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Preface Time is the ripples on the water's surface, Time is the string dragged by the kite in the sky, Time is the eyes that stare at each other, Time is the fireworks of the village, Time is like the falling leaves, Time is lonely and growing. Luo Zhenyu said: Be a friend of time. If you step into the game, I will come to you secretly. Time is an undercurrent, a legend in the night. You and I both fall into this river and row hard. In the distance, there is a light on the shore, guiding your soul. If you spend too much time on hard work and too little time on thinking, you will trap yourself deeper and deeper. Therefore, we should always go back to the starting point and think about the question: What is our original intention? Is there something wrong with our assumptions? Those who are close to water are wise, and those who are close to mountains are responsible. Tea is a blessing, wine is expensive. The chess player is wise, the ink player is fragrant. A prosperous house and a healthy body. When disasters come, they are not disasters. When difficulties come, they are not annoying. When bad things come, they do not disturb purity. Burning incense is a way to lead others, and kowtow is a way of piety. Chanting sutras is a means, and the purpose is to calm the mind and avoid delusional thoughts. Honesty in the inside, form in the outside. I miss no one but you for thousands of years. You owe nothing to anyone, you only owe me a full moon. Hengdao has a broad mind, a measured heart, and a boundless drink. Come on, it's not you that's wrong, it's love. Who is singing with fingers? It's almost dusk in the green again. Who, it's not from youth to old age; Who doesn't live life like tea? A red wave, the mountain and the moon are thin. There is no trace of the sun, but the dream remains the same. The journey blows up the sand and creates a clear stream. Go alone, don't care about spring and autumn. -- Ten Fingers · Beijing · Pinjin · October 2021

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Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

It is the law of nature that fallen leaves return to their roots. Nature allows them to grow and die. This is a law of nature that causes it to experience growth to death and death to growth throughout its life. People and things are alike, and no one can escape from this cycle. Human beings are just like fallen leaves. From birth to childhood to youth to adulthood to old age to death, we are all obeying the laws of nature, aren't you? ? The new shoots in spring grow and change into big green leaves little by little over time, and then turn into withered and weak yellow leaves little by little over time, until the fallen leaves return to their roots. ? So how do we make each loop meaningful? A yellow and feeble leaf fell from the tree. After being picked up and carefully preserved, the leaf stopped circulating and began to create its own value. This leaf was made into a specimen and displayed in an exhibition hall for people to appreciate, or it was used in scientific research. This leaf created a value different from other leaves. ? Why can someone create value? Newton's "Gravity", Einstein's "Relativity", or the artistic "Mona Lisa". Everyone in the world is familiar with the value they create. So why them and not us? Just like the leaves I just gave an example of. Why was that leaf chosen for scientific research and made into a specimen? ? Therefore, I feel that we are in a cycle of fallen leaves returning to their roots. , We must escape from the cycle of nature, think about things outside the cycle, be good at discovery and thinking, and combine it with luck, there will always be breakthroughs and gains. ?

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Ancient style poetry, written randomly

Always remember that there are bitterness, joy and sweetness in life, always remember it. Use words to record your mood, why not say it!

This collection of poems uses the twenty-four solar terms as the gears and the altar of earth as the furnace to create a heterogeneous time and space where bronze tripods, pottery figurines, mycelium and ice edges intersect. The four volumes are divided into four seasons: in the spring volume, the roots are eaten through the inscriptions, and the mycelium usurps the contract of life and death; in the summer volume, the cicadas are used to forge the instrument of light, and the rust is wrapped in the prisoner's carnival; in the autumn brewing volume, the frost blade cuts through the rotten leaves to prophesy, and the bronze scale weighs the rotten forgiveness; in the winter silence volume, the pottery wheel explodes the star ring, and the umbilical cord tightens the universe to regenerate. Language is like quenching pottery pieces, melting the fragments of the Book of Songs and the cold flames of post-modernity - the star chips are the relics of the ice coffin, the salt and frost are the bone residue of time, and the cracks are the birth canal of the mother's body. Philosophical notes pierce the lines of poetry, deconstructing eternity with violent paradoxes: "The defeat is the draft of the imperial edict" and "All the ice is the testament of the flame." The whole book is like a chaotic creation ceremony: the wheel of time crushes the clay embryo of civilization, and the heart track redraws the birthmark of all things in the blood and rust. As you turn every page, you can hear ice and fire negotiating in the bones, and spring is drawing blades from the scabbard of rotten leaves.

