Gao Kang's Man in the Mountains and Waters

I really want to catch your eyes.

Read your unfathomable

Eyes, two bays are blue.

Haizi heaven and earth are connected.

Same distance, same drunkenness.

I used to hide in your eyelashes.

Towering fir trees covered with the wind.

Rows of hand in hand.

It's all quiet mountain roads

Seasonal interpretation of crisp autumn air

Dreams of fallen leaves and poems of fallen leaves

I'm most afraid of you closing your eyes.

Footsteps are broken.

The heartbeat has no rhythm.

I saw peach blossoms, plum blossoms and tung flowers.

I saw the moon singing and the wind came as scheduled.

How many times?

The world becomes detached.

Qingjiang, the soul of hometown, the rhyme of hometown

Grab your eyes.

Is to read the rhyme of your cedar city.

Is to read your thick youth story.

Read aloud over and over again

Love in dreams, songs flying in dreams.

Sleep with the full moon

When the moonlight drives the tide

I hid in the dark, quietly.

Listen to every grain of sand under the river bank.

There are crabs on the rampage.

Through Qian Shan.

Look up at the sky, too

Confused all his life

That night, deep in the bamboo forest.

Looking for the crisp joints of bamboo

According to the track of Tang poetry and Song poetry

I have a deep foot and a shallow foot.

Chasing the twinkling moon.

I even climbed the lonely osmanthus tree.

Look at the moon in the clouds.

Listen to the moonlight like water, overflow

Talk in your sleep and smell the flowers.

I followed the moon through too many mountain roads.

I beat many, many old fir trees.

Moonlight can't penetrate the dense growth of the forest.

I can't see your red face.

Those broken branches and leaves are hay.

I don't know. The bright moon rises from the mountain of heaven, in the infinite haze of the sea of clouds.

I don't know. He knows that the dew will be frost tonight, and how bright the moonlight is at home!

Silly, looking up at the sky from late at night to early in the morning

Waiting for the endless waves of Lin Hai.

Surging overhead, nursing

Youth matured overnight.

Climb alone

It's already double happiness, okay?

Sleep with a full moon and eyes.

Inside and outside the mountain, lightness is superimposed.

I bring my dreams and love.

Xia Shang Qin Zhou Xi HanDong Dynasty

East, West, Jin, Tang, Song, Yuan and Ming Dynasties

How many songs are there in the same bright moon

In the bright sky of poetry and moon Millennium

Flowers bloom, one after another.

again and again

guard

I used to stand on the top of the mountain and watch.

A winding mountain road

The familiar figure, father

Did you come back from the market with your bag?

Put it in my dream picture book.

Always looking up at the stars.

Pine waves burst out of the window.

The familiar cough, mom.

Is your skirt dyed white with sweat?

In exchange for my school expenses tomorrow.

Sometimes I hide in the bushes and watch.

Love songs rippling in the mountains and mountains

Whether it's the burning eyes of brothers and sisters

Through my field of vision in the dim light

My faltering steps

The sun blushed, as did the sickle, hat and hoe.

Until we get out of the country.

Every time I stand at the entrance of the village and watch.

The exhortation of father and mother.

A group of villagers in the village

The road under your feet is no longer bumpy.

The mountain in front of us is more magnificent.

Incisive folk songs fermented by generations.

Qian Shan with me.

Watch in the wind and rain

After spring comes spring, after summer comes autumn, and after winter comes summer.

Father. Father.

Father was drunk on the side of the road.

Nourish weeds and grow wantonly.

The big black dog squatted at his feet.

Stick out your tongue and shake your head.

When will friends go home?

The memory of flute reverberates.

Father of the village, village, village, mountain and ridge

On the bumpy dirt road, you are as fast as flying.

Fuping rice waves dyed green barren hills

That harvest season, you

I killed my mother easily.

Such a cry.

Take away your youth.

The mangosteen in front of the door knows

The longer we go to school.

The road on your face is getting denser as the silk road grows.

The more we go out of the mountain.

The thinner the black hair on the head, the less.

Every time I go home to see the dog.

Your best friend has changed crop after crop.

Only the sound is clear and distant.

Since you insist on cooking.

In a bowl

Sweet and sour.

Butterfly beauty

spring,summer,autumn and winter

Suddenly I like climbing mountains more and more.

You said the higher you climbed.

You can step on the city.

Can let me wander in distant cities

Dispel the fog. of course

You can still smell it.

The aroma of high alcohol in the city is drunk.

I can feel the mountain under my feet, too

Long-term development.

Days on mom's back

Very, very small on mother's back.

I can catch my mother like a waterfall.

Dump your hair

I can see mother's sweat.

The crunching of dripping rice fields

I can hear my mother's folk songs.

The power to cross the barren hills and wild neighbors

Grow up slowly on mom's back

I can climb up my mother's neck and daydream.

It's a small world to climb Mount Tai alone.

I can hold my mother's head.

There will be no beautiful silver ornaments in the way.

I can put it in my mother's ear and say.

Drive to catch that ugly baby next door.

Later on mom's back.

It's my eyes, it's my mind

Explore childhood

I can touch my mother's eyes.

Grown-up canyon

I can count my mother's head.

Infected autumn frost plaque

Time changes everywhere.

Then mom came back.

I can only look up on my knees.

Behind it is

The sky is high and the clouds are light.

Love is lingering, at this time.

My back was whipped and broken.

Mother looked at the road with a smile.

Take the smooth road.

Wu Jiwei

Dong nationality, member of Chinese Writers Association. He has published nearly 500 articles (poems, novels, photography, news, essays, etc. ) published in People's Daily, Literary Newspaper, Ethnic Literature, Star Poetry Magazine, Huaxi and other media at all levels, among which more than 50 articles (first) won the annual literature prize of ethnic literature and other awards. Editor-in-chief of a series of cultural books, such as Understanding the Long March, Red Flag Rolling in the West Wind, Xiongguan Road as Iron, Traces of Flying (Literary Volume) and Man-made Potential, with nearly 3 million words. There are poems and publications, such as Drunk Ten Miles at Night, Walking Songs and Morning Songs.