Library

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!

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

The wind carries my whole life, and the moon lights up my night.

The author returned to his hometown in the cold winter and felt the country. I saw the land ravaged by the north wind, desolate and lifeless. I was inspired to write a few poems. If there are any shortcomings, I hope you can give me some advice.

The author Ji Daoyong, whose real name is Guo Yingchun,

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Thirty Thousand Days of Prose Poetry, we are all the creators of this book. The beauty deep in our memory brings everything with us, making us completely trapped in the endless sunsets and sunrises...

From the first perspective, analyze the concept of "love" and its relationship with the soul.

Each line of black curse is a love poem written to the crow, and only the cat can understand it.

To remember my childhood

This book is not a novel or a collection of poems, but an emotional playlist that can be flipped through. Love is like a long song. The throbbing when we first met is the clear prelude, the entanglement of passionate love is the long main song, the thoughts of running into each other are the profound passages, and the commitment and bond are the most familiar, unforgettable, and most eager to sing repeatedly in our lives - the refrain. The original lyrics included in this book are an attempt to write memorable melodies for these unspeakable moments. Each page is a slice of emotion: "Prelude: Signal of Heartbeat" - those subtle moments when eyes intersect and words fail to reach the target. "Theme Song: Our Narrative Poetry" - the main line of the story written together by daily companionship and trivial tenderness. "Bridge: Contemplation of Loneliness" - the necessary silence, hesitation and self-dialogue in love. "Chorus: Repeated Vow" - No matter how many changes it undergoes, it will always return, the core certainty of love. "Epilogue: Echoes and Future" - the permanent traces left by love and the aftertaste pointing to tomorrow. Here, the lyrics have faded away from the music score, but are given a melody again because of your reading - that melody comes from your heartbeat, your past, and the quietly responding voice in your heart. "Our Common Chorus" is a text memorandum written to love itself, and it is also a mirror. I hope you can recognize a certain melody that belongs to you in it, and find that eternal refrain that you have always wanted to sing, or that someone has sung for you. I dedicate this book to all those who have listened, spoken, and believed in resonance in love.

This is a poem I wrote. Both modern and ancient styles are available, welcome to read.

No one knows where "they" came from I only know that it is the blooming of the soul It's what's wandering in my mind-- Just some stray thoughts

"Sometimes, living changes its taste, walking and turning, falling asleep while eating, and shedding tears after being fascinated. Sometimes, people are so complicated, difficult to express, and unbearable. If you hold a mouthful of water in your mouth, if you drink it, there will be no more. If you don't drink, you will be hungry and thirsty. In the moment of hesitation, the water is gone, and you can only thirst yourself to death in constant regret."

In 2017, I joined a writer's assistant in primary school for the first time. I wrote the non-mainstream novel "Dreams in the South City". Today, 8 years after I gave up writing, I opened the current memo and found that the myself now has changed a lot from the person I was then. I still marvel at my desire for expression and creativity at that time. I wrote nearly 2,400 words in 52 minutes. I still remember that it took 45 minutes to write the subsequent 800-word essay. It is an amazing feeling (to preserve the memory of my first creation as a child, I still use the previous avatar and pen name, hahaha) Now I also record in memos. These are my inspirations in certain months of my junior year. Many interesting phenomena I encounter every day can turn into butterflies and fly into my heart at some point, muttering, "Write me out, please." Of course, I am also fortunate to be able to come back to share with you 8 years and 57 days after the unfinished creation of "Dream in the South City" and 2979 days after joining the writer's assistant. Of course I'm different now than I was then. "University life is full of various experimental writings that explore freedom, self-projection, meta-poetry, symbol worship, etc." (This paragraph is purely an overestimation of myself, hahaha) But these are some words that I conceive, adapt, and imagine based on real-life inspiration. The signifier is absent and the signified is floating. Just record your feelings and read them in a diary hahaha. I still chose to catch the pen that was hanging in the air 8 years ago

About the wind in the grassland, about the cement world in the city, about the unspoken freedom and the regret hidden in the heart. I once wanted to wield the sword of law, and I also dreamed of going to Karakoram, but a scar hindered my steps. The coldness of the science class, the warmth of the Kazakh girl, the vows made when I was a boy, and the frost on my father's temples are all mixed into this text. This is my self-narration, written to myself and to all those who have a wilderness in their hearts and a city in their bodies.

When I opened the photo album again, I felt so happy inside. The me I used to be would definitely be bored with the me I am now.

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

Drop the seeds of poetry into your life and feel the poetry in the ordinary.

The suppressed cry that cannot be told to others comes from the hearts of young people in the new era, transcending the voice like bone conduction.

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

Record life

Life is like a book, and I need to use a pen to record those extraterrestrial sounds that once shocked me.

