no wind from the top of the tree that you have placed on me.
I can only say goodnight, this most insipid greeting.
Together with the cave family, Mr. Camphor and Miss Lake Water.
Let's go to a dinner party where it's hard to discern the future.
Together with the mountains, the fields, the wind and dust thousands of miles away.
And the rain that is still falling.
Walk towards the new unknown together.
Pei Fugang: A native of Kuancheng, Hebei. He is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society and a member of the Hebei Writers Association. His works have appeared in "Poetry Magazine", "National Literature", "Selected Poems", "Stars", "Caotang" and other magazines and a variety of literary anthologies, and he is the author of many poetry collections, essay collections, and long reportage.
Living soil
Plant a tree, and the soil will come alive.
When the leaves fall, they eat them one by one.
Cut down an arbor. Or dial off a small aspen.
And the earth withered. The barren grass is the last funeral of the earth.
The grass is gone. The mound was buried.
If there is nothing left to bury.
And the earth buries itself.
Long Ming: He currently lives in Xianning, Hubei Province, and his works of various genres have been scattered in "Poetry Magazine", etc., and have won more than 10 related awards.
All nights
Drain the last sip of wine.
Wash the cups.
Spend the night like this.
Spend your life like this.
Remember what you loved.
Laugh at the grievances.
Nothing is worth writing down.
Everything will repeat itself.
Let the memories of the earth wake up in the darkness.
Let the night sky freeze its own blue. Light.
Soon will pull up its sheets for a new day.
Will build the old one.
As for those lost dreams, let it be.
Stranded in the night and waiting for the snow in the intervals of the night.
Narrow, sycamore-covered gaps.
Ants climb over the moss at the foot of the wall.
Li Zhuang: Born in 1989, he is a native of Qingdao, Shandong. He is the author of the poetry collections "Li Zhuang Sitting on the Bridge Tower" and "Midnight Platform", and the literary criticism collections "Gaze" and "The Affection of the Dead Soul".
Each work pushed here is limited to the platform's love for the work itself. Of course, I want to win your love and respect.