Poetry creation

In our life, work and study, we will always come into contact with some familiar poems, which show the language art with strong sense of rhythm, wonderful rhythm, refined language, strange imagination and rich feelings. There are many kinds of poems, you know? Here are seven poems that I arranged for you. Welcome to share.

Poetry composition 1 When I was chatting with Fan Kangqin, I suddenly remembered the mythical character Bai, who is a contradictory and controversial figure in the realm of rationality and sensibility. It was she who made the evil spirits in China's legend for thousands of years become kind, lovely and charming, so that a friend who was obsessed with this drama would come back to the zoo and stare blankly at the white python. Fan Kangqin's poems give me such a feeling. Today, in the hustle and bustle of reality, the woman with a clear voice in "I should be a woman living in Wei and Jin Dynasties", wearing a gown and in the bright moon and cool breeze, seems to be forging love with all her youth in multi-tones. When I saw this poem, I was shocked. In a trance, I am the big white snake in the zoo. She spit out a flaming letter, but no one was afraid. Her eyes stared at the audience affectionately, and her waist twisted to interpret the loneliness for thousands of years.

You will never be able to speak, or you will never be able to speak. This is the feeling of facing Fan Kangqin's poems. There is a kind of pain hidden in happiness in Fan Kangqin's poems, and there is also a kind of happiness that is eager to burn in long-term depression. I saw in Fishing that "I shed two tears for the first fish/sighed for the second fish/but I believe more and more that the last person who bites the hook is happy/the deepest happiness it hides/the pain caused by the hook". This is the taste of love, and no one can tell whether it is more crazy, pain or happiness. The most beautiful and sumptuous dinner in life is actually the ecstasy and pain of dancing on the tip of a needle. The once-in-a-lifetime story seems to better illustrate this kind of love. The more painful, the more eager. What a beautiful love tragicomedy, "This road is best endless/with a blooming spring as the background", from ethereal to realistic time and space step by step, from lament to loneliness. People trapped in the besieged city of love cry and cry! Feelings don't need audience, applause, boredom or emotion. Feelings are feelings, which are the purity of inner heaviness and elegance.

Many times I want to visit Fan Kangqin's poetic heart quietly. When chatting with her, I intentionally or unintentionally pretended to bypass the plot and inner feelings of her poems: Is that you? I asked, is that you? Let me ask again ... I believe in the sincerity of poetry. A good poem touches itself first, even if it is a virtual plot, it must be true, because we know that besides gorgeous clothes, beautiful women are more impressed by their beauty. Fan Kangqin has formed a relatively gentle and ethereal keenness and skill in the choice of subject matter and the application of writing skills. In real life, complex emotions are often unexpected and simple in her poems. Life and emotion are more pure white. Love, which is deeper than love, is crawling gently on the edge of the poem, and it can also trigger the scale of emotion more deeply, such as pure nature holding its breath.

Like many people, I pay more attention to her poems with deep feelings for women. She left some comments such as "atmosphere" and "nervousness" on her friend's blog more than once. However, she can write poems with a high degree of petty bourgeoisie elegantly, skillfully and steadily. "A tear drops slowly/becomes thinner/looks sadder/deeper" ("Some pains are born"). The poet explained the external beauty of human nature by sketching, and at the same time, the sad plot that keeps rolling subconsciously followed by "Come and stop this false and sitcom! On me/the person who digs wood to make a fire/Listen: The nightingale sings more like me/the unsupported soul (Some pains are born). Just a few words broke the illusory peace in life. Love here ignites desire with faint loneliness, and longs to hurt with the melodramatic desire that can't be put down. The contradiction encountered by human nature suddenly broke out in peace and suddenly stopped in the climax of conflict. Poems like this include as if everything is still there, When the dew is shaking, Flowers that only bloom once and so on. "I can't ignore the red light and the rules/the next intersection/my paper will go off" (intersection). Can you say that this simple love focusing on life is easy or painful? The rational red light rule and the uncontrollable emotional and psychological contradictions have already left the boring words and words and flashed in front of us. And "the sky moves the twinkling stars before your eyes/it gets dark before I count to the ninth/then you pretend to be a lost person/put your hand on the shiny second button of my white shirt/touch the key to the house" ("The Fish is Disappearing"), shirt buttons and keys. Don't these ambiguous sentences start the love life that expresses emotional desire and hardship, avoidance and nostalgia?

