Anyone have any modern shorter poems

Since you want more, I'll give you more, but Yu Guangzhong's poems are longer, and "Nostalgia" is the shortest

Yu Guangzhong

Bitan

Sixteen handles of cinnamon pulp cracked the green glaze

A few romances hid under a parasol

My, I didn't bring it with me, my romances

Downstream from the river

If the grasshopper boat was more glassy

It could shine a side view of my sorrows

If the grasshopper boat was more grasshoppery

It could shine a side view of my sorrows. If the blue pool were more glassy

It could have been a reflection of my sorrow

If the grasshopper boat were more grasshoppery

My sorrow would have been extinguished

It was half past eight. The drawbridge is still awake

Summer has just begun and summer is young

The laughter of sophomore girls flies over the water

Fly in the dragonflies, fly out the dragonflies

Fly in you. If you are perched on the stern of my boat

How light this canoe should be

This double slurry should remember

Who is Xishi, who is Fan Li

Then paddle to the Taihu Lake, paddle to the Dongting

Listen to the cries of the apes of the Tang Dynasty

Paddle to the gurgling river of the sky

Look at your hair, in the myth

Then the boat is overturned.

You're weaving your brocade on the other side

I'm playing my flute on this side

From last eve to the next

Nostalgia

When I was a child

Nostalgia is a small stamp

I'm on this side

My mother's on the other

When I grew up nostalgia was a narrow ship ticket

My mother's on the other side

I'm on the other side of the river

I'm on the other side of the river

I've never seen the same thing in my life. A narrow boat ticket

I'm here

My bride is there

Later

Nostalgia is a short grave

I'm outside

My mother's inside

Now

Nostalgia is a shallow strait

I'm here

The mainland is there

I'm here

I'm not.

Wind Chimes

My heart was the wind chimes hanging on the eaves of a seven-storey tower

And they tinkled

And they continued to ring out one's name

---- Do you feel the vibrations in your tower too?

It's the pulse of silence, day and night

Do you hear it, ting ting ting ting?

This annoying tone cannot be stopped

Unless all the winds are diverted

The bells are plucked and the towers knocked down

For my heart is a wind chime high and low

Tinkling

And yet, it continues to rise

And to strike a chord with a name

Waiting for you, in the rain

Waiting for you, in the rain, in the rain, in the rain, in the rain, in the rain. You, in the rain, in the rainbow rain

Cicadas falling, frogs rising

A pool of red lotus like red flames, in the rain

It doesn't matter if you come or not, it feels like

Every lotus looks like you

Especially in the twilight, in the rain

Eternity, a flash, a moment, eternity

Waiting for you, in the middle of time

In the middle of time

I'm waiting for you, in the middle of time

I'll wait for you, in the middle of time, in the middle of time

And then I will be there to see you again, in the rain. In time? In time, waiting for you, in a flash, in eternity

If your hand were in mine, at this moment

If your fragrance

were in my nostrils, I would say, "Lover boy

No, this hand should be picking lotuses, in the palace

This hand should be

Shaking a cinnamon stick in a magnolia boat

A star hanging on the eaves of the science museum

A star hangs from the eaves of the Science Museum

An earring like a pendant

The Swiss watch says it's seven o'clock. Suddenly, you come

Fluttering like a red lotus after a rainy day, you come

Like a little song

You come from a love story

You come from the lyrics of Kang Baiseok, rhyming with rhyme

The piccolo that invites a soul to come back to the palace.

The soul returns, O mother, the East cannot stay long

The tropical sea that gave birth to the typhoon

The North Pacific in July has a low barometric pressure.

The soul returns, O Mother, the South cannot stay long,

The one-way street of the sun train

The equatorial moxibustion pedestrians' feet in July.

The soul returns, O mother, the north cannot stay long,

The white kingdom of the reindeer,

There is no night of rest in July, only day.

The spirit returns, O mother, the foreign country must not stay long.

