Dreamy Modern Poetry

Dreamy Modern Poetry 1

One

The alarm clock rings

Breaking yesterday's gray dream

Darkness is still spreading across the land

Can't see the sun rise

Can't see the warmth of the fire

Can't see the golden sea

The city begins to sing

This cold and lonely The city

It sings loudly -

As in a dream the Gobi is empty

I shiver and put on my mask

And continue to prowl in a hole in the earth

In the empty soil

Death grows

And lifting my head I stare into the distance

The distance is invisible

Like my dreams

There's nothing left in my gray dreams

The red dresses are long gone

The laughter in the playgrounds is long gone

My winters are long gone

The desert is all that's left, and my cow pasture

And I pray to God

That I'll be gone before I am gone. Before I die

Give me the Gobi Desert

Give me black fields of wheat

Give me clear, bright eyes

Or--

Let me burn in pain

Two

My world is dead,

And corpses Rotting into mountains,

The blood is a river, staring into the distance;

I am a lonely city, darkness creeps over the walls.

Closing my eyes, I can see the ghost's laughing face;

Turning around, the devil tore the sky,

The tune of the night pierced my eyes,

So I jumped on the swaying vines.

Look

A new land, a new killing, a new death continually,

Bodies all unseen and distant,

Distant streams of blood, eyes; Broken mountains

Cold iron fences cursed by lonely souls;

And hands tore at them, and I ached.

So panicked, stopped, turned, looked coldly through,

held the wine, phantomed the peaches,

and hid in the wilderness where I could never wake up.

This is me, my lonely city, darkness;

This is my sunflower, wheat field!

Who can invade this city

Heroes, from the south bank of the great river?

The years are still as old as they were a thousand years ago,

but the language of the stars and the moon is missing,

so how can I tell my broken hopes?

Tonight, the pouring rain is a chain,

encircling the emptiness, grasping the darkness;

The lonely city is a night on the sea,

the emptiness and misery of the whole city,

the loneliness and confusion of the land,

like a song, in a flash,

with the tone of the wailing of the indulgence, resounding through the clouds and sky.

I'm leaving the south of death,

Leaving the edge of this fantasy,

I'm not used to despairing loud nightmares;

Only, I'm going to search for my horse, and fly to the other side of the world

Drinking salt on the shore of heaven's lake.

Dreamy Modern Poetry 2

Lifting the morning clouds of the breaking dawn

Twisting the warmth of the next night

A sky full of watercress

Tangled up in the passing stars

The nocturnal one begins to be invisible

And no one can see

She's in the air

Scampering, too late to be able to

Waiting for the Big Dipper's pull

To be able to see her. p>

Just let a tree

be my compass

The delicate branches and leaves

tremble with sound

There are butterflies breaking out of their cocoons

flying gently and softly

Spring blossoms are blooming

A sky of plum blossoms

is in the air,

opening up the wishes of the snow of the previous life

to the snow of her past life

It wants to bear fruit for

the tears

that have watered her

the flowers that bloom in spring

each scent of the flowers

each fall

is thinking of

the lover

who has been stinging her for many years

and has not met her

yet

and who has not met her yet

and who has not met her.

This summer's heat is so strong

That it's gradually opening

Its secrets

By the coolness of the lotus, it's spreading out

One white sail

On a backdrop of flames

All that's left is the rest of the world

Waiting for me, my love

To open my palms for you

For you. You, open your palms wide

And bring the flame to the surface

Burn, if love

That's the pearly glory you should have

Till autumn is thick

Let's stand on the hillocks

And never again be lone, wandering clouds

And watch the setting sun Paint all our wings gold

Not to disappoint, and harvest joy together

Not to regret, and let joy be harvested as well

Become bundles of happy ears of wheat dancing in the wind

Dreamy Modern Poetry 3

Tonight I come to your window once again

Silently watching

Letting an unruly heart through the window

Your cool

Your cold gaze drowns me

Your tenderness on fire

Under the moonlight

I stand as a tree of love

Your disdainful eyes turn a blind eye

The brightly colored fruits

Grow old with the seasons

Tonight, I'll be on the road to the end of the world

Carrying the pain

And carrying the sadness.

