Poetry composition 1 I remember last autumn, when my sister Yuan Yue and I were talking about literature, we mentioned Xu Zhimo. I said, Xu Zhimo is my favorite modern poet. She immediately said something about Xu Zhimo's life. I said, I can't think like that. Although Xu Zhimo has unspeakable stories with several women, he can't deny his poems and put aside his private life. From a literary point of view alone, Xu Zhimo is undoubtedly great.
I like Xu Zhimo's romance, and I like the courage to yearn for freedom and love in his poems. For a time, I read a poem of Zhimo in my hand every day, sentence by sentence, and then copied my favorite poem neatly in my notebook. Later, when I mentioned Xu Zhimo, I could always quickly list the names of his poems, not to mention the well-known Farewell to Cambridge, as well as Happiness of Snowflakes, I don't know where the wind blows, Accidental, A Frozen Night, For Who, and A Car in Shanghai and Hangzhou. I have a love. This is a love. In particular, I can almost recite the songs Farewell to Cambridge, I don't know where the wind blows, and Happiness of Snowflakes.
I don't know why, today I suddenly remembered one of his lesser-known poems, Change and Invariance, which was really strange and I remembered it for no reason. Maybe I think I have changed too much over the years, but the essential things have not changed!
These days, I have been watching the TV series "The Truth of the World" starring Sun, and I started watching it the night before yesterday. It doesn't matter, it's a little out of control, and the normal review has been disrupted. Yesterday, I stared at the computer screen almost all the time except for exams, eating and writing. I have to take CET-4 on Saturday, and there are three exams next week. I was going to review well today, but I couldn't help myself and watched several episodes. I feel how pure, precious and great love is in wartime. When Lihua was about to embark on a trip to Moscow, Qu En said to the person he loved: "Everything is instantaneous, everything will pass, and the past will become a kind of nostalgia." Naturally, I thought of Pushkin, his Song for the Sea and If Life Deceives You.
Pushkin, like Xu Zhimo, is also a poet who died for love in born to love. He longs for freedom and pursues true love. He has ideals and loves life. How much I look like him! Since childhood, life has played jokes on me one after another. I often feel that life has deceived me, but I still treat life and friends with a sincere heart. "Don't be sad, don't be impatient, you need to calm down on a blue day. Believe it, happy days will come. " Yes, I believe.
Relatively speaking, I have read relatively few foreign poems, but they cover a wide range. Wordsworth, Shelley, Byron, Hugo, Lamartin, Tagore and Baudelaire, these great writers have all read some poems, and romantic Shelley is their favorite. Actually, when it comes to romance, French literature is the most romantic. I have made great efforts to read Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil more than once, but I just don't like it, don't understand it, and can't feel any beauty. Everyone likes Tagore's poems, but the others are always incomprehensible except the well-known ones.
Needless to say, Haizi is my favorite contemporary poet. He is also pursuing ideals and looking for love, but he is different from Xu Zhimo, less romantic than Xu Zhimo, and more a portrayal of reality. Last week, I went shopping with my friends, found a new book of poetry and a nearby book of poetry from the bookshelf, and sat on the sofa and read it. I feel that some poems are well written and feel good when reading. Now I write a diary or blog online, and I basically don't write argumentative essays, either lyric prose or casual complaints. I have decided to take the "route" of poetry "creation" in the future (these two words are used a little too much, so I quote them), and I have tried to write poems several times to express my feelings, but I can't always express them, for fear that the written words are too immature. That kind of feeling is really good. Up to now, I have only written two poems independently, which is quite satisfactory.
When you were/kloc-0 years old, she fed you and bathed you. In return, you cried all night.
When you were 3 years old, she lovingly cooked for you. In return, you threw a dish she cooked on the floor.
When you were 4 years old, she bought you colored pens. In return, you covered the walls and the dining table.
When you were 5 years old, she bought you beautiful and expensive clothes. In return, you put on your clothes and went to a nearby mud pit to play.
When you were 7 years old, she bought you a ball. In return, you threw it into your neighbor's window.
When you were 9 years old, she paid you a lot of money to tutor the piano. In return, you often missed classes and never practiced.
When you were 1 1 years old, she sent you and your friends to the cinema, and you sat her in the other row.