The little urn is dreaming by the window,

with the plants that you planted with your hands.

Come back, Mother, to guard your little town after the fire.

When the spring comes, I will walk on the cold and wet road of Qingming,

and bury you in a small grave in my hometown.

I will bury you in a small town in Jiangnan.

The weeping hair of the willow hangs straight down to your grave,

and when spring comes, you will have a girl's dream,

dreaming of your mother.

And on the way to the clearing, O mother, my footprints will be deep,

Rain dripping from the willow's long hair, O mother, dripping with my memories,

The soul will come back to the city, O mother, to guard the empty city of the four directions.

Seeking Li Bai

-- Drinking and singing in vain

Who is the male who is soaring and domineering

That pair of haughty boots still falls in

Gao Li Shi's shameful hands, but the person has disappeared

Putting the ground full of refugees and wounded soldiers

Putting the

Leave the rhythm of the huoma and the qiang flute to Du Er to recite in painstaking detail

Ever since He Zhizhang's eyes were dazzled that year

when he recognized you as an exiled immortal, he has become even more feisty

With a small wine pot under a magic spell

He hides himself away so that not even his wife can find him

He complains about the smallness of the city of Chang'an, but the sky in the pot is long

You prophesied in all the poems

that you would be the first to be able to see the world in the future, and that you will be the first to be able to see the world.

In all your poems, you predicted

that you would suddenly disappear, perhaps tomorrow

Just a flat boat breaking the waves, hair in disarray in the wind

You've got a lot of enemies, and the world wants to kill you

How can you be killed by cirrhosis of the liver?

The remaining three minutes were turned into sword energy

Half of the Tang Dynasty was spat out in one breath

From Yiyuan to Tianbao, from Luoyang to Xianyang

The crown was filled with the hustle and bustle of the carriages

Not as much as your one in a thousand years

A crystal poem knocked on my forehead

The local bullet was picked up and the echo was heard

The crystal was picked up by the winds.

The echoes of a single play in the ground

It's bad enough that you've been demoted to the world

It's too embarrassing to put on the night sky

It's still a mystery as to where you're from

Longxi or Shantung, Qinglian Township or Shattered Leaf City

Which hometown do you want to go back to?

All the places where you are drunk, you said, are not your hometown

Disappearance is the only thing that can happen to a genius

Where are you going to go after this?

The wolf can't stop crying, and Du Er can't stop persuading you

When I turn around, my head is already gray under the window

The Seven Immortals and the Five Friends can't save you

Kuangshan Mountain is locked by the fog, and there's no way to get in

I'm still in the fire, but I'm only half a grain of dancethe sand

How can I follow the streaming clouds in Ge Hong's sleeve?

The shadow of the moon in the bottle, perhaps that is your hometown

often get you to look up all your life?

And no matter if you go out and cry to the west or to the east

Chang'an has already fallen

The 240,000-mile journey home

There's no need to scare the roc, and there's no need to invite the crane

All you have to do is to throw the glass of wine in the air

It will turn into a flying saucer

The flash of the magic is spinning faster and faster

It's going to take you back to the legend.

The sky asks

Why are the sunsets on the water

one after another

disappearing into the twilight?

The lights of the earth

One by one, why

Are they all lost in the night?

The stars in the sky

One by one, why

have they all disappeared into the dawn?

And how is it that our lives,

day by day,

end in eternity?

And when I go away

what is the color of the sky that takes me away

?

Was it twilight?

Was it the night?

Is it the dawn color?

A fire bath

An unquenchable longing for different elements

For different spaces, hot or cold

Not knowing whether to rise or fall

Rising like a phoenix, rising in the midst of the fire

Or floating in a flowing transparency, a swan

A white image of the self

A long neck and a rich body, all made of fire. A long neck and a full body, all made of curved lines

There is a desire to wash and a desire to burn

A process of purification, both of which are needed

Sedimentation is needed to sedate, and fluttering to flutter

To go to the water as a fowl, to go to the fire as a bird, firebird and waterfowl

Then I shall choose, and which process shall I choose

In the West, there is a swan that swims in the ice

It is the cold zone, a superhuman creature.

