Fly to the hearts of young people
Find out where you live,
I sing about things that belong to the future.
I sing about the power of growth,
Turn into sound and fly in all directions.
My song,
I sing hope,
I'm young again,
I am full of dreams, longing for life, and conch is singing.
I
Run into the heart of the conch
Listen to the sea singing.
Blue sea water
Surge from a distance
I hear the conch singing.
The waves beat against the beach.
Seagulls are flying.
Sparkling and holding hands.
Beat a pure dream
I hear the conch singing.
Dreams spread their wings.
Fly freely in the vast blue sky
Heart sea is always a blue poem.
I hear the conch singing.
A romantic sea breeze swept over my ears.
Stay and laugh all the way.
Imagine being on a blue ocean.
I sing for boys and girls-He Qifang
I sing for boys and girls,
You can fly.
I sing in the morning,
Whether it's like a breeze
Or a piece of sunshine.
Gently from my strings
Lost the sadness of adulthood.
Everything that makes me tremble is like grass.
Happy or beautiful thoughts.
2. What kind of music is rain in modern poems describing music? The audience sat in the rain and many souls got wet. Sitting happily or unhappily, no one has an umbrella. The landlord can look at how the poet Yu Guangzhong described it. If it is short, please extract it yourself:
concert
All the white keys just cried.
A black key.
Wronged in a corner, tears streaming down her face.
Black keys cried mysteriously.
Bai Jian cried sadly.
That girl hasn't come yet.
White key, white key, black keys, white key.
That girl hasn't come yet.
Is it raining outside the window? outside the window
There is no rain. The long street is full of moonlight.
Music is raining, music is raining.
The audience sat in the rain, and many souls were wet.
Sitting happily or unhappily, no one has an umbrella.
Not yet, that girl.
Not yet! Not yet! )
Black keys, black keys, White Key, black keys.
That girl, that girl
The rain of music flows through my hair and forehead.
Music rain, cool land, music rain
Run away. Music rain, music rain
Music washes the white teeth of the piano.
(White teeth)
Chopin, Chopin, Chopin still remembers.
(black keys, black keys, black keys)
I can't forget George sang, George sang.
Chopin died in the last century
(That girl, that girl)
Tonight, my love dies.
Who else is waiting, in the rainy season?
Breathe the air brewed by rain.
Endure the sorrow of time
Only the music is still playing.
Why is the music still raining sometimes?
Drip, sometimes sad.
A twittering eaves, eaves
Eyelashes, eyelashes, snapping.
Applause, notes dropped.
Wings, wings, petals, petals
Precipitation precipitation, flying around.
(I love it, tonight)
Walk out of the hall and wade into ankle-deep notes.
I don't know if I'm hurt.
Adagio, like a song, flows slowly.
(That girl, that girl)
Should I do backstroke or backstroke?
Jazz, or knight.
Tears for love, is it beautiful or stupid?
(shadow, shadow)
Love should be classical or romantic, love
Holding a music ticket that doesn't tear corners.
At a loss, I don't know what colorful memories to tear into.
Let the moonlight drift along the street, or
Sandwiched in pirated Shakespeare's plays
(Love's efforts are in vain)
Love should be remembered or forgotten, love.