Fan Kangqin's writing time is not very long, maybe only two or three years, but she is diligent. He has published 200 or 300 poems, comments and essays in many well-known journals such as Poetry Magazine, Star, Green Wind and Poetry Newspaper. Especially last year, only Poetry Magazine published nearly 20 poems, which set off quite a whirlwind in the remote poetry circles in Longnan, Gansu ... She captured the delicacy of emotion and reached a leap height with her passion for language. At the 22nd Youth Poetry Meeting of Poetry Magazine of Chinese Writers' Association last year, faced with the mystery of ancient Helan Mountain rock paintings, the killing and prosperity of history, and the totem of human beings, this woman with weak appearance and rich emotions, like an inevitable encounter in fate, could not help but run away and mumble: "A thousand years old/a thousand years old branches/a flower in full bloom".

In a blink of an eye, I will be twelve years old. Accompanied by poetry, I spent one spring, summer, autumn and winter after another. It is poetry that inspires me, inspires me and gives me joy in life. Poetry will accompany me all my life.

One spring, just after the heavy rain, the blue sky was washed, and the earth was wet and dyed green by the spring rain. I walked into the park under the guidance of my mother. Birds are singing everywhere, and the flowers in the flower bed are shy and delicate. Looking at this scene, I can't help but blurt out: this spring morning, I woke up carefree, and birds were singing everywhere, but now I remember that night, that storm, and I want to know how many flowers were broken.

"Jasper makeup into a tree high, hanging green silk sash in ten thousand. I don't know who cut the thin leaves, and the spring breeze in February is like scissors. " Every time I think of this poem, I seem to see such a scene: a jasper-like willow with thousands of branches hanging down and green silk strips. A gust of wind went abroad, and thin willow leaves swayed with the wind. Every time I think of He's "Singing Willow", such a scene will emerge in front of my eyes. Poetry has inadvertently penetrated into my bone marrow. In the accumulation of bit by bit, my interest in poetry is getting stronger and stronger. A few days ago, under the guidance of my teacher, I was inspired to write my first children's poem. I grew up in the ink of poetry, and the simple flower of poetry will quietly open as I grow up.

My michel platini believes in Buddhism, and my godmother believes in Christ. They sometimes quarrel because of their different beliefs. Practice with michel platini in the morning and chat with dopted mother in the evening.

In fact, I don't believe in any gods, including poets. However, all the pious people moved me!

God was arrested by science, which proved that he was indeed false. God never appears. God doesn't exist. It is pious people, because of their devotion to piety, who have created the miracle of God. It is human beings who have broken through the obstacles of life again and again with tenacious will and energy of life.

No power can stop people from cursing and urging darkness! Can't stop people from seeking spiritual support, can't stop people's imagination of beauty, hope for love, hope for beauty, hope for light and hope for happiness!

Poetry was conceived in our life before we wrote it.

In the spiritual field, God always exists, with all beings.

God collects everyone's wishes: punish the wicked, remove the obstacles of the devil, and bless fate ... God condenses the vast essence of mankind; God binds or saves mankind with the highest wisdom of mankind ... God is invisible and can be imagined; God always tolerates wrong interpretations; God comes and goes freely in people's minds. ...

"God" is the highest poetic art created by human beings.

"God" is the highest artistic specimen of poetry.

And "life" is the highest poetic art created by God.

Humans look up to the gods, and the gods look up to humans-and look up more devoutly, because God is lonelier than anyone else. It seems that we have reason to have deep sympathy for the elves who think they are "gods".

It can be said that poetry, conceived in "piety" and "hope", is nourished by the essence of life and eventually becomes "creation", dancing between God and life. Of course, it's not truth, it's not thought, it's not even my opinion of poetry, it's just a ray of thoughts that occasionally pass through my mind. After thought is stereotyped as thought, it loses the possibility of freedom and perfection. We should try our best to resist naming ideas as ideas.

The accumulated culture has nurtured us and restrained us ... it is the ancient sages who are far luckier than us because they are not bound by established things. They can imagine the universe in a free and poetic spirit and extract the truth directly from the invisible sky. We accepted the tradition, our way of thinking became more and more mechanized, and our imagination and creativity degenerated ... Moreover, we rushed to the dark urban forest, and then looked up at the empty vilen in our memory, thus losing our poetic chastity.

So, the God who created us blushed and hid.

The fourth picture of a poetic composition is a silent poem, and poetry is an invisible picture. -inscription

The autumn wind is rustling, the butterflies around the fragrant flowers in spring are gone, and the sad cicadas in summer are gone. Everyone is confused sometimes, especially in the face of the gap between fantasy and reality. I am used to thinking, and I hesitate.

