● Return to ideals for a short time
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Author: Born @
Secrets that cannot be told in winter
The night and the quilt gave me safety
The devil outside the window like the wind
I fell asleep in my sleep
I'm from the sea
The sleeves are full of waves
The boat has broken the pole and cracked the wood
Lie quietly on the beach
The sea no longer calls for it
Shells rushing up under your feet
I named it Sunflower's Child
The world is no longer sober
Art is nowhere to be found
I was on my way to escape
The sunset and fireworks are beautiful
If you want to choose one
I will choose myself
I woke up
The devil does not die
Only free
● Clay pots
Author: Gu Duyi
When the stove burns the pottery, you can hear the roar of the earth
The sorrow of the mountains and rivers
Clay pot daddy burnt pottery, clear and round
The hardness was just enough to smash the skull of a devil
The clay pot fell asleep in the cage
At the first seven o'clock, the river in front of the grave whimpered
Clay pots paint a man and woman on the glaze
Still holding a clay pot
Clay pots are not always burned pottery
When the steel was smelted, the iron pot at home was burned
The locust tree in front of the clay pot door branches and leaves
The yard is full of small clay pots
At dusk, the clay pot gently pulls out the clay pot
Touch a crack
There's fire in there, and daddy
The clay pot was confused
When the scream sounded, he lay down in the clay pot
It was as reassuring as lying in the arms of a mother
●Flying song
Author: Ayara Asa
In the early morning, we are going to lose a little
Until the sun lifted our heads, we looked
Out of the window, the sky, an unsafe place
There's anxiety buoying, birds
Without a trace
Fly, you worry
Those birds would crash into their mouths
And I am the humbler of them all
We keep flying
Wandered through the whole morning
In the afternoon, our water dispenser
It will be self-indulgent, it will pull on the cuffs of the curtains
It was like holding the setting sun, and we sat together
Watch the afterglow, sit until night, and get lost one by one
And I'm already asleep, and you're going to keep flying, to
Further afield, by the next morning, we opened our eyes
Get up and move on with our respective flat lives
● A poem that does not look like a poem
Author: Bishui Xiaoxiang
The dog crouched in the corner of the wall and nibbled on a bone
The eyes radiate a soft watery glow
Like a little beast in love
I sat in the corner and wrote a poem
His eyes showed a burning look
It's like a pregnant woman who is having a hard time giving birth
The dog chewed on the bones and wagged its tail
Nibbled out a piece of poetry of living as a dog
I wrote poetry biting the pen shaft
A little comfort in writing about being unborn
The dog chewed on the bones of the afternoon
Bite up and down without ambiguity
It looks like it's quite satisfying
I wrote an afternoon of poetry
Left and right thoughts have no clue
To be honest I care
The dog gnawed on the bones
Ignore me
I can't write such a sad poem
I write poetry
Envy it
The kind of happiness that gnaws at the bones
Dead dogs, don't get in my way
I don't know who scolded
The sky is thunderous
Some kind of pain for dogs
It's not a kind of numbness
The poet describes himself
Zhou Zhenhai: Pen name Gu Duyi, male, from Xianyang, Shaanxi, engaged in literary work, editor-in-chief of the review of the publication of local history books. He loves poetry creation, has worked as a poetry editor in online media, and his works have been scattered in online media, public accounts and local publications.
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I came from the sea, the sleeves were full of waves, the boat had broken the wood cracks, lying quietly on the beach, the sea no longer called for it