When you 13 years old, she suggested that you get a haircut, but you said that she didn't know what a fashionable hairstyle was.
When you 14 years old, she paid you a month's camping fee, and you didn't call her.
When you 15 years old, she came home and wanted to give you a hug, and you put the door on it.
When you 17 years old, she was waiting for an important phone call. You waited all night with the phone.
When you 18 years old, she shed tears for your graduation from high school, while you were partying with friends until dawn.
When you 19 years old, she paid your college tuition and sent you to school. On the first day, you let her get off at a place far from the school gate for fear that her friends would see you lose face.
When you were 20 years old, she asked you, "Where have you been all day?" You replied, "I don't want to be like you."
When you were 25 years old, she bought you furniture to decorate your new home. You told your friends that the furniture she bought was really poor.
When you were 30 years old, she gave you advice on how to take care of the baby. You said, "Mom and Dad, times are different now."
When you were 40 years old, she asked to see her grandson. You said, "Mom and Dad, it's boring for children to be with you."
When you were 50 years old, she was often ill and needed your care. Instead, you are reading a book about parents leaving their children's homes.
One day, he or she passed away. Suddenly you remember all the things you have never done, and they beat your heart like hammers.
Bathing and dressing for us, walking hand in hand and taking care of our parents during the long journey are the wealth of our life. Have you been filial? Have you taken care of your parents?
My parents will be old one day ~ at that moment, they are also worried about us. Don't wait until that day to understand that children should be filial and relatives are not there ... don't wait until that day to cry bitterly.
Poetry composition began to deal with poetry when I was 3 years old. At first, I only thought that poetry was a jigsaw puzzle made up of bits and pieces of words. Now I understand that poetry is the most beautiful music in the world.
I opened my sleepy eyes, and the bright sunshine shone on me through the window, warm and comfortable. A day's plan lies in the morning, so I found a collection of songs, moved a small chair into the yard, stroked it gently, and looked at it emotionally, as if it were a treasure.
I opened the book carefully and my eyes suddenly opened. Naturally, there is a hole in the book. I studied it carefully, then shook my head and read like a great scholar. Square characters, like jumping notes, played a beautiful music together, and spring came to my ears. Spring has come quietly in my heart: flowers are blooming everywhere, rivers are flowing happily, and birds are singing happily. ...
Every time I finish reading a poem, it's like greeting a friend of mine.
The same person, the same place, the same chair, the same book, but the sun has climbed from my toes to the book, and it seems that the sun is also attracted by poetry. I am not tired, like a hungry wolf, eating greedily; I won't feel bored, the poem is beautiful; I won't hate it, it's just a pleasure.
I turned the last page and closed the book, but the voice of poetry echoed in my heart and never stopped.
What does poetry bring me? Poetry brings me beautiful spiritual enjoyment.
What would poetry look like if it had flavor? Maybe some people think it is bitter; Maybe someone loves it and thinks it's sweet. In fact, on the way of growing up, poetry is like a landscape, which will have different tastes at different times.
When I was young, poetry was a fog in the mountains. Although I can't see it clearly, I can feel its fragrance all over my body.
Mom doesn't know poetry, but she feels "good" from the bottom of her heart. In this way, a simple collection of poems began my first understanding of poetry. My mother will read it to me occasionally, and more often I will read it myself. In my ignorance, I don't even know the literal meaning, let alone understand the rich meaning hidden behind the poem. But after reading too much, I feel very mysterious. Most of the poems are harmonious and pleasant, like birds singing in a mountain stream in the morning. After a long time, I naturally have a lot of affection for poetry.
But who would have thought that the poems I learned in the future were not so beautiful at all.
After school, poetry is a dose of herbal medicine, which is boiled again and again in a casserole. The fragrance of life passes away in suffering, leaving only a bitter mark.