Who is the man standing by the river at home sighing? Why let the drizzle cover your tears? The wind dances your clothes, and your hair is messy and scattered with the wind. You said, "You are kind at heart." Although he died nine times, he still has no regrets. Oh, you are Qu Yuan. The great romantic poet struggled to resist the "clear lotus" of muddy water with his body of observation. The slander of traitors and the alienation of the king of Chu finally made you in this endless sound of waves. "There is still a long way to go in Xiu Yuan, so I will go down and look for it." Ideal. Two exile, let you gradually see the gap between society and your ideal. And you choose to defend your dignity to the death and have no regrets.

The rotten hut standing alone in the autumn wind is Du Fu's residence. Wandering all the year round, nowhere to live. Nowadays, living in a dilapidated bungalow and sleeping in a bed that leaks rain everywhere, I still care about the people. Write in pen and ink, "An De Wan Lou, protect the poor in the world to laugh, and the storm is like a calm mountain." Oh! Suddenly I saw the house in front of me, and it was enough for me to freeze to death alone. "I saw his brave responsibility, which is another choice with no regrets.

In a blink of an eye, there was a light in the prison with closed walls. His face is weathered. Unkempt and unkempt. The pen in your hand is writing an immortal history book. Although you have suffered too much misfortune, you, Sima Qian, are a real warrior, facing a bleak life. Brave the wind and rain, resolute and strong, this is the choice you believe.

Poetry Composition 5 All of us,

Under the blue sky,

Have the same bloodline.

On the same earth,

Let's pick up the fragments of memory,

All I see are the scars of destruction.

Under that gloomy sky,

Symbolizes,

The demon of destruction is smiling proudly.

In the same world,

Recall our call for peace.

All of us,

Everyone has a pair of eyes eager for peace.

Let that evil war,

Rest in peace forever!

We call for peace,

We waved to peace,

We are eager to

Longing for a peaceful and beautiful world.

When we are human beings and Mother Earth,

Instead of destroying Mother Earth,

But to do my best to protect our mother.

Only in this way,

Our mother earth will be healthy;

Only in this way,

Our mother earth will be very happy;

Only Mother Earth is happy,

Our life will be better.

i am living out in the country.

I have a mother who loves me.

My mother likes nagging more than anyone else in the world.

I hate her nagging and I like it very much.

She has no good appearance.

He has no gorgeous clothes.

She did not introduce the language.

She only has love.

Do you know anything about love?

Love only does what she sees.

No conditions and no time.

Just for my ignorant child.

She set up a stall. I know her hard work.

I work for her, too

I know she is tired.

My sisters are always doing something wrong.

She always suffers in silence.

My mother loves me far more than her sisters.

My mother gave it to me, asking for nothing in return.

My mother will always love me. There is no good language except nagging.

But I love my mother.

Thank God for giving me such a kind mother.

The sky is clear in Wan Li today, but my mood is just the opposite. Why? Because today our class will hold a poetry recital.

When the teacher gave the order, the poetry reading began. Some students in front are challenging, some are dancing, and some are still shivering. When it was my good friend Deng Yue's turn to take the stage, I was thinking: Deng Yue will definitely be better than the classmates in front. Because her grades are among the best in the class, I saw her walk onto the platform with a smile on her face, but Deng Yue was very nervous when reciting, which made me very disappointed.

In the first group, it is Chen who can make the whole class laugh. When he came on stage, the whole class was silent and ready to listen to him recite. Who knows, he suddenly "pooped" and his classmates laughed. When he adjusted his state, he only heard him open his mouth, but he popped up a sentence: "Farewell to Prairie Ancient." Everyone was once again amused by Chen and laughed. Chen grabbed his head, seemed to know that he was joking, and consciously retreated aside. I thought to myself: Haha, you must be joking. He looked at him with glee. Later, he made the same mistake again. Even teacher Ye, who has always been serious, was made to laugh. At last, Chen finally passed the test.

Time always flies so fast that it's my turn at once. I pretended to be calm and walked up, cleared my throat and began to recite: "If life deceives you, don't be depressed, don't be angry ..." I was distracted when I was reading: I am sure I can win the first prize for feelings. Just when I was in high spirits. Oh, no! I forgot the words. Is that the sentence "Everything is temporary"? I think so, too. Finally, I finished it in a hurry. Students are not stingy, give me warm applause.

This poetry recital is really scary.