Appreciation of Modern Poetry: Dream

Appreciation of modern poetry: no one can research dreams 1.

The depth of dreams

In addition to dreaming about yourself

because

No one wants to walk a long night.

The disappearance of the day is like

Cough.

The cherry-red branches shook down.

Black wind flows at both ends of the night.

Lonely dreams lock themselves in a flower.

Nobody knows.

Do dreams also have transparent wings?

because

No one wants to step into a dream during the day.

Dreams always stand on the moon.

Look at the end of the world

Have some affairs.

Stick it on your forehead

Sleep in the deepest part of the night

Like a girl full of emotion

Silent but lovely.

Wake up after a deep sleep

The whisper of spring breeze echoes in my ears.

A shallow smile overflowed from the brow of the dream.

Sunlight as evidence

One dream will eventually awaken another dream.

dream

Appreciation of modern poetry: Dream 2 must be another planet.

The shepherd accidentally lost his whip.

The scattered sheep are scattered

Full of streets, tall buildings and mountains.

Birds perched in bamboo forests

Circling lovers

Their transparent eyes

Reflects the sad love.

Naughty fish

Turn the galaxy into a soft arm.

Passionate about the waves

established

The prophecy of a stubborn stone

Put love in the cup.

Memories drift away.

Cypress trees looming on the hillside

A cabin, several acres of land.

Listen to the water gurgling.

Look at the boundless moonlight.

Behind the house is a charming lilac.

Flowers bloom slightly.

Wet poetry breaks through the fog.

Dreaming of the charming sweetness in this world

When I raised my pen, my dream woke up.

Well, who is it?

Make such a beautiful lament?

Appreciation of Modern Poetry: Dream 3 Raise your head during the day.

See the sun shining

Night is coming.

Staring at the starry sky, faintly lit.

Thousands of years ago

The sky is just a dream.

Thousands of years later,

It seems close at hand.

Flying fire of hope

Burn gradually

Burn into a spectacular bonfire

Burning in the roar of blazing fire

Once weak wings

Osmotic blood

Although it didn't really fly.

But I entrusted my dream to that distant place.

This is a story.

A long, long story

The blood, tears and sweat of our ancestors

This is its footprint today.

People yearn for the air in higher places.

Longing for the scenery of further places

Solve the mystery of the universe

Full of so many fascinating secrets.

And we

Try to solve the mystery.

Planetary river system

Carrying the desire of human exploration.

many people

Sing for it with your life.

When the first man-made satellite flew into the sky

When the first rocket entered the universe,

When man first broke away from the bondage of the atmosphere.

These moments

Remind mankind

We are realizing this dream.

Please don't forget.

A long time ago.

Flying is just a dream.

And the process of realizing it.

Too many people died.

Dear friends.

The human dream of flying.

It was a dream-chasing journey covered with blood.

Please respect every successful or unsuccessful flight.

Because they

Guide us to explore the direction of the universe.

Appreciation of Modern Poetry: Inscription of Dreams 4: In this lonely world, you have become my deep belief.

I can only engrave it on the tip of my pen and say an oath that I can't say.

I can't escape the dusty dream, pestering my soul to sink into the silent time and space at midnight.

The hazy past poured out pieces of sadness.

It's been several years, and love is gone.

Lonely shadows leave geese, tears break the sky.

How can we heal the pain left behind?

Crushed endless feelings, looking back frequently, the lights are still dim, but the appearance is completely different.

Fanghua is far away-the residual leaves are scattered into mud.

The pen is lovesick and the ink is red.

Stroking a farewell song, heartbroken people are far away.

Fingers are sad and golden autumn turns yellow.

The lonely Iraqis trace back to their old dreams,

The coldness of places stained with ink.

The wind blew the fallen leaves all over the garden.

Tears flow before words, and there is nowhere to stay.

Love lasts for a long time, and there are several spring and autumn cycles.

Hate you, hurt you, who lost face?

Who is it? Who satirizes its persistence?

who is it? Who is waiting in the pale?

Ren Wan Li's thoughts are addicted to the fingertips and melt in the faint ink.

Keep my mind still, tears fall on the ground, mottled with fleeting time.

Opened my heart,

But only unspeakable pain, fixed in the memory of time and space.

Looking up at the sky and sighing-it is always Conan's dream to pour out his heart.

Looking back at thousands of Baidu,

I can vaguely see your voice and smile.

Lost in yesterday's meeting,

But I can only see through the pool of autumn water-full of tears.

