Poem

Sporadic lights, willful banyan cover.

Some secret thoughts in my heart

There are countless silences echoing here.

Only the distant waves overflow.

I have some tired shadows.

They crossed the beach, crossed.

The densest part of the night wind

The moonlight is bright and the sea is covered with broken silver.

Like the flash of a story.

I have nothing to do tonight except listening on the island.

The sea is intoxicated in its own world.

I rely on vanity and the roar of the waves

Look at a bougainvillea

Bloom contentedly at night.

In Tang Yue

The air is filled with kapok and music.

The taste of poetry, the taste of flowers competing for favor.

It's all over the balcony on the eighth floor

Lotus in Fairy Lake

Like a little beast wrapped in golden soup

Look at the winter in the south in the curved time.

It ripples in exciting moments.

I gently pushed away the light smoke.

I know that the rest of my life will be wrapped in kapok.

I want to cook wine with love here.

Approach the bird's eyes with a calm hand.

Life has taken a turn here.

I want to talk to those lemongrass.

Hold up a sky together and keep the fire in your chest.

Protect the happiness across the river

I hope it can be lit slowly in the center of Tang Yue.

The wind blew.

A day when nothing happens in the world.

I want to pick a flower for her.

To this city that is not familiar with winter.

She declined: flowers will hurt, so you can't break branches.

At this time, the hidden fragrance and loneliness

Embrace together

Here, I don't have to worry about insufficient precipitation.

Don't worry about whether God's will can be fulfilled.

The wind blew.

Our hearts together are wider than heaven and earth.

We are enjoying richness and happiness in the fragrance of flowers.

At this time, I want to love her in the wind full of thorns.

Accomplish your long-cherished wish in a higher silence.

Of course, I want to be her real person.

With a close person

Instead of a series of messy footprints.

Orange Orchard in Late Autumn

The fruits of these times are not easy to eat.

They wandered in the quiet wilderness.

A string, like a little sister's laughter.

I want to know.

Will they fall in love with yesterday's Jiangshan?

Fall in love with a group of people who break branches

They may prefer to listen to mountain streams.

Look around the orange orchard.

Teenagers' songs are everywhere.

This is not a fabrication, but more like some kind of light.

These passionate beauties

Tremble like a fable in poetry

Persimmon tree in the snow

These heroic fires wrapped the cold with heat.

Attract people and accumulate more pride.

I almost forgot its image in late autumn.

Who holds the warmth of life with old arms?

It is not the snow that they drive away, but the noise.

These soft and keen souls

I appreciate their sadness or happiness in the wind.

An old story has been brought up again.

This is not a flash of light, nor is it a metaphor.

It is the mountains and mountains in the year of heavy snow.

This is a persimmon tree.

Changed the way we cut into the world.

Face the sea

Facing the sea, I often cry.

This is not a metaphor for a hermit.

This is an irretrievable psychology of a gloomy poet.

The sea will teach me how the world is surging.

Old-fashioned. I hate fishermen floating on the sea

They only have their own lives.

For this reason, I lost a heart of pity.

They can only make their souls empty.

I don't live by the sea, and I can't manage such a huge thing.

At dusk, some seawater overflowed my ankles and fell into my heart.

Facing the vast sea, it is difficult to stare at life.

I don't have to hide from it.

Those sentences that fell into the sea trembled in the sunset glow.

Mid-autumn night

The thin moonlight poured down like running water.

I revere the silver ceremony.

This is like an old website I lost.

More like a best friend who can't feel my temperature.

Acacia people named the last word rebirth.

Who wants to sit still or talk to you now?

The moonlight is so far away.

I vaguely heard the crackling sound with clear time

Hearing the sadness that the fallen leaves have nowhere to live.

I am afraid of this pure and beautiful picture.

No parting tonight.

Only at the end of the world

The tremor of fate is so real.

A sparrow is on a sour hawthorn tree outside the window.

Keep chirping

Which one is it? Is it the one from yesterday?

It doesn't matter in the cold north.

Perhaps, late autumn is just to identify them.

Instead of waking up

On a rainy afternoon.

The feeling of fate is so real.

My world is blown in a mess by the wind.

Tear, trample, whip

I saw the cold.

Rolling like smoke, biting like a knife.

They stopped in the withering

They are entangled with me.

Sang Ke grassland

Light green, light yellow ridge

Stretch to the sky like fine silk

Undulating waves, such as Monet's oil paintings.

Zhuo Ma's boundless singing came faintly from the yurt.

The vast twilight deepened the texture of the plateau.

An eagle, a flock of black yaks.

The goats lined up on the slope.

They are grassland verbs, and they are satisfied.

I extend my sincerest regards to Sankoh.

At this time, a bird song flashed through the vegetation.

Bump into the oncoming green and its vivid childhood

I can't tell the high reflection of three kilometers.

Which is the yak's hoofprint and which is the horse's footprint?

I know A Xin in Gannan is waiting for us.

I know the "chapter" in my heart is rising.

The memory of a flower

It's cold and there are only plums on the slope.

Whether shy or depressed, it is silently emitted.

Has its own flavor.

I hold its fragrance, so nervous and so careful.

What I can catch these years is like a gust of wind.

Blowing through the shrinking sunset

I have been staring at you for years.

I think you must remember the moonlit night when we held hands.

Has the holy brilliance like a lotus flower.

Reflects the oath of the land and similar pains.

We don't need to know tomorrow.

In the coldest season, mistakes and fears are eliminated.

I touch your life again and again.

How many such stares do we have?

How many unforgivable nights are there?

When all is silent, we look at ourselves in the mirror.

The flowers bloom peacefully.

I want to pray again.

Look, different kapok trees are covered with auspicious clouds.

A plum blossom is in full bloom.

Brief introduction of the author

Corydalis tricolor, whose real name is Zheng Ping, is from Shandong. She writes poetry and paints, and now lives in Xi 'an. Member of Chinese Writers Association, signing writer of Shaanxi College of Literature, signing writer of China Writers Network. He has won Tianma Prose Poetry Award, China Contemporary Poetry Award, Outstanding Poet Award and the title of "Top Ten Contemporary Young Poets". Some works are scattered in People's Literature, Beijing Literature, Shanghai Literature, Poetry Magazine, Poetry Monthly, Star and other periodicals. His works have been selected in various anthologies. He has published poems such as Traces of the South, Selected Poems of Pansy, Sitting in the Backlight, Poems of Prose, and Throbbing.