It's the cold zone, a superhuman climate

Where the ice freezes and the loneliness freezes

Silence is the stillness of time, and the reflection is complete

Once, every wild goose was a swan

The water shimmered, like a dream or a reality

In the East

In the heat of the East, there's a phoenix

That comes from the fire and comes back to the fire

Step by step, the fire reels and the flames.

The flame that cleanses the sins of the warrior, the blood of the warrior

And the soul, what choice should you make

Do you choose the cold of the cold or the heat of the hot

Choose the sea of ice or choose the sun

There is a purity of the soul that is always impure

Or to bathe in the ice or the fire is the fulfillment

It is an adorable fulfillment, and the bathing in the fire is the fulfillment

The fire is the fulfillment.

The bath of fire is more adorable, the bath of fire is more difficult

Fire is more transparent than water, deeper than fire

O fire, the gate of eternal life, arched with death

arched with death, an arched challenge

saying that he who has not embraced death can't be born

It is the crows, the phoenixes, that decide to take the fire in a single moment

a single moment, the will to swallow the fire

A thousand canes, a thousand lashes to accept that kind of punishment. And to accept that kind of punishment

I cry out frankly to the thousand tongues of the Crown

I'm not guilty! I am not guilty! I am not guilty! Branding my back

Branding my face I am still me, still

I am awake, my soul, what is wrong with being awake

Zhang Zhang's burning arms seem to smell far away

The hurricane of time is whistling my wings

Hair sobbing, bones moaning, with my own blood

Tormenting myself, flying, phoenixing your new life

Chaos:

My song is an unending yearning. The song is an unquenchable yearning

My blood boils and stops to bathe my soul in fire

In blue ink, listen to the song of fire

Raised up, clearer and higher after death

The Stone Age

Whenever I stood dumbfounded at the window

To a spread-out hand

I couldn't get out the stone of destiny

Proving that I am who I am

The stone of destiny

It's so strange

It's as if we're still in the stone age

A clumsy four-sided weapon

I have to carry it with me every day when I leave the house

Signing it by hand and in person isn't enough

It must wait for the next time that I have to go out and sign it with my hand.

The woman in the window won't give up until the stone nods its head

When you die, you need a stone to recognize ghosts

When you live, you need a stone to recognize people

Why, after thousands of years

you still can't get rid of the stone's spell

I ask you, stone in the bag

When will you let go of the stone? Spring

And in the end that's all it is

Some wounded memories

Some desires and dust

Or maybe the so-called spring is just a crisp specimen

A bookmark that was once a daffodil or a butterfly

A funeral of the stars

A light blue night spills through the window and summer pours out

And the little palace lights of the fireflies dream

And the firefly's The bhikkhuni always counts her rosary beads under the grapevine

Purple murmurs, knocking at my window

The sun, the sun is a late newsboy

Can't throw in any golden news

I can't throw my melancholy

Out of the wall like a six-legged insect's remains

When the wind is like a greedy wild boy

The wind is like the wind in the sky

The wind is like the wind in the sea. A greedy wild boy

I'm looking for someone's neck by sweeping away my long hair

I'm boarding a long-distance blue stagecoach

To the south, to the south that's not yet gone

Yuan Tong Monastery

The mirror is so big, look at me standing in the middle of it

There's no reflection of Narcissus

I think that the flowers don't stick to my body and the light travels on

If the bronze bell snaps up

If the bhikkhuni is a man who has been in the world for years, then I've got to go to the temple. The bronze of the bell is snapped

Listen to the moss that slides down the years

The round skull that has been coiled since

The top of the pagoda is the clouds of India, and the top of the pagoda is my mother

Open the box of ashes and peek into the umbilical cord of my body

All that connects me was once

My mother is here, and my mother isn't here

Siddhartha is here, and Siddhartha isn't here

Siddhartha is always on the opposite side of the tablet

Siddhartha is always on the opposite side of the tablet.