With your face like a flower on my back

My bleeding heart is scattered by the wind

Your shadowy figure in front of the lamp

Proud and slender

The moon shines brightly outside the window

My humble image

Can never come into your sight

From now on, I'll never fall in love again

All the fantasies

Are all taken by the wind.

All your fantasies have been shattered by you

Angel of my dreams

Allow me to leave you without saying goodbye

Allow me to pray for you in silence

Allow me to gaze at your

beautiful figure

My gushing passion

is planted in front of your watery window

The moon and the wind are clear tonight

I am a shriveled plant, I am a shriveled plant. p> I'm a yellow grass

I'm quietly growing outside your window

I'm looking forward to the dawn

The dewdrops are all over my limbs

They are falling down

The sun in my heart

You'll always be the most beautiful view for me

I'm still in tears tonight

Dreamy Modern Poetry 4

Each of us has been a willful child, each of us has had this one heartbeat day, each of us has wandered and chased what can come off of us, each of us has wasted no time in scattering that last petal. When we are melancholy, we can still take courage from the distant blue sky, for there is a mother's gaze there, and then bravely raise our lamps to awaken the hidden flames of light. This is life, the years of a dream.

Not all of us can be poets, but everyone can be touched by a poem, and that inexplicable touch can even make you weep. Jumping and hazy poetry can be like running water, softly filling every corner of our hearts, every crack, that is the heart and the heart of the moisturizing, the heart and the heart of the mingling.

We are in the flower season, sensitive and sentimental, fantasizing that the frog becomes a prince, Cinderella gets the green, waiting for the miracle to come to the body. He Qifang's "The Prophecy" is the best way to express such sentiments in a poem that can resonate with us. The Prophecy is a delicate expression of the emotional journey of the lyrical protagonist in pursuit of the love of his heart. The object of love seems to be ethereal and intangible, yet the feeling of love is strong and long. When the long-awaited moment comes, I will be wildly beating heart temporarily pressed, will breath hold, all the senses are concentrated in the eardrums, I carefully identify your footsteps, I'm glad to determine that you finally come closer and closer. And so, I began to fantasize about all that you are, about the kind of happiness that comes with ownership. I couldn't wait to ask you to stay, to offer me the most expensive tiger-skin mattress, and the light of the fire that I burned with my life, and I even hoped that the future would be full of crises and pitfalls, so that I would have a reason to go with you. I could have taken you by the hand, I could have sung tireless songs to guide you. However, you are blind to me, and you drift away from me like a silent breeze through the twilight, leaving me with only confusion and murmured questions: "Have you finally come without words, as the prophecy said, / and gone without words, young God? He Qifang uses the language of poetry to match such a set of long shots from far and near, and from near and far, with the euphemistic inner solitude of the poem.

Young us all harbor a stupid heart, want to fight, go to action, to get, "Prophecy" sung out of the passion and impulse, but also sung out of the helplessness and loss, the melody is full of youthful tension, youthful breath.

When you are full of a hundred beautiful sugar paper and rejoice, you will not think of one day you even sweet sugar are no longer looking forward to; when you pick up a piece of red leaves, for its color surprised, you will not think of one day your eyes will only care about the red-hot scores on the test paper. When we look back at our golden childhood, we realize that it held many, many of our dreams and hopes. However, we know very well that some dreams and hopes can only be a beautiful dream, and we do not expect them to be realized, but Gu Cheng could not be so relieved. Gu Cheng is full of melancholy, and so are his poems. He uses his poems to express the despair of broken ideals, and this despair is vivid and touching in I Am a Willful Child. In the poem Gu Cheng imagines himself as a carefree child, a willful child, spoiled by his mother. Perhaps he felt that such a child would always be loved, and that one could not bear to reject his requests, especially such innocent and beautiful wishes. These wishes seemed so simple and innocent, just a box of colorful crayons and a few pieces of beloved white paper, and an undisturbed moment. So I began to wish for the sky, feathers, and apples; dew, smiles, and love; water waves, maple leaves, and sugar paper; and light, bears, and eyes. I wanted to paint away all the misfortunes / I wanted to paint all the windows / on the earth / so that all the eyes that are used to the darkness / are used to the light, a fairy tale dream like a big soft and warm hand that gently caresses our hearts. Yet it is a tragic fairy tale, I didn't receive a crayon / I didn't get a colorful moment / I only have my / my fingers and traumatic pain / only to tear that piece of / beloved white paper / and let them go in search of butterflies / and let them disappear from today.

