Niu Haibiao s original poems, want to ask for some original poems

Be myself.

Zhu Binghui: I want to be myself.

From today.

Deep in intimacy with the earth.

Passionate about this devastated land.

Stand silently with the trees.

Grow silently, too.

Deeply rooted.

In search of precious nutrients.

Tell my sweetness to Baiyun.

Give my pain back to myself.

My sharp spear is going to pierce into the darkness.

My green flag will breathe of blood.

Even if the evening wind cuts my body.

There was not a tear in my eyes.

Because I have forgotten myself.

for I will be attached to the land all my life.

This is also everything - answer a young friend's "Everything" Shu Ting is not all big trees.

All broken by the storm.

Not all seeds.

None of the soil was found to take root.

It's not all true.

are lost in the desert of people's hearts.

Not all dreams are willing to have their wings broken.

No, not everything.

It's all like you said!

Not all flames.

All only burn themselves.

without illuminating others.

Not all stars.

All indicate only darkness.

And without reporting the dawn.

Not all singing.

They all passed only by their ears.

And not stay in the heart.

No, not everything.

It's all like you said!

Not all appeals have gone unheard.

Not all losses cannot be compensated.

Not all abysses are perdition.

Not all perdition is covered on the heads of the weak.

Not all minds.

can be stepped on. Rotten in the mud.

Not all consequences.

It's all tears and blood, and they don't show joy.

The present is pregnant with the future.

Everything in the future grows from yesterday.

Hope, but also fight for it.

Please put it all on your shoulders.

The mountain is high and the road is far away, Wang Guozhen.

The shouting is the silence that erupts.

Silence is a silent call.

Whether agitated or tranquil.

I pray, as long as it's not bland.

If you call me from afar.

I'll go off the road.

If the mountains call me.

I went to the mountains.

Both feet are worn out. Just let the setting sun smear the path.

Scratch your hands. Simply let the thorns turn into cuckoos.

There is no longer road than a foot.

There is no higher mountain than man.

If life is not generous enough, Wang Guozhen.

If life is not generous enough.

We don't have to be stingy in return.

Why think about it.

Give as much as you get.

If you can be generous.

Why choose obscenity.

If you can be chic.

Why choose loneliness.

Gaining is a satisfaction.

Giving is a joy.

will only mess around with some ancient style poems.

The lake is quiet and the shadow travels with the couple, and the river floats with the jade.

The arrogant sky is more than the carving Peng, and the laughter and wind and rain are also quiet.

Back then, I liked to watch Jin Yong's martial arts in Chinese class, so I wrote such a song casually, and I feel relatively good, haha, hide the head and hide the Chinese characters, I didn't take the title, and the landlord got it himself.

What is home?

When I was a child, my home was my mother's nagging, my father's reprimand, a birdcage of boredom, and a fetter to a free life.

What is home? In my eyes, my father's home is a field of cattle and sheep, a clear blue sky, the labor of sweat and the soil, and the sweetness of heavy ears of rice.

What is home? The home I love deeply is the embrace of my parents, the reunion dinner for the holidays, the family affection that blood is thicker than water, the constant thoughts, the call of love, and the warm harbor.

Is it enough to have an original poem? Are there any titles? The landlord's intention is not clear enough.

Up, on the bottom casually typed a few words, the landlord can stroll.

Late autumn. The fallen leaves fluttered and fell under the autumn wind, dancing happily with joy, anger and sorrow, lying in the arms of the earth, waiting for what kind of fate the land would be, no one knows.

Abandoning the warm embrace of the trunk and treetops, coveting the cold and merciless passers-by of the autumn wind, indifferently waiting for the next episode, whether this is the persistence of faith or a natural law, there is no answer yet.

After all, I still want to wear...

When I was 15-17 years old, I wrote more than 200 poems, all of which have been lost, and I only remember one.

Reminiscent, walking in the rain.

I cast the stones of your heart.

A lake of redness rippled.

Recalled, the condensation under the moon.

You pick two stars.