The Buddha is in Tang, the Buddha is in Dunhuang

No, the Buddha sits under the Borneo tree

before the cradle, after the coffin

And the lion does not roar, and the bells do not chime, and the Buddha does not speak

Hundreds of steps down, the cries of a daughter

call me back to the rest of my life

Forever, I will be waiting for you

If you are to be heard, you have to be heard, and the best of all.

That verb, if I die that night

What fear do I have? When I love

I must love miserably, and if I can't love magnificently

Your beauty has split me up for no reason, this summer

With a pen of God's hand, you landed

In the palm of my hand, you landed

In my palm, in the palm of my hand

For example, in the twilight of the end of the summer, in the face of the pool of freshness

In the face of the silent

Which one is it, which one will promise me

if I call you by your nickname?

As long as there is still a pool, as long as there is still summer

The general red color, and why should I meet with you?

The lotus is Zhen Zhen's nickname, and the lotus is Zhen Zhen

Once you think of Zhen Zhen, you can see the lotus

As long as there is still in your heart, and as long as there is still in your dream

There is still a petal of freshness and warmth, which means that the summer has already passed away

That is, the remnants of the stumps on the ground, that is, the remnants of the star in the sky, and the immortality of the soul of the lotus

Forever, I am waiting for you to part your lips, to open your teeth, and to spit out the verb. That verb

Whoever has loved, never forgets. What has been wounded

will always be traumatized. My wounds

are so red that they are shocking, branded in the shape of a lotus flower

Nostalgia in four rhymes

Give me a ladle of Yangtze River water ah Yangtze River water

Wine-like Yangtze River water

Drunkenness

The taste of nostalgia

Give me a ladle of Yangtze River water ah Yangtze River water

Give me a piece of Begonia red ah Begonia red

Give me a Lamei fragrance

Motherly Lamei fragrance

Motherly fragrance

is the fragrance of the countryside

Give me a Lamei fragrance

Xiluo Bridge

Standing, the soul of steel wakes up

Serious stillness clangs

Xiluo Plain of the sea winds violently shaking the

The bridge is a great example of a bridge. This

pattern of force, this web of beauty, shakes every nerve of this

tower of will,

shakes hard, and whistles in despair

while the teeth of the iron nails clench, and the hands of the iron arms grip

the serious stillness.

And so my soul awoke, and I knew

that the crossed me would be different from

the uncrossed me, and I knew

that I on the other side could not be restored to

the me on this side

but fate reached out from a mysterious point

with a thousand welcoming arms, and I had to cross the river

to face the river that leads to another

world.

The corridor that leads to another world, I tremble slightly

But the mighty winds of the Western Spiral Plain

Punch me in the face and tell me that the sea is on the other side

I tremble slightly, but I

must cross the river!

Standing, massively silent.

Awake, the soul of steel.

1958.3.13

Note: On March 7, I was traveling north with Xia Jing, and I was about to cross the Xiluo Bridge, so I stopped to take photographs.

The police officer guarding the bridge borrowed a telescope from me to look at the other side of the bridge for a long time and said, "I have been guarding the bridge for so long, but I still don't know what it looks like at that end!"

What does the rain say

What does the rain say all night long?

The upstairs light asks the tree outside the window

The tree outside the window asks the car at the end of the alley

What does the rain say all night?

The car at the end of the alley asks the road in the distance

The road in the distance asks the bridge upstream

What does the rain say all night?

The bridge upstream asks for the umbrella of the hour

The umbrella of the hour asks for the wet shoes

What does the rain say all night?

The wet shoes ask the screeching frogs

The screeching frogs ask the fog around them

What does it say, the sound of rain all night?

