Land Modern Poetry 1

Never left

Never cared either

You must understand the preciousness under your feet

Before it becomes a memory

The land

Can rival you

In addition to sunshine, there is also air

But, there is no That one is thicker than you

Only you collect my footprints

In your arms

I can have fun as I want

Also Feel free to vent your anger

Land

Whether you are a mountain

, a valley, or a flat land

To your people

Never give up

Throw you a drop of smelly sweat

What you get in return are baskets of fruits

Facing your majesty

No matter how gorgeous the literary talent is

No matter how beautiful the poetry is

It is all superficial writing

Ancestors, ancestors

For You shed blood

Going back thousands of years

Emperors, generals, grass bandits and common people

Fulfill your long-cherished wish and become the land

I will take it What

Express my awe and respect

Iron shovel, iron plow

It’s just a kind of etiquette

Labor is the highest state of life

Labor is the only hope of the land

Land, land

I start with you

And then return to you

In one-third of an acre of fields

I feel your breath

Touch your texture

Some people want to become immortal

Some people want to be petrified

But I just want to be turned into soil

Become a piece of land Land Modern Poetry 2

My father said: "I am just a farmer, facing the loess , with his back turned to the sky."

Because of the work, exhaustion dripped into his bones and thoughts like ink, causing his body to swell and overflow like water.

This is a posture more suitable for hugging (or covering)

One day, he will tell me with a lamp that has run out of oil

This is to accompany him all the time of light. My father’s black eyes will shed tears, and he will say: I am old and can’t see anything.

I still can’t understand the steadfastness of the stone and how much suffering it has to endure before it is willing to be completely destroyed. Only the earth is the hardest, decaying with the last pain

That piece of yellow land is my father's deep wrinkles

The silhouette is filled with the red residual warmth of the sunset

In fact, my father has a greater idea, stretching his rickety body into the ground

Just like a mule and horse running tirelessly in search of a piece of desolation, he

desperately digs out the dark thoughts that have accumulated on the earth for thousands of years in order to

Leave a piece of the most holy land on the earth, or use it to replace it, and replace the earth to do the most primitive and ancient nurturing

This reminds me of the mud in spring Here, the barefooted father arched his back

While driving the cow that had just given birth in winter to plow the fields

A sharp fish bone pierced the center of his foot

On the desolate land, the wheat stubble grew taller and taller, reaching the height of my father’s messy hair

The fragrance of their wheat grains could no longer be concealed

This weak fact It's heartbreaking, I understand: Father

The desire to cover the earth is far less strong than the desire of the earth to bury my father

Knowing that he will be reduced to dust, he still wants to maintain the character of a stone

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But his hoe is still sharp, carving the history of farmers on the open land

However, who left the traces, and the father’s footprints are no longer clear Land Modern Poetry 3

Embracing the sunset, my eyes are half rustling

Half river red, caressed by the affectionate wind

Willow Yiyi, kissed gently

On the horseback of the season

The piccolo blows the fallen leaves into seeds

Flying and ending

In the depths of the blood of the land

The sound of wind and water rippling

The vigorous footsteps swayed open

The layers of well-proportioned furrows

On the old man’s forehead, A music score

The returning bird sings until the moon rises and the moon sets

The scattered sparks of dry smoke

Light up the night countless times

I rely on the solid advice,

Stride like a meteor, singing the love song of the land

Walk towards the rainbow like my back

Turn into rain, and it will become a sky filled with blessings

Wet the eyes that look far away

Hanging on the clouds,

It is the eternal sunshine land Modern Poetry 4

Father and the land

I often kiss the land

I often think of my father

When we were children, we were hungry and cold

I heard my father’s voice Shouting

The bullwhip raised Lao Gao

The tip of the plow went deep into the earth

Plowing into the wrinkles on my father's forehead

So

We are no longer hungry

No longer cold

Because we feel

the warmth of wheat ears

The warmth of millet

We understand the land

We also understand our father

We are shouting at our father

Growing up in the sound

We also learned to cultivate

The blackboard becomes the land

The pointer writes life

Us and my father

Sow different seeds

Harvest the same mood Land Modern Poetry 5

Night falls, once again scooping up a handful of silt and loess

My arms are stiff and I feel heavy, a series of wonderful and bloody scenes

The battlefield is slaughtered, in front of flowers and under the moon Lingering, for the land

The land where the Yellow River in the Central Plains flows through

Walking hand in hand with you, covered with stars and moon, mist and dewdrops

Starlight and moonlight, accompanying the morning light of the morning star

The Central Plains, woven with stories and myths, shows its richness

The orchards of peaches, plums and apricots adorn the spring, and the golden wheat decorates the hot summer.

The red leaves in Taihang burn red in autumn, and the white snow warms the winter.

The inscriptions on oracle bones are deeply affectionate, and the rusty bronze is shining

Coming from the Yin and Shang Dynasties three thousand years ago, it interprets the story of the gods

With the Jian'an style, this piece of The muddy land

Father's love

At this moment, I take a handful of muddy loess, and the golden light shines

The hallucination of the battlefield appears, the image of the tenderness of a lady, along the lips and teeth

The oral cavity and intestines and stomach have become modern swan songs

Poet! Can I sing for the stars, can I sing for the moonlight?