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Seeking a trace of sweet rain from the two ounces of ice and snow in the world. Seek peace from a few glasses of lantern wine in the busy city. No shame in my heart and no shame in others.

The charm of poetry is infinite

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Human relationships are sophisticated, society is full of changes, love is sad,

Wanwan Tears contains real and false third parties. The truth is lovelessness, while the illusion is love and being loved. I know that loveless means loveless. So I say I am loveless. Some people want to build certain relationships with other people and absorb the wealth of certain people. Deliberately changing the lack of love to the lack of love, trying to use me in vain.

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Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Draw your own emotional experiences into poetry in your heart. And some miscellany of life, but mainly emotional poems about my own love.

The sweat of labor slipped down my cheeks and dripped on the floor of the supermarket. It was a perfect island covered with food and clothing.

This is a collection of poems written by farmers, with natural and simple feelings.

[The flowers are fragrant in the spring rain. Under the oil-paper umbrella, you leaned down and lowered your head. Everything is silent. ] In the form of poetry, I express my thoughts, feelings and sighs. [Meeting is fate. Missing it is fate. ] Discontinuous text.

We are all little dust in the universe. I write this just for the sake of remembrance that will not be forgotten. Then use it to look back at life and smile at it

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When lost, the wind blows the wheat waves and they meet everywhere in life... When I returned, the covered bridge under the moon was like a lost dream and the smell of fireworks on earth... When reminiscing, the figure in the oil umbrella misses Mengjun on the bridge...

Hidden heart, cherish friendship, don't ask for anything, dream master, respect the virtuous Shanglian is half a teacher and half a friend. The second couplet is a teacher and a friend who comforts you all year round.

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Use classical poetry to record your own mental journey since the 21st century. Anthology of Lonely Hearts.

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Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works! This article is a review after reading this article!

Essays and poems are used to comfort each other, and they talk about the world together, letting themselves be at ease and independent in the wind.

After walking through 2020 and passing through the passage of time, I wish you all well and may you have a young life.

The tiny daily routine is like the clear light scattered by the moonlight. We walk in the clear light and pick up the cloud pictures of the past.

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"About the author: Sun Chunyan, a writer and poet from Zhangzhou, is a member of Zhangzhou Poetry Association, Longhai Writers Association, Zhangzhou Couplet Society, Zhangzhou Development Zone Writers Association, Shaanxi Xifu Literary Association, and Hong Kong Poetry Literature. His works are scattered in the publication "0596 Poetry Journal" , "Cuiping" magazine, "Pisces Island" magazine, "Guanshan" literary quarterly, "Dongshan Literature and Art" magazine, "Xifu Literature" books and magazines, "Xifu Prose Masters" books, "Nanwan" books and magazines, "Xiapu Couplet" books and magazines, and the author of a poetry collection "One Hundred Lyrical Poems" book... Etc.,"

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

I dance with my nunchaku, and the shadow of the stick is like a dragon swimming in the sea of ink, Every wave is the surge of poetry.

I can't write the language of taste, but this is the text I love. I want to share my portrayal, which is a little childish and a little boring.

I stared at the serious eyes in the waves of the Qiantang River, and realized the perseverance flowing in his soul for ten years.

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Talking to others at night, sighing at yourself at night, talking every night

In winter, I build a snowman of poetry. So white, so happy. That is the shape of innocence!

"The Man of Entropy" The Milky Way pours down the starry wine, and the heat of death comes to buy Taibaijiu on credit. The sword was forged with entropy frost for nine days, and the Yellow River fell into Schrödinger's mouth. Half of Tang Dynasty fished out from black hole accretion disk The growth rings of Thuja freeze the sorrows of the nineteen Ice Ages Cangshan Mountain is the Riemann surface used by Nuwa to mend the leak in the sky. I tear the twilight mist into paper and write the anti-entropy story