Flowers passed away romantically, and the fragrance of chrysanthemums moistened autumn.

But-you've disappeared.

The lingering fragrance of tenderness lingers in the blue heart sea.

The beautiful story has long been buried by years!

Red lotus root is fragrant, and jade is lingering in autumn.

Who sent the brocade book? The word goose returns, and the moon is full of the west building.

Flowers from Shui Piao to water, one kind of lovesickness, two places of leisure.

There is no way to eliminate this situation, only frown and mind.

Appreciation of modern poetry: dreaming for five nights is hazy.

Snowflakes are still floating.

Cover the mountain and fill the depression.

With his hometown along the coast.

The year is drawing near.

My heart is burning.

I couldn't sleep all night.

A state of unconsciousness

Fluttering and swaying

Smooth sailing.

Fly over Shaoguan

Fly over Qinling Mountains

woof

Yuan Min

Too proud.

My home

It's getting closer.

Look, look.

That's not the symbol of the city.

Empress Zetian shines in the Tang Dynasty.

Look, look.

There are new tricks in Green Valley and Red City.

That 10,000-ton cement plant

Bidding is in progress.

Flying red flag

Firecrackers are ringing.

Even the hole in my house

Also hidden in the crowd.

Smile with your mouth closed.

Go home quickly.

Surprise them.

Leave it alone for a while.

Standing on the high mountain at the head of the village

It's just a blink of an eye

It smells like Chinese New Year.

Red lanterns are hung high at the door.

The smell of bacon drifted with the wind.

Can't restrain passion

Turn on the sound and cheer.

mother

We're back.

Appreciation of Modern Poetry: The glow on the west side of Dream 6 gradually fades away.

The wind kissed the quiet lake warmly.

Touch a handful of green willow leaves and hold them in your hand.

Put a wine glass on the stone fence by the lake.

Pour a glass of low-alcohol liquor and drink it quietly alone.

Night crept in.

I can't hear footsteps, I can't see people.

Close your eyes and the night will hold me in your arms.

Touch my tired body with her generous palm.

Slightly drunk, leaning against the bar to sleep.

The west building in the distance, on the foggy lake.

"The smoke cage is cold and the moon is full of sand." This is Qinhuai River, no, this is my dream.

The tree-lined paths and bamboo forests are so quiet that I can hear my breathing.

I looked at my vague shadow and walked slowly.

Song and dance, bamboo flute, piano.

I lifted my gown and gently set foot on the west wing.

Here, there is no figure I am familiar with.

Standing in the west wing, looking at the quiet place in the corner.

An elegant girl in a red shirt plays the pipa.

Transparent me, as thin as cicada wings, jumping

I flew to her side.

The jade emperor, who had not played the piano for a long time, took it out of his sleeve and listened to the girl's pipa.

The red shirt fluttered and rubbed my face gently.

The fragrance masked the decadent sound coming from the west wing.

Distant

Over the noise, fly to the vast night sky

Outside the city, fireworks scattered and rose, and rose and scattered.

Colorful, but easy to get cold.

pipa

The flute is far away.

Is it a brief encounter, or should I be glad?

I dare not profane beauty, just quietly watching your gentle posture dance.

Wandering around, turning rings, vicissitudes of life

I don't want to walk out of my dream, I don't want to belong to a hypocritical dynasty, I don't like it.

With the painter's pen, I use it to draw your eyebrows and portraits.

Tear off a piece of red paper and smear your lips.

In the lonely street where there is no one, the watchers play too much.

For families that don't close their doors at night, farmers sleep at cool nights.

The stars are always waiting for the bright moon.

One, two, 10 million?

Thousands of miles away, the real world is dragging the roll call.

I can't be absent. My native place was predestined from birth.

You said we corresponded.

Send the letter to the destination station by station.

I write to you.

I'll read it to you when I'm asleep.

Yueming

wake up from a dream

The girl in a red shirt's lithe body flew into the distance on the lake.

Open your hazy eyes

The glass fell to the ground and broke in two.

I wrote a letter, but I never dreamed again.

Appreciation of modern poetry: "Dream" 7 You blow like the wind,

Blow and wrinkle my long-lost heart lake,

Blow up a dream that has been sleeping for thousands of years.

You know,

Your sudden arrival,

I was caught off guard,

Afraid of not catching it,

Afraid of being untrue,

Fear-

It's just a short and wonderful experience!