The mist and dewdrops are dancing wildly, and my father has become dull and transparent.

Is there anyone more stupid than my father? The clear currents of the Zhang River climb along the Taihang River.

Moisturizing the land, is there anyone more demented than my father? Let the yellow sand

The red fruits fall on the top of the head, it hurts, and the tears fall

The South-to-North Water Diversion ditch passes by the door of the house, father

I am more lovesick and more agile

Picking up this handful of loess, the sweat of the ancestors flows through it, and the barren corn grows

Wheat, sorghum, cotton, and their love

The land of the Central Plains , dignified, the land of the Central Plains is warm

Carrying too much, the land is overwhelmed Modern Poetry 6

(1)

The land is like a dragon

Lingering in the hearts of farmers

Always vivid and vivid

From spring to winter

Large areas of crops that have been cut down

Along the mountains and rivers

Like auspicious clouds

Spreading gently on the ditch slopes

At a glance

All local folk customs

are as popular as sorghum ears

blushing like that

Ode to the Autumn Wind

Corresponding The blue sky

Those in twos and threes

are talking and laughing

Also bending down on their knees

Picking up the yellow corn

Men and women

are like angels of God

The earth in autumn at this time

is like a romantic and unrestrained poem

And those working people

are like the writhing dragon

The big yellow corn cobs

are the accurate sentence reading

Punctuating the greatness of an era

Picking up corns

(2)

Following the direction of the sun

Stretching Arms

Squatting on the knees between the field ridges

Bend the body into the character "了"

Following the aunt

A summer's fatigue

On the chopped crop straw

The crackling ground

split her simple dreams one by one

Put it into a woven bag

or a basket of wattle sticks

and transport it back to a shelter that is protected from wind and rain.

At home

Stay until spring

In exchange for the prosperity and well-being of the whole family

Hold the heavy corn cobs in your hands affectionately

Watch silently and quietly

The dense and full particles

Line by row

It’s like The jagged lines of poetry

The tiny bits

are the most exquisite and vivid images

Every time I read her

I always feel the taste I can feel the selfless taste of the sun

and I can also feel the fragrance of the country more

Of course

What makes me sigh the most

is the The farmers' simplicity

exudes

food is the most important thing for the people

beads of sweat fall to the ground and smash into eight petals

sour rot The fragrance of sweat

Carrying bags

(3)

Bags and bags

Coming and going

Those ripe corn sticks

Recited from thoughts

After stumbling and stumbling

Finally placed on the platform on the ground

The corn The bag is a bit unbearable on my shoulders

It hurts and feels uncomfortable

But it feels good

This is also my life

For the first time, I felt a unique pleasure

Not only very solid

No boredom in the city

Not obscure

Every grin Barking teeth

It is the most painful feeling on the skin

But it will never hurt

Farmers’ life and moral character

That’s it From here, it is popular and straightforward

Bundling straw

(4)

Carry the sun and moon on your back

The earth faces alone

Make every autumn harvest day

Make a rustling noise

Bind those crops

That rustling sound

Just like the years

I scratched my armpit

I cried out that it was itchy

Squatting on the straw

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Kneeling on the straw

This is a pious gesture towards the sky and the earth

It is bowing one's head

I still bow my head to worship

All of this

It cannot be expressed in words

There are only drops of sweat

Talent is the most accurate

The melodiousness of my cousin’s whip

is not only loud

but also very meaningful

It seems that every hour in the future will be The days

They all jingle three times

I am on the bundles of straw

My eyes are filled with tears of affection. Modern Poetry of the Land 7

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The color of my father’s face is the color of the land

The land is my father’s favorite and also his most hated

Just like my unfulfilled son

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It has dragged him down his whole life

I can’t stand my father’s yellow eyes

His stooped figure and bark-like hands

I always It’s about longing for distant cities

Gardens, squares, and bungalows

When I have been wandering for many years

I dreamed of it late at night

My father is so desolate

A father who has never left the land in all directions

His whole life has been silently submerged in the land

When the land is like a snake When entangled with my father

The longing for my father also entangled me like a snake Modern Poetry of the Land 8

Whenever the monsoon comes

Sangmei, Baoxia, Morak

These uninvited guests with nice names

are like demon foxes that transform into beautiful women

labeled with charming eyes

Extremely All the deceit and abduction

Watching the land being abused

The people of my hometown defended their homeland

But they were unable to resist

Back then Xie The poem expresses coolness among the mountains and rivers

The fairyland described in the pen is envied by future generations

Master Xuanjue suddenly realized that there is no great world after awakening

The sound of "Song of Proving the Way" made him famous Amitabha Peak

Meeting a bosom friend in a dream and having an extramarital affair, Zen in walking,