(moonlight, shadow, shadow)
3. Modern poems describing spring. The story of spring falls into the thick fog in the morning and moistens the whole spring. The soaked memory comes from the clever Hao Han bird, which holds the tears of winter. Swallows pecked up the spring mud of apricot blossoms wet by rain and built their own fences. It is also a short spring, and it is inevitable that flowers will fall. Loyal rules spit out the beauty of blood, condensed into the seeds of double love, hidden deep in the grave of happiness, but marked the limited life. What is that? Yao, far away ... what is that, far away ... is it autumn wind chasing fallen leaves, spring rain washing green branches, low footsteps of snow flowing through the window, or a slight sigh of poplars crossing the autumn night? What's that, is it far away ... is it spray, surging tide, roar of tiger and leopard, or lightning and thunder? What is that, far away ... is it a neat ensemble of frogs, a monotonous short song of bees, the noise of the city flapping its wings, or the tide of life? What is that, is it far away ... is it the shaking of eardrums, the roaring of waterfalls and the surprise of sparrows? Is the morning a sad farewell to dusk in western Western jackdaw? What is that, far away ... is life beating mechanically, is the anvil sparking, is coal laughing in the fire, or is zinc and copper melting? What is that? Is it far ... What is that? Far away, I can't hear clearly in my dream ... spring and cold are the same green, wind and rain are the same green, and rain and dew are the same green. When I woke up, I jumped into the stream that I just woke up. Before I cleared my throat, I scattered crunchy songs all over the floor. The fruit tree that just woke up exploded into a dazzling spring before it grew leaves. The busiest swallow. As she whispered, she carefully cut out new clothes for spring with shiny scissors. Although it still makes you feel a little chilly sometimes, it can set off a depressing winter. I know! I know! She comes from the south. She was here a few days ago. The swallow told me the good news. Have any of you seen her? What does she look like? I know! I know! She is a little girl, prettier than me, with watery eyes and long braids! She was barefoot and her trouser legs were arm in arm on her knees. On her arm, hung a striking wicker basket. She crossed the river and walked slowly on the beach. She lowered her head and sang softly. It sounds as if the river is flowing ... anyone will be happy to see her. Anyone who hears her sing will be happy. In her big willow basket, there are many things-safflower, green grass and golden seeds. She hung flowers on the tree and spread the grass on the ground. Sowing in the field makes them grow green seedlings. She walked on the ridge, cows looked up, calves jumped, lambs bleated ... When she came to the village, every household was very happy, and orchards opened their doors to welcome her. Those pools are polished; When Miss Chun passed by, she looked in the mirror. All kinds of birds sing all kinds of songs, and each bird says, "My heart is so happy!" " "All kinds of birds are singing all kinds of songs, and each bird says," My heart is really happy! ""Only those ducks can't fly or sing. They just stood, flapping their wings and laughing ... They said, "Miss Chun, we have been waiting for you for a long time! I hope you came! We can't sing, hahaha ... "The wind moved the branches, and the water bleached the ducks' feathers. We looked forward to the whole winter. Look, spring is coming! Let's put on spring clothes, like birds with new feathers, fly over the Woods and up the hills, and there are laughter and laughter in spring everywhere. When I saw the first butterfly flying, it dragged my steps; I grabbed it happily and released it lovingly. When I saw the first daisy in bloom, I couldn't help jumping for joy. Xiaohua, do you still recognize me? Look how big I've grown! Come to the branch that fell last year and wait for it to spit out new green shoots; Wake up the sleeping stream again and listen to it sing. When I am tired of running with it, I will lie in the field with bright sunshine on my head. Who scratched my cheek? The songs of spring are floating in the branches and shining among the flowers. Spring sings in the wings of swallows and dances in the whistle of pigeons. Spring turns the western hills green. Spring gives Changhe a bunch of laughter. Spring brings boiling sounds to the fields. Spring gives the ancient city beautiful and charming spring thunder. Running and crying in the spring breeze. Songs are broadcast in spring rain. Spring tides are like rough waves. A vibrant spring has dyed every cell of people red. A bird of hope quietly nests in the hearts of Beijingers.
4. Modern poetry that sings for yourself? Q_Q For a long time, only you can read your own poems ... Please forgive my poverty.
-Sing for your lost youth.
Sit together.
Look at the face in the mirror.
When time flows from my face
It seems to be with unbearable gentleness.
Laugh, I laugh.
Deformity is surprisingly satisfactory.
That fact
I care nothing but time.
Face, corners of mouth, corners of eyes, knife after knife.
I look like a beggar.
Smiling, holding a godsend face in both hands.
Have to cheer.
By the hand of your God.
Knife after knife
No complaints.
I fell asleep that day.
When I was young, I was in my prime.
Laughter without heart and lungs.
Swing hyacinthus orientalis.
Reach for the warm water cup you handed me.
Warm yellow cup
Catch some warm flowers.
At the moment when eyes met.
Drop to the ground by mistake
It's like holding a sharp weapon
The sound of piercing bones
Puncture the eardrum
I just woke up.
Did I just
Bend over the yellow graduation photo.
Are you asleep?
So I looked up in a trance.
Today is the tenth sunny day?
In the mirror opposite.
I smiled happily.
I can't understand what I'm writing at all ... what should I do? Can you understand?