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"Poetry as Notes" When time carves shallow lines on the corners of the eyes I use rhyme to catch every piece of falling dust When the morning light spreads through the window lattice A short poem is standing on tiptoes Measuring the balance between dreaming and waking The age when the spring shirt is swaying Always put my worries into Pingqi When the wind passes through the alley A metaphor suddenly fell apart The pain that splashed half the city's peach blossoms Later, we waded through the fireworks Boil firewood, rice, oil and salt into a metaphor The child's cry makes a rhyme Parents' white hair bending poems Every comma hides an unspoken reminder Occasionally open old manuscript papers The handwriting has been stained by the yellow of time Only then do I understand the pauses in those branches It turns out that life is breathing gently Every outline is to the world tender acknowledgment

Read poetry in the early morning light, write letters in the evening breeze of the playground, and pick up inspiration in the smoke of fireworks in the cafeteria. There are unfinished papers, unfinished thoughts, and the stumbling thoughts of young people - it turns out that growing up is the process of writing daily life into poetry.

I just want to record my article, if you are interested, you can read it!

I have never been a person who loves poetry. I have never had the obsession to dig into the details and carefully consider the words, and I never regard "writing poetry" as a deliberate business. Only when the heart is entangled with worries, those messy emotions will unconsciously flow out from the tip of the pen. It turned out that the direct confession was too lengthy and disturbing to read, so I tried to use the short form of poetry to fold the worries into a few lines of words, which should be used to find a light place for the emotions. I prefer to spend my days surrounded by fireworks and mountains and rivers than sitting on my desk and pondering sentences: I love the elegance of the music of the piano, the game of moving pieces on a chessboard, the interest of pen and ink paintings, and the fragrance of ink when turning pages of a book. I often invite friends to share poems with wine and sip fragrant tea, and let time slowly flow in the elegance. I love to pack my bags and travel around, visiting famous mountains and rivers, watching the rushing rivers and green peaks, and stretching my mind in the vastness of the world. If I feel depressed, I like to go to ancient temples and Taoist temples. Listening to the morning bells and evening drums to wash away the dust, watching the incense curling up to soothe the mind, occasionally meeting monks, Taoists or fellow travelers, we sit down and chat about Zen and cultural context, letting those trivial anguish quietly melt away in the tranquility and cultural exchanges of the ancient temple. In the final analysis, whether it is a few occasional short poems, the elegance of music, chess, calligraphy and painting, or wandering around mountains, rivers and temples, it is just the way I get along with life - I do not deliberately pursue anything, I just want to find a sense of freedom and peace in the things I like.

All are essays

Poetry writes about all things, and writes about the spring breeze

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The sunset is magnanimous, and there is light in the world Come in and read the random thoughts of an informal poet.

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In the urban forest made of steel and concrete, people rush to catch up with the morning light and neon lights, but often ignore the corners hidden in the noisy folds. This prose uses delicate writing to outline three warm-hearted corners of the city: the tailor shop at the alley in the old city, the bluestone road reflecting the luster of the years, the sound of the sewing machine like an eternal song, the white-haired shop owner using silver needles to mend clothes, also mending the fading slow time; the bench deep in the park, Lying quietly in the green shade, you can witness the old man's Tai Chi, the students' reading, and the lovers' chatter. The wood grain is full of small thoughts; on the rooftop of the residential building, clothes are dried like colorful flags, potted plants grow stubbornly, and chats and laughter float in the evening breeze. It has become a poetic place overlooking the city and resting in impetuousness. The article uses "shimmer" as a metaphor to show that these corners are not the edges, but the gentle background of the city - they use silence and simplicity to remind people to stop in the rush, discover the true poetry of life, and treasure the warmth and touch that are easily overlooked.

The city at night is still bright. The starry sky remains in the countryside.

The bait harvests the joy of the fish, and the leaves harvest the lies of autumn; then who will harvest you, my soul?

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The pen moves like a wild horse. Remember and leave the essence of the experience. This is a profound thought, leaving behind a dazzling love story. How many years have passed and how many years have passed, the book has left behind eternal good stories. This is a poetry book with various teachings, recording all aspects of society. After many years of accumulation, we have today's romantic presentation, allowing people to gallop in the ocean of knowledge. This is a great book and a refreshing read. This is a good collection of books that allows people to step into the golden house of knowledge. In the hazy artistic conception of life, there is a teaching from a predecessor. Learn to overcome obstacles in society and wake up to the vast teachings of life through reading. This is a piece of spiritual food that book lovers need to supplement...

This is a collection of literary essays

We can't keep our youth. Time flies by. I have written poems and essays to commemorate my youth here.

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!

A collection of original poems written by a careless and boring person with only a few words.