Yongjia is worthy of the wanderer’s attachment day and night

Sweet dreams return to time

Modernization The steps follow like a shadow

The green field has long been eclipsed

The clean stream, the fresh wind

The joy of running barefoot on the field ridge

Those Lost in childhood memories

Gradually abandoned in time

Staying in the gradually shrinking land of vicissitudes

My elderly fellow countrymen

Counting down the passing years with precious treasures

There is a pond in the center of the village

There are also mulberry gardens in the sand

There are large areas beside the Ou River. bamboo forest

It was midsummer at that time

The river was full of people catching fish, touching clams and swimming

……

Quietly approaching my hometown

I heard

The stream covered with thick stone slabs

Hiding in the darkness and crying secretly

Knocking on the familiar door

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The old house covered with moss at the feet

Weeds have taken over the courtyard wall

Only the old well at the end of the village still

confesses the last The sweetness of the land

Nourish the heart and soul modern poetry of the land 9

I love this land

Ai Qing

If I were a bird,

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I should also sing with my hoarse throat:

This land battered by storms,

This river that is always raging with our sorrow and indignation,

The angry wind that blows endlessly,

And the extremely gentle dawn from the forest...

——Then I died,

Even the feathers rotted in the earth.

Why do I always have tears in my eyes?

Because I have a deep affection for this land...

Nostalgia

Yu Guangzhong

When I was a child,

Nostalgia It is a small stamp,

I am on this end,

My mother is on the other end.

When I grow up,

Nostalgia is a narrow ticket,

I am here,

The bride is there head.

Later,

Nostalgia is a short grave,

I am outside,

My mother is inside.

And now,

Nostalgia is like a shallow strait,

I am at this end,

The mainland is at the other end.

Modern Land Poetry 10

"The Yellow Land Itself"

I washed my hands clean with chrysanthemum essence

My father grinned and said he was like a cultivator

The key is that my feet stepped into the soil

When I was washing glutinous rice, I was thinking

Plowing the ground and planting seeds, everything is elusive

The ancestors of the plateau people depended on the sky for their livelihood

Is the land the father or the mother?

Sunshine and rain are also very important

The yellow earth itself is what it is

It needs a pair of hard-working hands to touch

"Potato"

Between black and white

I suffered a thousand cuts during my lifetime

The land dug out its most beloved heart to you

An old Chinese medicine doctor was deeply moved

Chang You won’t have a stroke when eating potatoes

"Corn"

The mouth is not sharp

The skin is a bit thick

The integrity is similar to bamboo

The flowers in May are blooming all over the hillside

The wind blows the shyness of a handful of corn

The fragile shyness is like the first love in life

Can’t help it Any artificial tearing and torture

"Sorghum"

Sorghum is red, covering the hillside

Orchid Huahua rides a donkey to a distant place

Far away, please open up the poet’s reverie

The character of wine warms up destiny

Low alcohol content, soft and graceful in the Jiangnan water town

Medium alcohol content, permeates the Central Plains On the earth

The height is intoxicated in the corners where Shandan flowers bloom

"Millet"

The roots penetrate deeply into the earth

The leaves are comparable to coir raincoats

The wind blows, and the millet straightens its waist

The sun shines, and the millet accumulates contemplation

The rain enriches the growth of the millet

Pieces on the east mountain

Pieces on the west mountain

Gu Lin bows his head towards the sun

Year after year, the sun and the moon cycle

Time will not pass away, but millet will not die

People in northern Shaanxi are all children who grew up eating millet

"Mung Bean"

Bottom of the pot Circles of blue flames

More than a dozen pieces of red-hot blue charcoal in the furnace

On that hot midsummer day

My mother took off my back The schoolbag on my back

A bowl of cool mung bean water

Relieved the scorching heat all over my body

"Mountain Elm"

Mountain The bark of the elm tree has been peeled off

Leaving only the white trunk

How can Guanyin soil be eaten

It bursts the human belly

Spring is here

The buds of the elm tree

Shyly compact and round

The peach and apricot flowers have just fallen

A bunch A bunch of green elm money

Before the leaves could reveal their feelings

, they were full of swagger and saved their parents’ generation with flowers

"A Song of Xintianyou"

Potatoes are blooming and the top of the head is white

If you miss my sister, just drive here

The flowing water in Yanhe River is leisurely

The gongs and drums roar loudly at the foot of the Pagoda Mountain

The flowers of Shandandan are red and colorful

I haven’t seen my brother in six months

Where is the mountain? Water is always there for people

The young people stayed and talked

Love

"Wine is your character"

Open the wine bottle and sit on the kang,

After paying homage to the gods, respect my mother.

It is indispensable during the New Year and festivals.

It is necessary to prepare dishes when guests come.

A square table was placed on the Kang,

Seven plates and eight bowls were served.

The people are right, the things are right, the stalls are right,

Three cups and two cups will not make you drunk.

Drink less when you go out.

Be careful of the trouble in your cup.

Wine spoils a gentleman and water spoils the road.

It is difficult for a god to drink enough.

It takes ten thousand years for a monkey to transform into a human,

It takes a glass of wine for a human to transform into a monkey.