5. Modern Poetry with the theme of "Time is like a song" and "Time is like a song" Thirty years ago, you came to this world with tears like everyone else. At that time, you were like our respective children, watery, simple and carefree. Twenty years ago, you were in your prime. I always imagine how many teenagers are fascinated by your beautiful eyes, and how many people have thought that the world is destroyed. As long as I have you, ten years ago, you were like a lotus flower in the Tang Dynasty and accidentally bumped into my quiet dream. Since then, my valley is no longer calm, and happiness and suffering come together on this red land. Now, the years are like songs, and I am old. What remains unchanged is that I often look forward to meeting you unexpectedly in the vast sea of people, but you are still beautiful, still heartbroken as snow, and snowflakes as poetry. Our hearts are also full of poetry.
At this moment, Santa Claus is coming from a distant foreign land, to us, to you, to me and to our colorful life with his good wishes and blessings ... years are like poems, years are like songs. In the past days, we cultivated, sowed and harvested in the country of poetry: we cultivated years, cultivated life ... we sowed friendship, love and beauty ... we harvested sunshine, poetry and sweetness ... "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" Although the poet named Shelley has long since left us, his poems always bring us hope and warmth in every cold winter.
Every day the sun is new and every spring is bright, so we have reason to believe that our poetry world and our spiritual home will surely usher in a better spring after the cold winter! Born in spring, grown in summer, harvested in autumn and stored in winter. Beyond 2006, we look forward to New Year's Day, which represents a new starting point.
We celebrate the New Year, a festival full of vigilance. Let's be grateful for the wonderful life, the hope of life and the beauty of life with a grateful heart! The new year is about to begin, and new hopes are about to open. New blanks will carry new dreams, and we like them. We also cherish the ebb and flow of the tide; Flowers bloom and fall, and we are equally grateful.
Let's be grateful for years, life, poetry and the coming year of 2009! Time is like a song (1). Bitter youth is blown away by the wind. Memories are wet with rain. Deep grief was lost in the snow. The yellow diary cries alone in one silent night after another. Then, it was blown dry by the wind of the years. (2) Sadness is a grain of sand that falls into your eyes. Only tears can wash it away. (3) If death is a tragedy, everyone's life will come to an end. (4) What touched me the most was the familiar notes in my memory, which turned into tears at the moment when they struck my heart. (5) Time cannot go back. Time will take it away. Time changes. After many years, when we turn over the bitter page of youth again, the sadness and sadness have already vanished. We will laugh and sigh: this is life. (6) In summer, I occasionally feel that the leaves are thin, the blue waves are clear, and the wind is as light as smoke. (7) God always puts a beautiful coat on an ugly soul, and then says sadly: It's fair at last. However, he didn't expect that the world was often deceived by that beautiful coat, and he was helpless. (8) The last afterglow of the sunset is put away, the evening breeze blows a ripple on the lake, and the autumn frost sees the last goose. I stood quietly by the lake, my eyes gradually drifting away from my memory. At the moment when the tears condensed, I locked my memory in an iron box and buried it with the dust of the years. (9) How can I bear to see those promises that have peeled off in the years? Just like the green leaves once covered with branches falling in the cold north wind, the sand sculpture standing on the beach disappears in the biting sea breeze. (10) It's rainy in spring, the clouds are rolling and the sky is obscure, and Qian Shan is full of water, which is the first sight of the day. This scene is very safe, afraid of climbers, and very hard. Yan (1) Although the journey has brought my thoughts far away, the familiar evening breeze has brought her to my side. The willow branches reflected rosy clouds in the sunset, which made me see your shawl hair. The red lake in the sunset reminds me of your reddish cheeks. The melodious songs that spread far away are my deep thoughts for you. Time is like a song, suddenly looking back-in a blink of an eye, a thousand years have passed, and the years are like a song. And what is left in your heart? I overheard a faint old song. What made you cry and feel dejected? What is it-it often sneaks into your lonely heart on wet nights? What is it-it occasionally hurts your sensitive and fragile heart? Ah-my friend has passed a thousand years in a flash, and I have forgotten all the joys and sorrows in the world, but why can't I let go? Time is like a song because of the lingering sound.
What remains deep in your heart and mine is still-those-your happiness and my sadness.