What are some modern and contemporary poems that depict women?

There is a beautiful woman in the generation, living in the hollow valley. Since the Yunliang family, scattered by the grass and trees. Guanzhong was in turmoil, and his brothers were killed; What is the sufficiency of high office?

Flesh and bones are not allowed. The evil of the world declines, and everything turns with the candle. The husband is light and thin, and the newcomer is as beautiful as jade.

When the dusk is still known, the mandarin duck does not sleep alone; But when I saw the new man laughing, I heard the old man crying. The water in the mountain spring is clear, and the water in the mountain spring is turbid. The maid sells the pearls and repairs the thatched hut.

Picking flowers does not insert sideburns, picking cypress is moving. The weather is cold and the green sleeves are thin, and the sunset leans on the bamboo.

The Yang family has a girl who has just grown up, and she is raised in the deep boudoir. Natural beauty is difficult to give up, and once chosen on the king's side. Looking back and smiling, the six palaces have no color.

The spring cold bathes in Huaqing Pool, and the hot spring water is slippery and creamy. The waiter helped up the delicate and weak, and it was the time of the new inheritance. The cloud sideburns and flowers are shaking, and the hibiscus tent is warm for the spring night.

The spring night is bitter and short, and the day is high, and the king does not rise early from then on. There is no leisure for the Chenghuan banquet, and the spring is a special night from the spring outing. There are 3,000 beauties in the harem, and 3,000 are pampered in one.

The most is the gentleness of the bowed head, like the shyness of a water lotus flower that is not better than the cool breeze, a cherish, a cherish, and a sweet sorrow in that cherishment - Xu Zhimo's "Shayanara" - this poem is the best poem that I think depicts beautiful women in modern poetry, and I will never forget it after reading it only once. The beauties in the poem have the envy, jealousy and hatred of "I see pity, not to mention the old slave".

The oranges are all cracked, and there is no sweetness, and this halfway is full of longing. Don't think that if you change it, you can give it to me, your words, fall softly in my heart. This sour taste is still stuck in my fingertips, and what I want is engraved, forever, as if in a dream, looming.

Your words are full of poetry, so fresh, are they momentary touches, or my heart, rising and falling in the strings you pluck. Unintentional touch, no thunder, fire and lightning. Unintentional meeting is just a dream of your face.

A concern has hung on the tip of my nose, as if breathing, you are by my side. Stretching out the warmth of the palm, it is the soul eye that beats, the profundity is still the cloud, and I just want to grab a beauty. Even if there is no tomorrow, the beauties of Handan, the love you give, the passers-by, leave a clear spring, love, no need to meet.

In the morning of the fishing village, shrouded in a faint morning mist, the girl of the fishing village left the warm dream to the alley for thousands of years. The uneven cold slate, she rocked the boat toward the place where the morning sun rose, and the morning breeze lifted her apron. The long braids of the hair, like the waterbands at the stern of the boat, woke up the fishing village from its sweet sleep.

She was like a petrel, flying over the vast sea, the breeze blowing gently, the waves lapping against the side of the ship, like a flash of broken silver. She is the daughter of the sea, attached to the sea, the sea is proud to have such a daughter, give her endless wealth for the daughter of the sea, set sail for this love, young man of the fishing village.

Mother is a song in the bed in the cold winter, and there are earthly and vicissitudes in the song. I put all my sleeping dreams under my pillow, so that the room could hear them, so that the ice fog would no longer be lonely. The mother was a fish in a clear pond, swimming happily and seemingly guessing riddles.

I have solved the mystery more than once, and I suddenly looked back, and finally chose to give up. Mother is a sentence held in her heart, hiding a mystery, and gradually growing up in an invisible conscience. I took the trouble to listen, and practice proved that acts of kindness were never fake, and my mother was a wisp of wind hanging in the sky, suppressing the urge to rain behind the rainbow.

The girl I miss, you are my paradise, you are noble and beautiful, I would like to be your Shambhala messenger and bring you happiness and health; My beloved girl, you are my hope, you are elegant and generous, I would like to be your Francoian perfume, bring you a lifetime of fragrance; The girl I am attached to, you are my light, you are open-minded, I would like to be your Ali Baba magic lamp, illuminating the direction of dawn for you.

1. In terms of writing style, it is feminine, and the writing is more delicate and feminine, which can be written by men or women.

2. Poetry comes from women, regardless of the theme, and may also be collectively referred to as women's poetry.

3. The content of the poem is female-centered, showing feminine demeanor or beauty, or it may also be feminism.

Praise women, or poems with a feminine flavor.