Brighten up the waves.

I remember, the bleakness of the platform.

The grip beads fell silently.

It's hard to get a look at the winter scene.

Remember, the earthworm on the note.

Carry away the thoughts of being overweight.

Moisturizing a one-night dream.

Note: "Dream Shadow of the Sea Window" is me, which I originally used to describe someone's eyes as the shadow of the Dream of the Window of the Sea, and later also used it as my pen name.

The aged sauerkraut was taken out and smiled.

I did it some time ago. I haven't started the topic yet, hehe.

Untitled" climbed mountains and waded through five levels.

Brave for Yi is not afraid.

The landslide and the ground crack will not regret it.

A piece of Dan's heart is red.

The most beautiful thing is the memory".

Summer stars, clear night.

Through my eyes, you are all over.

Lingering, deeply imprinted, what can't be taken away is memories.

I shouldn't live in the past, but I can't forget the past

The most beautiful thing is the memory".

Is it okay for me to write it myself?

Tell you next time.

The beauty of spring and spring is not boastful, and the wind blows the willows and peach blossoms.

The cold wave sends water to the sky, and the sunset in Chang'an reflects the remnants of the sun.

Seven Uniques - Seven Uniques - Spring Beauty.

32 clicks Collect from the web.

The soft breeze and drizzle promote the germination to grow, and the shallow grass changes the clothes.

The old trees and new branches welcome the swallow dance, and the bees want to find fragrance on the slope.

Mo Sheng].

I'll send it to you, my email address is.

"Spring Thoughts" (also known as Spring Thoughts).

Spring fields. It's a sea of green.

I'm boating in this ocean ---

A green wave ripples.

The breeze brought a distant sound.

I can hear you. But I can't see who is playing to my heart's content.

The fragrance that flows in the wind.

I can smell it. But I can't see her beautiful face.

The sunset girl in the distant mountains.

With a red hijab--

Waiting, she longs for the night lang.

The glow of the sky.

It must be the red candles flickering in the cave room.

Yoro is coming, Yoro is coming.

Frog drums are beating.

Worm Ji sang happily.

Even the gods in the sky--

They are all clustered together.

Standing on tiptoe and looking.

The stars are shining, and they are blinking.

Their eyes twinkled.

revealed, yearning for the world.

Hope, night.

The moon, beating on the tips of the grass, the figures of the people, startled the dew on the branches, rolled down the green woven bed.

Stars, like diamonds blooming flowers, decorate the sky, and children who are so happy that they fall asleep climb the crescent moon full of fireflies.

The moon is bright and the sky is bright, and the autumn air is gradually clearing.

Hear the voices of people in the distance, and hear the chirping of grass and insects up close.

The sky is high and the stars are far away, and the glimmer warms people's hearts.

The breeze is blowing, like sleeping and waking up.

Although there are no words in autumn, the sound of insects is fading.

When the geese return, spring returns to Vientiane.

A limerick poem, see a smile and laugh

In spring, you are like a gust of wind, waving across the fields and waving through everyone's heart.

People can't help but stop and admire your shadow, admire your floating posture.

You make people laugh, you make people happy, you make people feel ---

What you bring, the taste of spring, the breath of spring.

I wrote it myself, and I laughed.

The ice and snow are full of jade and clear.

Half pay for Yuehai condensing wine.

The flowers in front of the pavilion are waiting for the flowers to fall.

Before the grass grows, it is spring.

Inverted image. The swift footsteps of time have passed over me.

Fallen leaves looked at me scattered Qin Changxiao.

The ants trampled me over the draft.

I light up the fireworks on the sea.

Recallable. But they couldn't find me.

Topic: Meditation.

The bureau respects Yiluo who has not slept at night, and the cold stars hook the moon and the forest Hu Qi smokes.

Who pities the lovesick tears, looking at the Milky Way and reminiscing about the past.

Title: Drunken Mountain Pavilion.

The mountain pavilion is empty and cui brings wine, and Zhitong is a cautious friend.