The fog asked the lamp upstairs

The lamp upstairs asked the man under the lamp

The man under the lamp looked up and said

What hasn't stopped yet:

From the legend, it has fallen to the present

From the fall of the rain, it has fallen to the surging of the rain

From the eaves leaks to the river and the sea

I ask you, you stupid moss

What is it about?

Kicking and Tapping

- Clogs and Ancient Suite No.2

Kicking and Tapping

Tapping and Tapping

Give me a pair of clogs

so I can wake up from my childhood

like a stupid little instrument

from the top of the alley

to the bottom

of the alley.

From the top of the alley

To the bottom of the alley

Tap-tap-tap

Tap-tap-tap

Give me a pair of clogs

Childhood summers call me

To catch up with other tricks

From the top of the alley

To the bottom of the alley

Kick-tap-tap-tap

Give me a pair of clogs

The magical rhythm leads me

back to the fairy tale world

From the top of the alley

to the bottom

Kick, kick, kick

Kick, kick

Kick, kick, kick

The pearls

Rolled out in the corners of the memories

Half of a lifetime, what a precious day.

I thought I'd never be able to find them again

But the girl in the jewelry store

brought them to me on a blue magnetic plate

with a smile on her face, and asked

"Do you like this 18-inch necklace?

Just like this, thirty years have become a string of years

Less than an inch a year, it's so expensive

Each grain contains a silver gray crystal

Warm and complete, just like every day I had the honor to

share with you

Every grain, the dewdrops of a sunny day

Every grain, the raindrops of a cloudy day

The day we parted, every grain, the raindrops of a cloudy day

Every grain, the raindrops of a cloudy day, the raindrops of a cloudy day

Imported whiskey is not as strong as Lu wine

It's too strong, and it's Wang Lun

who's to blame for it, telling Hu Ji

to pour it into the glass over and over again

You should listen to your doctor, not Wang Lun

Cirrhosis of the liver, and wasn't it said in the paper yesterday that it had been upgraded to the number seven killer

Just now, we have a new generation of people who have been killed in the past, but we've got a lot of people who have been killed in the past.

Just killed a martial arts celebrity

You keep saying that you want to seek immortality and chivalry

Is Kunlun too far away, so close to your bottle of wine

to find the Dirt Man and the Confused Immortal?

- Oh be careful, it's so close

Overtaking this container truck is no child's play

Slow down, slow down, I'm begging you

The statistics of traffic accidents in the past few years

are no less than the casualties of the An Shi Rebellion

This is the world of the world is not the world of the world.

It's not like running on the highway.

The speed limit is 90 kilometers.

How did you get to 144?

Stop making poems about traveling to the fairies, you might as well

Go watch a Spielberg movie

- hey, listen, it looks like an ominous siren

Catching up, just pull over

Switch seats with me, quick, don't let

The traffic cop Catch you driving drunk

With alcohol running through half your veins

The poet's image is bad enough

Critics and cops are equally unforgiving

The ID card says suspiciously "unemployed."

Don't talk about banishment or not banishment.

Besides, your license was impounded by the store for a drinking debt last week.


Gauleiter.

Gao Li Si and the councilors are all offended.

And He Zhizhang isn't here, so who's going to protect you?

- Six thousand dollars?

I'll pay it back when I win the lawsuits over Hard to Walk and Hard to Road

and the royalties are paid to me: it's really not fair

that the Publishing Act is enforced as seriously as the rules of the road

every day?

If Wang Wei hadn't gone to a symposium on pollution in Rim River early in the morning

we would have

taken his old car back to Pingtung

and cherished each other

Oh, I was gifted with an immortal's golden hair comb

with a handle of gold like teeth

to comb away this year's gray temples

and comb away the black strands of the past

and then I would have been able to get a good look at my own hair, and I would have been able to get a good look at my own hair.

The comb is an arch bridge and the hair is water

How many bridges have been broken by the flowing water?

How much water has passed under the bridges?