I still remember that the Chinese teacher's surname was Zhou. He loves poetry very much and can write poetry. His soul is interesting and his mind is delicate, which is far from his tall and strong appearance. At that time, the time was still slow and the days were always long, so he often used his spare time to tell us poems. Talk about Wang Changling's great ambition of "yellow sand wears golden armor and never goes back to Loulan to break", talk about Su Shi's broad-minded mind of "don't listen to the beating of leaves in the forest, why not sing and walk slowly", and talk about Du Fu's desolate stubbornness of "wanting to fill the ravine and let it go, the crazier the laughter" ... The door of poetry was thus opened. But there are conditions to enter the door-all poems must be memorized, one poem a week, no matter how long or short. Can't recite it? Will naturally be punished. Good things will become dull or even ugly after being bound, and so will poetry. The taste of rote learning is unpleasant, so in those years, when it comes to poetry, everything seems to be full of bitterness and helplessness.
At that time, I wouldn't have thought how much this poem by rote meant to my future.
In middle school, poetry is the fruit of autumn harvest, hanging heavily on the branches, full of happiness and sweetness.
Perhaps it is because the poems I recite have quietly enriched my language. The head teacher said that she saw the story behind my composition. She thought I really liked my composition and encouraged me to write it for a long time. When I get a compliment for the first time, I naturally want to write to her. After a while, my childish words gradually gained luster and received special care from her. When I am tired, she will say, "It is when I am reading alone." Stick to it and there will be hope. "When I am playful, she will say,' I advise you not to cherish the dress, I advise you to cherish your youth.' Time must be spent on important things. When I feel that studying is very hard, she will say, "After thousands of difficulties and dangers, it only takes a few years to blow away the wild sand and win gold." "I will always believe in you." In this way, even the most ordinary life will have poetry, and poetry is the origin of these countless blessings.
Now, with the growth of my age, I have read more poems and understood them more deeply, but the taste of poems is hard to say. Poetry nourishes the lofty sentiments of teenagers. Recite a poem gently, like chatting with an old friend, like tasting a cup of green tea. Unforgettable poems have accompanied me through countless days and nights. For me, poetry has long been a part of my life, and it is my initial heart that I can't give up.
Poetry composition 5 autumn yellow-leaved birch forest,
Awaken the memory of Ye Tomb.
The past has become clearer,
Only to find that I never forgot.
Through the green rainy season,
Dark birch forest in memory
I can't remember whether it is tears or raindrops that flow down my cheeks.
I can't remember whether the whimper in my ear is the wind or myself.
I still won't forget a downpour,
Tired, we got lost and stopped looking.
Only rely on, only let each other disappear without a trace.
I still remember,
Pacing time
Experience the alternation of stars.
Every time I look at the stars,
Inadvertently reach out but can't find another distance.
I still remember,
Every rainy season is sad.
She looks more and more like it.
A meteor shower across Xinghai,
See you in the foreseeable future.
I still remember,
Write the last stroke of her name in her diary.
I don't remember it anymore.
No longer remember,
Until I happened to walk through the familiar birch forest,
I realized that she never left.
The brotherly affection and friendship are sometimes difficult to compare. Not half-brothers, friendship is more important than intimacy. Happy at home, happy at home. There are always four blessings. Blessed gods come to bless each other and the family will be happy forever. Love is like a car. Brothers and sisters should get on the bus and the wheels roll forward. I waved to my brother and he nodded to me. Today, the bright moon shines brightly on the earth, and the earth is as bright as glass. The moonlight and the wind attracted me, which I will never forget for a long time.
Whose girl is Poetry Composition 7?
The sunshine is warm and humid, and the book is overflowing.
There are beautiful women who are moist as jade,
How charming, how charming.
Sitting alone in the castle, sprinkling wine in the sunset,
A beautiful woman writes a beautiful smile,
Get drunk.
Dust under the skirt
I am a speck of dust.
Floating in the air, without direction.
With the wind
I envy snowflakes.
She is more elegant, noble and pure than me.
She has a direction.
fly
Melt in your lover's heart
I am a speck of dust.
I am nothing when there is no wind.
I'm afraid of being tired
Exhausted in the dark corner
I like night.
The night hides my smallness.
I am a speck of dust.
I will die, too.
This rain is my death sentence.
Curl, fall, and turn into dirt.
Waiting for the afterlife
The afterlife is still a dust.
I'm just a speck of dust
In someone else's world
Floating, floating, swinging, no direction.
With the wind
But I have a dream.
Kiss her face with a breeze.
Rooted in her hair.
But I can't.
That's ugly defilement
I'm just a speck of dust
Small and ugly
Loneliness, despair
I don't want to despair
I must have a dream.