The crescent moon is like a boat crossing the Milky Way, what dish does Chang'e add to her light kiss?

Original, I hope friends like ---

If you want to write it, people search on bidu, won't you be finished!

But the request is original. I'll give you one.

Well. I'll get you a more realistic one, suitable for recitation.

If you are satisfied, give more points

Calling China.

An eagerly copied voice:

I'm relieved, I'm relieved.

Dao Ran. With tears in my eyes, I calmed down.

Some people say: In front of nature, human beings are like ants and grass, I want to say:

In front of China, nature is like a grasshopper, if you want to shake her, there is no door, don't even think about it.

Oh, my China, what dignity this is, what pride it is, nature is changing, life is in reincarnation.

Only you, my motherland, stand in the eternal world, so I call again, China, you are awesome!

The wind blows the clouds and Wenchuan falls, the earth blooms thunder and the sky mourns, the hometown is an elegy for thousands of miles, and China has been troubled for thousands of years.

The deceased follows the waves of the sunset grass, and the unity is flourishing.

When he was fragrant in the mountains, the Buddha leaned on Lingyun Sanjiang and smiled.

Not bad, but rhyme. I'll make up a paragraph, don't mind, right? We wander in the sea of people, we have never found hope, the vicissitudes of the years, who has sung those past, the dreams of youth, whether they are still flying.

The language is less poetic and more like a narrative.

For example, poetry belongs to youth.

We've grown up.

No more childishness. The original poems were also abandoned.

One, two, three, four, five, please count it, count it again, one, two, three, four, five.

I sat quietly.

Appreciate your poetic language.

Feel your dream-like state of mind.

The old tree in front of the window conveys your greetings.

The bright moon in the night sky pours out your thoughts.

I'm looking for that lonely little creature.

Tell you gently.

for you are watching.

So beautiful tonight.

Like a poetry and a dream, like a fairy tale in a longing.

Millennial people are waiting to sell.

Your heart is tired, and your heart is clear.

A ripple swelled up in my heart.

Is it you, that dream hidden in the depths of my heart.

A figure in a dream.

Riding the breeze and wearing the moonlight.

Come to my window.

Without words, the communication of hearts is a distant music.

Bounce the spring out of each other's thoughts.

Ethereal thoughts flew out of the window.

Take a walk under the moonlight with you.

Guided by a faint nocturne.

Look for our cottages full of stories.

Lotus A faint fragrance, a faint love.

A touch of elegance.

A touch of lotus love your light, love your Ya.

Love you out of the mud and rent Li is not stained.

Pick flowers and put them in front of the pool.

A faint aroma attracts the town or comes to the butterfly.

The little lotus showed its sharp corners.

There have long been dragonflies and royal types of Wu Li's head."

Ask this poem, praise this lotus.

Nothing can come like a dark fragrance.

Come quietly and go quietly.

The wind takes away your drunkenness.

The rain welcomes you with refreshment.

Wind and rain are your companions.

You are the angel of dreams.

Your purity, your stillness.

I'm drunk, I'm fascinated.

Oh ......Not bad!

I wrote it myself.

Well written.

I'm a little duckling.

Babbling babbling. Croak.

Tree --- Liang Chen.

I am a tree.

Stand tall in the wilderness.

Thrive under blue skies.

In spring, everything comes back to life.

The birds are on my arm.

Sing merrily. Flowers are blooming.

In summer, the sun is blazing.

I know it's beside me.

Kept screaming.

It's so hot! It's so hot! "Patience for company.

People chilled out in my arms.

The children were playing around me non-stop.

In autumn, the fallen leaves return to their roots.

The leaves dance merrily.

Fall on the soil.

Ants walked under my feet.

Busy stockpiling winter grain.

In winter, heavy snow falls.

The earth seems to be covered with a veil.

It looks silvery.

The snowflakes were beside me.

After a cheerful dance.

Slowly falling. I'm pretending to be a nucleus all year round.

Happy Growth! Hehe! I made it up myself, I don't know if it's okay!