Comb away the gray of today

Comb back to the bright of yesteryear

Oh, give me the golden hair comb of the immortals

And I'll give you the silver earrings

Soup in the delicate little earlobes

To hold the precious dimple

Like a pair of guards against evil

To hold the light smile on your lips

And the beautiful view on your brow

And the beautiful view on your face

The comb is an arch bridge, the hair is water

How many bridges have been washed away by the water? The view from under your brow

No spies of time

To lay down the fine crow's feet

Or the hidden furrow on your forehead

To steal your charm from you

Oh, I'll give you a silver earring

Tall towers to the sea

Tall towers to the sea, and windows to the west

The dusk comes in colorful and mysterious

When the sun goes down, the sun goes down, and the sun goes down, and the sun goes down. It ebbs and flows like the waves of a strait

Wave after wave comes to shake my old age

What's left of a lifetime of uncertainty

Except for this lone lamp at the window

To keep watch over this long night with me

No matter what I write, diary, letters, or poems

It's always with him, the closest of all

The first reader, ****, is the first to discuss with him.

The late night, the chaotic world

More than any confidant, or even family

I can silently share my worries

One day my gray hairs won't be in the lamplight

What's left of a lifetime of uncertainty

Except to leave the setting sun on a strait

Except to leave a lighthouse to the winds and waves

Except to leave a century that can't be returned

What's left of a life that can't be returned

What's left of a life that can't be returned?

What else is left behind but a century that can't be turned back

to a history that can't be written

What else is left behind but a lifetime of uncertainty?

As for this lone lamp, the witness of loneliness

Dear readers, I leave it to you

The sound of the wind

You ask me what is the best music to listen to

Of course, it is the silence, and I say, the infinite silence

The supreme blessing to the ear is the transparency of the hearing field

When the noise is all settled

Next, it is the sound of the wind, the sound of the wind, the sound of the wind, the sound of the wind, the sound of the wind, the sound of the wind.

And the wind, blowing unaccountably from the ends of the world, especially at sunset

lifts the whole strait

The high pitch of the whistling is emphasized again and again

A monotonous, fast tone, invincible

A huge, majestic atmosphere comes in

It's the creation exhaling, the gods breathing

Drumming my lungs like a kite.

The lungs are fluttering like a kite about to leap

It's exciting to think that a wave of energy

is coming to sweep away the dullness

There must be a hidden message from the heavens that seems to tell

A story older than mankind

When legends and religions have not yet begun

Heaven and earth are divided, and the yin and the yang are dumb

The Great Wild Place is a place where the world is divided, and the sky and the moon are not yet the same.

The soughing monotone

With an emphatic high pitch, it wailed day and night

To urge the birth of a planet in paroxysm

That primitive guttural, lip, and tooth sounds

What kind of destiny was the early warning

The century was ending and the prophet didn't come

The after-knowledge was noisy, but the sky didn't open up

How can I judge with the ears of the mortal like me?

But the waves have clearly understood

Why else would they all fly

but not soar, only to lash

the lighthouse and the embankment

almost submerged

even my high window facing the sea

would not have been spared, had I not pushed my chair in time to close the window

and the thin manuscript of my poem would have drifted away with the wind.

In the windy night

In the windy night

There's a window

not yet closed

Whose ears

are not yet closed

In the windy night

There's a star

not yet resting

Whose eyes

are not yet closed

And I'm not sure if I can see it.

Not yet at rest

On a windy night

There is a flag

Not yet put away

Whose soul is it

Not yet put away

I look to the heavens

Blowing out the star

Putting away the flag

Closing the window

But still finding <

There's an ear

That hasn't been closed

Whose window

Can't be closed on a windy night

There's an eye

That hasn't been at rest

Whose star

Can't be rested on a windy night

And there's a soul

That has a face

That can't be rested on.

Not yet put away

Whose flag

In the windy night

Cannot be put away

The beautiful and fickle witch, the moon

Translates, her specialty

Translates the world away

Translates the sun's mother's metal into quicksilver

Translates fire into ice

Translates fire into ice.