Gu Cheng released the pieces of paper destined not to find a beautiful butterfly, they turned into snow-white paper money, along with a lonely and melancholy soul, disappeared into nothingness.

Gu Cheng is a child who never grows up, who capriciously rejects reality, huddles himself in an imaginary dark space, but stubbornly insists on looking for light in the darkness, which is doomed to its tragic end from the very beginning. In fact, tears are not all bitter, some are sweet; the night is not all despair, there is a little starlight. Did the poem fulfill or destroy Gu Cheng? However, no matter what, Gu Cheng's poem stayed, leaving us many dreams, berry-like dreams, and hope. However, even the bravest man can be confused when facing a lost path, it is as if the sky is breaking up and the sun is losing its light. But confusion may not be without its benefits, because confusion allows us to learn to think about the value and meaning of life. Feng Zhi is a lonely poet, his poems are full of philosophical meaning, he is always thinking, thinking, his "sonnets" written in the firestorm of the war, he said in the war period in the most bitter years, rely on the simple field to supply me with unlimited spiritual food, when the general phenomenon of the society tends to rot more and more day by day, any grass in the ridge, any tree on the hillside, have given me a lot of enlightenment. given me much enlightenment.

In the poem "We are ready", the lyrical protagonist silently prepares to receive those unexpected miracles, not passively waiting, but eagerly looking forward to, in the long years he has felt waiting too long, he hoped that the comet appeared, and the gale began to rise. In those difficult . In those difficult years, the future of the nation was confusing, and it could be said that every person with a sense of social responsibility was suffering and did not know where to go. Feng Zhi, however, found the essence of life in small insects, which, after a single exchange / or a single defense against danger, / end their wonderful lives. The meaning of life is sometimes realized in a moment, and when that moment comes, can we bear it with our whole life? So, when everything seems to come to a standstill, do not dwell on speculations about the future, but reflect y on whether or not you will be ready to meet the comet when it appears and the wind rises.

What Can Come Off Us is Feng Zhi's quest for the ultimate in life. What will be left of life after we have shed those things that are attached to us? Is it the vigor of spirit, the courage to fly, or the quietness of returning to nature? From the life course of other things, the lyrical hero seems to feel the kernel of life, so he uses the trees in the fall of the metamorphosis of cicadas and moths and silent mountains for us to unfold a picture of life, enlightening us to understand life, feel the death.

If you feel a little overwhelmed by these profound meditations, then there is no need to be depressed, because Tagore's poems are always waiting to moisturize your burning and parched heart like fresh spring water. Maybe sometimes you feel small, not a little can be proud of the capital, looks mediocre, medium grades, never be able to attract the light of others, you feel lonely, and even a little bit of resentment, then read Tagore's poem. I know that one day my thorns will wear flowers. / I know my sorrow will stretch out its red tapping magnificent leaves and open its heart to the sun. Often we exaggerate our own mediocrity, and so we are stuck in the days and nights of depression for nothing. Maybe just a smile will suddenly make my heart tremble, and love will blossom in an instant, and I will no longer be ashamed. With a heart full of confidence to face each day, you will feel immense ease and pleasure, and this ease and pleasure is like the last petal, can be happily withdrawn from everyone's feet, moving the world.