Begging for rain
Let me die.
Curl, fall, become a drop of mud
Sticking tightly to her embroidered shoes
Under her skirt.
I don't want an afterlife.
Flower season dream
Infinite years
Recall the past years in old dreams
When flowers bloom and fall.
Lament over the past years
The boy who shouted bitch.
All printed on an empty heart.
Tongsanxia
An erratic figure
The world of mortals has gone.
There is no old year in the old dream
It is difficult to draw up any feelings between classmates.
Pale sadness
As the rain falls into the sea
Wish,
The rainy season is no longer coming.
Flower season dream
A gray-black sky
Endless bright moon.
Such as stars and spots
It's dark
Qingcheng chuckle
Only the window is still.
These geese fly to the south.
It's broken sooner or later.
Regain old dreams
China is withered and tired.
Vast starry sky
Waiting for Qingcheng Mountain to meet.
Instantaneous gap space
Intersect with hot lips
Flowers and leaves bloom in a thousand buds.
The glass is empty and melancholy.
Poetry composition 8 bronzed skin
A man with a cocoon on his hand
It means that they are farmers who repair the earth.
The most lovable person
They carry food with a pole on their shoulders.
Dig with a hoe.
In the morning glow
Shout for plowing cattle and plowing fields
Dusk time
Sow the seeds of hope
A year later,
Every day is a working day.
In the field
They have made great achievements.
In the hot summer sun
anxious
They know each other best.
In the cold winter.
They are not afraid of cold wind and rain.
For a family.
They paid all the hardships.
Have high hopes for your children.
Send the children to school.
Respect the elderly.
This is their way of repaying kindness.
In order to make a living
There is no mountain they can't cross.
The unforgettable primary school life is coming to an end. In these six years, I have many unforgettable memories, but the most unforgettable thing is that Teacher Wan once said: "Music, poetry and painting are one of the three great pleasures of life". As long as you lack one thing, your life is not perfect. Remembering this sentence, the patriotic poetry reading meeting held soon is as important as no movie.
I remember it was a sunny Friday morning, and all the students in Class A for six years came to the classroom with great excitement. The sun shines through the bright glass window on the big characters of "patriotic poetry recitation" on the blackboard, which is particularly dazzling.
When the bell rang, Mr. Wan walked slowly into the classroom, stood in front of the podium and said with a smile, "Students, do you know what activities we are going to do today?" The students said with one voice: it is the place to read patriotic poems! The teacher smiled, nodded and said, "So, are you ready?" The students immediately boiled. Some people say, "Our team works best together". Someone said, "Our poems can best express our patriotism." . Others said, "We can best express the beauty of poetry, and you will be intoxicated after listening to it!" Seeing our active discussion, the teacher kindly said to us, "You know, music, poetry and painting are one of the three great pleasures in life. Let me take you into the circle of poetry flowers and feel the power of poetry. " Be influenced by beauty! Ok, now the activity begins. In the thunderous applause of the students, the first batch of students came to the stage to recite and won a burst of admiration from the students.
Then, even when it was the second group's turn to recite, my heart was like fifteen buckets of water. "If I read it wrong, it will not only discredit the group, but also attract students' condemnation after class. What if I am really wrong? " Thinking of this, I was too nervous to say anything. Just when I was anxious like an ant on hot bricks, I saw the teacher's shining eyes shining with encouragement and expectation like jewels. I suddenly feel much more energetic and put aside all the ideological burdens just now. I can look at the red scarf on my chest. It is so bright, so hot, so dazzling. It is for a better tomorrow of the motherland that I sacrificed the martyrs. I summon up courage to recite affectionately:
Who hasn't died since ancient times?
Take care of your heart and shine your history. ...
My eyes lit up and I was completely attracted by poetry. "Wow …" I have mastered the avalanche of painting and read it well. The students speak in unison and look at the teacher. The teacher is looking at me approvingly, as if praising me. I smiled; Blushing like a peach blossom in March, laughing so sweetly and joyfully. ...
Too many, too many, 40 minutes, we sat in the same classroom, learning to explore, debating feelings, how many activities have been carried out! How can I forget that this not only made me understand the truth of being a man, but also improved the patriotic poetry reading activities that love poetry.