Translated the sun's metal into quicksilver

Translated the fire into ice

And with a minty flavor

And those who have tasted it say

That the translation is utterly unreliable

But more mysterious and beautiful than the original

Snow is another beautiful translator

That intends to make the world wrong

Or right, says the poet

Because the original was originally written to be so

That it was not meant for the world.

It is only because the original text is so full of mistakes

that whenever the Snow Nuns

come down on the wind in their six-petaled parachutes

the world becomes overnight

more complete than a revolution

so white

and if a new snow falls, and a full moon is in the sky

there is a flat shadow below

and on the top of it there are shadows

that are not the same as those on the other side.

And you come to me with a smile

Between the moon and the snow

You are the third color

I wonder how the moon and the reflecting snow

can be translated

into your true color

- which is excellent enough

for me.

How can you combine your original color

- which is excellent enough

- into an even better color?

Gu Cheng

"Farewell" (In the spring, I wave my handkerchief gently)

In the spring,

I wave my handkerchief gently,

will it take me far away,

or will it return immediately?

No, nothing,

Nothing because,

Like the falling flowers in the water,

Like the dew on the flowers ......

Only the shadows know,

Only the winds know,

Only the colorful butterflies startled by the sighs,

Only the colorful butterflies startled by the sighs,

Only the colorful butterflies startled by the sighs.

Still fluttering in the flowers of the heart ......

Far and Near

You,

will look at me for a while,

will look at the clouds for a while.

I think,

You're far away when you look at me,

You're close when you look at the clouds.

The Generation

The night gave me black eyes

But I use them to look for light

The Alley

The alley

is curved and long

There is no door

There is no window

I took an old key

and knocked on a thick wall

The Mountain Shadow

The Mountain Shadow

The Alley

The Mountain Shadow

The Mountain Shadow

The Mountain Shadow

The Mountain Shadow

In the shadow of the mountain

A warrior of ancient times

Holds his steed

The road disappears around him

He turns into bas-relief

Into a tangle of stories

Today like a demon

Tomorrow like an angel

The Faintest Hope

Me and countless

Can't hatch.

pebbles that can't hatch

base together

blue rivers and streams crawl in

and swallow us up

and quietly spit us out

nothing else

only wishing that the grass would lengthen

its shadows

Rain Walk

clouds, gray and grey

can no longer be Can't be washed clean

We opened our umbrellas

So we blackened the sky

In the slowly drifting night

There were two pairs of twin stars

There seemed to be no fixing of the orbit

But just distant and near ......

The Bubbles

Two free blisters

Rising from the depths of the dreaming sea ......

The hazy silver mist

Disperses in the breeze

I am like a child

Pulling tightly on the blurring you

In a vain attempt to bring the blisters

Back to the land of reality

Feelings

The sky is gray

The road is gray

The building is gray

The rain is gray

In a dead gray

Walked two children

One bright red

One light green

The Arc

Birds in a brisk wind

Swiftly turning

The teenager went to pick up

A penny

The grapevines were full of Fantasy

Stretching tentacles

The waves' backs shrugged as they flinched

The Evasion

Through solemn rocks

I

Walked to the shore

"Go ahead

I know the world's languages"

The sea laughed

And showed me See

Birds that swim

Fish that fly

Sand that sings

And not a word is said to that eternal questioning

The Case

Blackness

Like swarm after swarm of

Masked men

Sneaking closer

Then walking away

I lost the dream

Only the smallest penny left in my pocket

"I've been robbed,"

I said to the sun

The sun went after the night

And was chased by another group of night

In the setting light

In the setting light

You purse your mouth tightly: <

"There's only a quarter of an hour left."

That is to say, now for the tragedy.

"Ten years, a hundred years!"

"A thousand miles, a million miles!"

Suddenly you smile mischievously,

revealing your true age.

"I forgot a word."

"Well, definitely forgot one."

We never figured it out,

and the sun has quietly rested.