Mother's love is the constant theme of Tagore's poetry. I don't remember my mother, / except that in the middle of a game / sometimes it seems as if a tune of song echoes over my toys, / the ones she hummed as she rocked my cradle. Although the poem begins each stanza with the statement that I do not remember my mother, the opposite is in fact true; the lyrical protagonist's love and appreciation for her mother is everywhere and at all times. When playing, my mother's song will ring in my ears: on the morning of morning prayers, my mother's scent floats in the air; even in contemplation, my mother's gaze fills the sky. This on the one hand shows my deep attachment to my mother, and on the other hand, it also conveys my mother's unfailing love for me from the side. Mother's love can always give us warmth when we are most vulnerable and helpless, so that we can slowly calm down.

There is also this one early winter in the middle of the night on the stars / spread her veil, / call from the depths, / 'people, take out your lamp. We have wondered about the courage of the moth to the flame, but in fact the desire for light is the sign that we humans are free from the beasts, especially in the darkness, even the slightest spark is comforting and hopeful. Come, Tiwari, from the darkness of solitude / awaken the hidden flame of light, / and offer a symphonic tribute to the everlasting light! This is a tribute to Diwali, a call to light! In fact, on the road of life, we spend most of our time groping in the dark, we don't know what the future will look like, we have to make decisions without knowing anything about it, so loneliness and melancholy always accompany our growth, which is not an individual unluckiness, but precisely the reality of life. If you feel that your future is bleak, that you have lost your motivation to move forward, or that you are caught in the anguish of plowing but not reaping the harvest, that the woods are empty of flowers, / that the birds have stopped singing, / that the grass by the river has fallen in profusion, then read this poem, it may give you strength. The call comes from the depths, / Man, take out your lamp. This call is by no means a miracle from God, but a spurt of courage from the depths of one's own heart; the lamp is in our own hands, and by lighting it bravely and holding it aloft, we can illuminate the steps forward.

Read poetry, not to obtain knowledge, but to cultivate temperament, it can help us organize our thoughts, can give us a dream space. Poetry and dreams have a *** common place, that is, tangible in the intangible, they are wonderful but misty, hazy but real, they are sometimes separated from the reality of thousands of miles, but it seems to be the most close to the heart prostrate. Poetry, for us to insert the wings of the dream, let us fly freely in the sky of thought.

The wind is heavy

It passes by my ears

I am free and unrestrained

It's like I was given an invisible hand

I was not allowed to hold on tightly

I did not allow the slightest hint of retreat

Until I was looking for the eternal place

Here there is no hustle and bustle of the city

There are no parks or sidewalks.

There are no parks or street trees

There is no prosperity or wealth

There is only poverty and backwardness

But there is sincerity and kindness here

Tall mountains and dense trees

There are also famous and unknown flowers

That stir my mind and feelings

I have found my roots here. Roots

It's enviable to be a human being

Leisurely and loose, dashing and uninhibited

Even the freshness of the air can be drunk at will

The mountain people treat me like a relative

I teach the children to read and write

The dismantling of squares creates a fascination for them

The spelling of words bends and curves the gaps between them

The running and tossing of basketball and football is a delightful sight to behold. Basketball, soccer, running and throwing are the most fascinating things to see

The children's laughter and songs are always in the air

Eating fruits and vegetables brought to me by the mountain people

Enjoying the pure and simple culture of the people

Cooling down under the trees

Calling out from the heights

Playing the game of "Hide and Seek"

All of these things are intriguing to me.

Oh! The feasts of the mountain people

always go on without a start

from the dawn of the day

to the darkness of the night

from sunrise to sunset to sunset

and the work of the people becomes their daily task

so that everyone is so fit that they don't need to take exercise

and the only thing that is left for a cough and a cough is only a bit of medicine

I am here as if I were a traveler.

I'm here like a dragon in the water

Teaching is just to make the children blind

But running and walking and dancing and boxing

The playfulness of it all

Made me a philosopher

Suddenly the rain came down in torrents

The crack of thunder was deafening

Running through the rain like I was running. I was running through the rain

But then I spied a tree coming down on me

Wow! Holy shit

I sat up out of bed

But it was just a dream