测试 - 李峰艺术

诗

A very large gear

Jacko and his friends Plan to visit That metal recycling plant It's just one Among many Recycling plants in This city Crossing a railway track that runs through the city At nine in the morning They all saw in the factory area The huge gear leaning to one side On the central pathway, and The many irregular Steel plates beneath it Triangles, and Trapezoids That huge Gear Already entirely Rusty Jacko felt Its hardness and a kind of Loneliness In the distance Neatly stacked Paint cans In the sunlight Only they Showed no trace of reddish rust Each presenting a striking Color On the ground, there's autumn sunlight Grass, and Factory buildings Countless metal objects, and Them and their shadows The return journey is very Long Jacko alone savored The scenery of that factory area And the Hardness Of that huge Gear He seemed to remember something A kind of Lonely feeling His friends Silent beside him Also seemed To be saying Something else The road Seems Very long <

"A Cup of Morning Coffee"

My friends and I are sitting on the third-floor balcony Chatting about our own things There are ashtrays and magazines on the white table Occasionally, someone brings coffee Just a cup of morning coffee Just as we are tasting the coffee We casually see the airplane Flying by It is said that not too far from here There is a large airport Every dozen minutes or so Its huge figure appears Disappearing between distant buildings And between the city skyline far away They take off or Land When a passenger plane flies low We all see it-- From a distance, it flies Not very fast<

Li Feng’s statement as a poet.

In 2006, and for many years afterwards, I intermittently engaged in poetry creation. I was well aware of what others were doing in this era, as what you could see on television at that time was almost the growth and success stories of various business heroes - becoming rich and achieving a comfortable life became the prevailing trend of society. Since the formation of political relations in human society, the highest goal of all activities has been to obtain resources for survival and development. In academic terms, this highest goal is known as economics. I do not deny the estrangement and loneliness that I have experienced for years, and the oppression, suffocation, and alienation that coexist with them in this world. During those years, I lived alone in a room of less than 40 square meters in Building 14 of China Railway Third Bureau, and completed the writing and preparation for the publication of my first poetry collection, "The Injured Apple," in an era that was not suitable for poetry. Today, in deep understanding and astonishment, I have realized my longing for the past.<

"White Roses"

He takes off his socks Throws them into the basin on the floor, turns around And leaves Outside, heavy snow Facing the cold wind, he walks alone Walking non-stop He thinks of the peace of the past And the familiar unfamiliar faces outside the window And the sound of a door closing in the corridor at this moment Across the road Quite far away Maybe separated from him by a river It is said that on the other side of the river, in May People have seen trees there Covered with white flowers, like roses To observe the posture of a tree in different periods of time Requires persistence Or still have Many such trees around Or none - Not a single one.<

"I've Never Looked Out at a Lighthouse"

In the northern temperate zone, in winter, There is no longer the heavy snow Of the past. No one lights up The sparkling flames, or gather Together to dance. Those brief journeys are probably like An abandoned hunting ground. All the rubble and ashes After the burning gradually grow cold. Now, they still gather in the distance, Returning together to the past and memories. The lighthouse hidden in the cornfield And countless flying birds, They begin to flutter unusually In the murmuring evening, Never stopping for a moment. <

"I Look Up at Your Tiny Figure in Place"

On the hillside, we all smell the river below. Your life is so monotonous that you only climb stairs over and over again, climbing like the white poplar on the hillside, rustling in the wind at this time of year. What I cannot be sure of is how many more stairs you have left to climb. Twenty years later, will you still be climbing? <

"The Shallow Mountain"

Now, spreading out a piece of paper, I decide to start writing Finally, I don't have to work as hard as a painter anymore Now, home is where the heart is Time flows, and home is just a memory like how I still believe in love but it's not forever. Now, winter is coming and everything that makes people happy will not make me sleepy anymore I can use a wooden boat to cross the river Now, I can finally say goodbye to him without being too attached "The world remains the same." He didn't open his eyes But he knew<

"A Man, He Wants to Plant a Tree Well"

After finishing a piece of work, Take it away, and place it In another place, Out of your sight, so that The wall becomes A blank space again - A very large blank space One day in March, I saw Seven people digging holes on a hillside In less than an hour, six of them had already left. Six young saplings were left behind in the dusk The remaining person was still digging on the hillside Perhaps he felt the hole was not deep enough He knew the wind on the hill was strong, The hole had to be deep enough and good-looking As the sky gradually darkened, I could still see a figure Swinging there now His tree has been planted For many years, what I have been missing Is still the white wall left behind in the past I cannot go around it As if the valley before me As if the hillside now Is clear and visible One day in March, I saw a man, he was planting a tree on a hillside He dug the hole deep enough And good-looking <