Poems about oil workers in the desert

Poetry about oil workers 1. Poems praising oil workers

Take a look, safety insurance.

Take one more step to avoid accidents.

Safety and efficiency complement each other,

Accidents and losses occur at the same time.

No matter how busy production is, safety is not forgotten;

Life is a matter of life, safety comes first.

Safety is the lifeline of employees.

Employees are responsible for safety.

Production must be safe,

Safety promotes production.

Safety is the greatest saving,

Accidents are the biggest waste.

There is only one life,

Safety will accompany you all your life.

Safety is the foundation of life,

Violation of regulations is the only source of accidents.

Safety is not enough for 1000 days,

The accident will last for more than a day.

Safety is the guarantee of happiness,

Manage hidden dangers and ensure safety.

2. Poems praising oil workers

Open a library member with a minimum of 0.27 yuan, and view the full content > Original Publisher: Meng Haibo praised the poetry youth and life of oil people, and Petronas musicians put their youth into music, begging for continuity. More than one writer writes poems about their lives, hoping that life will be beautiful. If the vitality of youth is fresh green life, then the enthusiasm and boldness of life is red. We Petronas are pursuers of red and green, and creators of poems and songs. On the towering derrick, the oil man's responsibility for honor and disgrace is powerful. During solid drilling, the heartbeat of the oil man is synchronized with it, and the wind and rain remain unchanged. The bonfire burns endlessly, and the lofty pride of the rig cannot be submerged. The blood and sweat of the oil man overflowed the Milky Way and flowed in the deep and distant sky. Oil people's love and affection sow oil, and China is in full bloom in spring. Time is hard to return. It is a cry from the bottom of my heart, which makes the motherland shake the ambition of Lingyun, arouses thousands of waves, and the eagle flies for nine nights. Young life grows here. Youth is stationed here, the triumph of the oil man is played here, and there, the once desolate capital of the North, the South, suddenly resounded through the world of the Chinese nation overnight. How do young people express their blood? Let the youth witness join hands with the years and walk together on the forever glorious oil front! In fact, we are not alone. Don't say we are working hard in Dai Yue. Don't say that we have experienced difficulties. As long as you have a caring greeting and an emotional compliment, we will be bitter and tired. Really, we'd rather not talk about staying away from the lights, giving up leisure and relaxation, than saying that there are thousands of words blocking our hearts. Call for the happiness of "home". Everyone's happy reunion is for everything, really.

3. Poetry about oil

The next author of Qilian Mountain: Qilian Mountain in the field, I stand by your side, holding Jiuquan luminous cup, filling your snow water, praising the oil workers in the face of this radiant light-heroes open drilling rigs and fight for oil; A new city rises from the sea of lights; Benchmark, from the mountainside to the top of the mountain; Jinshan gave precious stones, and the wahoo spewed out crude oil, making this Hexi corridor blossom; Make our bodies, covered with the smell of oil.

Qilian Mountain, I invite you to take off your silver hair; Wear an aluminum helmet with a high head; Turn your innocence into a red flame! Crazy willow/black elf at the station in the wasteland covered with alkali and white. When the south wind blows quietly in the armored duty room, it tells me that the crazy red willows are dancing in the sun and smiling in the frolicking and whispering of the wind, telling me that the spring eyes of last winter have been broken. The whole Yellow River Delta is teased by crazy red willows, and new buds are competing to show and dance. When the naked spring girl woke up in the wasteland, she picked up the green dandelion with white jade hands. It's the crazy red willow that lingers in my mind, telling me that she unexpectedly shines the sunshine on butterfly lovers dancing among catkins, so that their love legend can continue in the singing of birds. Tell me, it's that crazy red willow tree, holding the neck of the sun and fighting in the dark clouds. Tell me when the rainbow has enviable seven-color feathers, surrounded by thousands of dazzling gold threads, and dressed up as an immortal sun. It was the crazy red willow tree that caught the reins of the galloping horse during the lightning. He doesn't want to go home. He didn't complain, but told me that it was the crazy red willow that broke free from the shackles made of salt and alkali and deeply plunged into the stretched roots. He told me that it was the crazy red willow that lined up to welcome us in the autumn wind. Throwing red handkerchiefs and scarves like bonfires, we set foot on the red carpet of Suaeda, telling me that it was the crazy red willows that made the exclamation mark of the drilling tower in the towering clouds blow the horn, vying for the empty leaves in Bohai Bay, driving the silver shuttle hanging high in the night sky with the ferocity and loneliness of jackals, and weaving silk brocade back and forth. I didn't even bother to tell me it was that crazy red willow tree. In the middle of the wasteland, the sinister climate of the evil beast was shattered by the silver hook, and the living space of the ferocious devil spread red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple brocade everywhere, sending colorful dreams to the "tree" engraved with years in the hearts of oil people, telling me that it was the crazy red willow that danced in the smiling face in early March and the song of harvest in October, dreaming of him, tempting it and driving away all malicious blacks. Evil, lonely and dark people, leading the black spirit of oil, spread her wings in the juvenile dream of the Yellow River entering the sea. Liu Hong's infatuation with Liaohe Oilfield —— Commemorating the 40th anniversary of the establishment of No.673 plant in Liaohe Oilfield. You come, I'll come. You come from the mainland of Hubei, and I come from all directions outside Yumenguan. You are rooted in the battle of the "savage wilderness". The clouds of Liaohe River in Xinglongtai hold up colorful oil fields, and the dream of oil is dedicated to a new era. Liaohe Oilfield, I became attached to this magical land, met under the oil tree, and sang a thousand-year romantic life. At the beginning of efforts, parents' youth is not looking forward to a brilliant future. Whether in the ends of the earth or close at hand, my folks are always looking forward to it. I want to tell you that I love you in my heart. I'm coming. You come from Sichuan basin, and I come from all directions outside the Great Wall of Xinjiang. I am rooted in the "Battle of Na Man". Thousands of wells in Xinglong Station converge into the blood of oil. Qian Qian's ten thousand songs sang out the splendor of Liaohe Oilfield. I belong to this magical land, and my voice is full of pride. When I look back on my efforts, my parents' youth is not looking forward to a brilliant future. Whether it's the ends of the earth or close at hand, my folks always look forward to it for a long time. I want to tell you my deep love. In front of my camp, there is a gurgling oil spring, black, bright and faint oil, which is endless and comes from ancient times. The sun is shining in the morning and the moon is shining at night. This is the magical Karamay.