I think,

Nothing will happen again,

This life will be far from good feelings,

Fortunately, you are really there!

Gently lift your eyes,

Seeing you really standing there,

Can touch your tenderness,

Hear gentle and warm words.

I can have a beautiful vision,

Is this the right way to go?

I still hope,

For me,

Is it expensive?

Have hope and dream.

I didn't know there was such an expectation,

Is it correct,

Whether it can be achieved,

I just thought,

There's a place to park,

Give me a break.

Appreciation of modern poetry: dream eight when I wake up from my dream

Heart, tearing pain.

Father is so slow in dreams.

Without the eyes of God, poor thing.

As if in that cold world

Being bullied.

Or poor, or have no money to spend.

I bit my lip hard.

Put away the tears in your eyes.

Pressing back to the stomach, bitter taste.

Wandering in the blood

Like a father's soul.

A heart-rending impact.

My ruthless body

I abandoned all the bondage.

Even if the sky falls, I am fearless.

Kneel before my father in shame.

Your hut is full of weeds.

I like the hair you haven't cut for a long time.

I am careful and slow.

Comb one by one.

I knelt down and realized

Your warm chest and generous back

You like to pat my ass when I am naughty.

When I left home for school

Rain, snow, wind and the sun

You carry dry food and pickles on your back.

A man walked more than twenty miles, hoping to learn something.

I kind of like to eat imperial food.

In front of all the neighbors

Your face becomes radiant.

However, I am far from your sight.

The grace of kneeling on the chest is not fully reported.

In the days when you need me to hold hands.

I only gave you a cold crutch.

Father, the wall in front of your grave

Bricks began to weather and tiles began to fall off.

I don't have time to fix it for you either.

You raised me with shit and urine.

Life is hard.

Now, your blood is rigid, and your tears are buried.

But I can't give you a beautiful little home.

Appreciation of Modern Poetry: Dream 9 Before going to sleep on a silent night,

Or dream of letting go of the past,

Regain the expectation of the future.

This is a bumpy journey,

You can't blame the place where you live,

Even if you live in a hut with only one roof,

Harvest the comfort of this moment,

It is also a great interest in life.

/

We are always on the road,

Chasing someone who never seems to be able to do it,

Dreams that can't see the outline clearly,

Appreciate the achievements of predecessors.

Let's stand up and drink,

Say hello, Tong En.

But I didn't notice,

The moment of crazy stride,

How many people left quietly.

Even when we are at a loss,

I was trapped in a circle,

Ling Songchi's ingenious game.

Even if I cry to the extreme,

Never wake up again,

Enthusiastic self.

/

You gradually realize that,

You're not alone anymore,

You no longer belong to anyone,

The choices you make,

How many people are puzzled.

Looking up at the sky,

A glimpse of thousands of miles away.

The rapid breathing of hunting,

Nasal wheezing and kinking are cruel to the heart and spleen.

It's the eagle's choice,

That belongs to the transformation of the strong.

Standing quietly at the top of the mountain,

Looking at the sea,

Shoot at the sand waves on the shore,

Waiting for your return,

Start the next decade.

Appreciation of modern poetry: Dream 10 Moling people are old, bridges are broken with snow, old dreams are like mountains, and peach blossoms are stained with blood.

When the moon is cold and the day is warm in the Han Palace, the monarch has no eyes and the geese die.

On the eve of the Buddha, there were endless rumors in Zhongqing Temple, and the lyre picked dust under the moon.

Actors have been wandering all their lives, interpreting other people's geometric intentions, but they don't know where to go.

Who secretly made a promise, silently endowed with three lives, drifting from place to place, just for a song.

Whoever paints with blood, his memory will be dim, the lamp will be cold and the road will be fleeting.

A dress, beautiful peony in prosperous times, dazzling Chang 'an.

A pot of thin wine, in accordance with the willow sleep is silly, telling the jathyapple can.

Blue sky and pavilion make people cry.

The yellow flowers still exist, the pavilion is short, and I sigh several times.

In this way, I dreamed of all the patterns, lingering all night, and there was silence after the rain.

It rains at night, bananas are busy, and it won't be cold until the candle shadow is closed.

There is a long whistle by the river, and an Artemisia sticks to the sail and spreads far away.

Once dispersed, it is difficult to smooth the piano. Jinse is old and melancholy. Who cares?

The play on the pavilion, the meaning in the pen, is just a cry.

Three points of bitterness, the shadow is hard to live.