Who knows how many years this black oil has been flowing like this, and who knows how many years this black oil will flow like this. Black Oil Mountain is its silent monument-this is the magical Karamay. Forty years ago, heroic oil workers came to the Black Oil Mountain. Spontaneous black oil, you finally flow to the Great Wall, to the Yellow River, to the Yangtze River and to the world.

A place name called Karamay was born, and a city called Karamay was dug up-this is the magical Karamay. Only the red willows, like sentinels, stand upright in their respective posts and face the strong wind from Mobei.

Only elms and poplars, like pines and cypresses, stand in rows, making the desert like an oasis-this is the magical Karamay. Praise you, elm poplar, you have no regrets about drinking sewage, and you are rooted in Gobi.

You tell fearless oil workers that where there is suffering, there is your unyielding attitude. Praise you, Karamay, praise your magic, praise your selflessness and praise your dedication.

You feed us with your black milk and embrace us with your great mind. -This is the magical Karamay.

To my friend, the night watchman on the front line of oil production. Because of the cold weather, my body was frozen, my legs were too painful, and my dormitory was not divided. I applied to live on the team with the captain, and the leader quickly agreed. I am very happy to be with the front-line bosses and feel their daily life and personality.

Write night shift workers-oil production nighthawk! Oil field black cat brothers! You are like a bolt of lightning, straight into the night sky! Patrol the oil dragon in the oil field. A pair of discerning eyes are looking around the oil well to compete with the oil giants.

Root thermometer, pillar of pumping unit, rotating second hand, backwater.

The sun, moon and stars accompany you in spring and autumn, and the sun and wind in Xia Dong accompany you around. You are the proud night watchman, the black cat chief who defends the oil city! Praise you, oilfield nighthawk.

4. Poetry about oil

Qilian Xia Shan

Author: Field

Qilian mountain, Qilian mountain,

I stood by you,

Holding Jiuquan luminous cup,

Fill your snow water,

In the face of all these lights,

Praise the oil workers—

Heroes start the rig,

Competing for oil;

One new city after another,

Emerge from the center of the sea of lights;

A pillar,

Walk from the mountainside to the top of the mountain;

Jinshan gives gems,

The wahoo spewed out crude oil,

Let this Hexi corridor,

Open a flower;

This makes us,

The smell of oil.

Qilian Mountain, it's my treat,

Take off your silver hair;

Above your head,

Wear an aluminum helmet;

Put your childlike innocence,

Turn into a red flame!

5. Describe the poem "Oil Man"

The villages in Sardo are full of splendor and prestige.

The road is wide and the field is wide, and the people are determined to polish their aluminum helmets. Don't bow to the overlord and be proud, stand tall and swear to win the championship.

Silent black soil, moonlit night, oil trucks flying at a glance. Poems praising the oil man's youth and life, Petronas musicians wrote their youth into music and begged it to continue. More than one writer writes poems about their lives, hoping that life will be beautiful. If the vitality of youth is fresh green life, then the passionate life is pale red. We Petronas are pursuers of red and green, and creators of poems and songs. On the towering derrick, the oil man's responsibility for honor and disgrace is powerful. In the solid drill, the heart rate of the oil man keeps pace with it. The wind and rain are constant, and the bonfire burns endlessly. A piece of lofty sentiments. The blood and sweat of the oil man overflowed the Milky Way and flowed in the deep and distant sky. Oil man's love and love sow the flowers of oil. In China, where the seasons are like spring, the years are hard to return. It is a cry from the heart.

6. Dear prawns, you'd better help my brother understand a poem or essay about oil or oil workers.

Pipeline dragon

Extending to the South China Sea under our feet.

Those are the wings of dreams.

Carrying our loyalty to the motherland.

Soaring in the vast western sky

It flows in the body.

Blood, sweat and tears of oil workers

It is a silent dedication to the motherland without regrets.

It's endless yearning for relatives in my hometown.

Time flies, and the years pass.

What remains unchanged is our passion.

And a cry from the heart

In this crazy land in the northwest,

We are sweating profusely.

Silently guarding the energy ocean of the motherland

Facing the cold north wind, we have no fear.

The towering iron tower can't crush the clank of iron.

Youth flies here.

Dreams bloom here

The spirit of the oil man will never fall.