What are some of the little poems that have touched you?

I prefer "Early Plum" by the Ming Dynasty poet Daoyuan. Ten thousand trees are cold and colorless, and the southern branch has unique flowers. Where the fragrance smells of flowing water, the shadow falls into the savage's house.

The cold hits the earth, the snow dances in the sky, all kinds of plants are lifeless, only the plum blossoms on the southern branches bloom alone. The shadow slanted across the courtyard wall of the farmhouse, and the dark fragrance floated on the edge of the gurgling water. This poem is very meaningful, the poet uses streams, plum blossoms, dead trees, cold snow, to present readers with a faint and distant picture.

It shows the poet's love for the plum blossoms with high rhymes.

Process" Lin Bai. January, you haven't appeared yet, you sleep next door in March, it rains heavily, and in April, there are roses everywhere. In May, we sat opposite each other, as if in a dream, and in this way, from June to June, the grass bloomed, and the fragrance of July was everywhere, and the joys and sorrows were mixed, and the wheat waves rolled together with the meadows, until the end of the world, August was August, and I was like a bottle, and in August I was the water in the bottle, and you were the clouds in the blue sky, and in September, and October, and it was two eyes, filled with the sea, and you were at sea, and I was under the sea.

November had not yet arrived, and through its window, I saw December, and the snow was falling. I remember the first time I saw this poem in my sophomore year of high school, and I was amazed at a glance, and then I took it out and read it whenever I had free time, and finally I could memorize it backwards, and I didn't deliberately analyze any thoughts and emotions, but I just felt that the artistic conception was very beautiful, and even wrote it on stationery and sent it out, and even corresponded to it every month.

There is a poem that makes you want to write wildly when you read it, and makes your heart sigh with it. Let you understand what is the truth of "the country's unfortunate poet is fortunate, and he is endowed with vicissitudes of life", that is, Du Shaoling's "Spring Hope": the country is broken by mountains and rivers, and the city is deep in spring.

When I feel the tears, I hate the birds. The beacon fire lasted for three months, and the family letter was worth 10,000 dollars. The whitehead scratching is shorter, and the hairpin is overwhelming.

You see, just such a small poem, it makes you seem to dream back to the Tang Dynasty and see the barren and desolate scenery of the "Anshi Rebellion". It is as if you yourself have become a flower in the poem, and the thrilling bird is with the poet and sorrows. From the poem, you can see the foundation of the poet's writing, the subtle and natural language is directly gripping, so that you have to admire his demeanor in writing poems and sorrow with him.

That's the magic of poetry, it makes you want to read it. If you read it with your heart, you can also feel the power of words to penetrate people's hearts.

I've read a poem before, and it's amazing. The background is Cui Hu's "Title Capital City Nanzhuang", a poem written from the perspective of three different characters. Cui Hu, I am also a pedestrian again, and I have forgotten that I have passed this door.

Last year, the lovesickness was in the body, and that spring, except for the flowers, it was not true. Peach Blossom Girl, the season of falling flowers is not the king, and the empty twist and empty branches are leaning on the door. There are faint marks between the empty eyebrows, and in the spring of that year, I remember the word Ah Chun.

Peach blossoms, waiting for the idle smoke and rain to send dusk, who is the old owner of Feihong? Also melodious Mo on the dust, that spring, I was wrong with the spring breeze.

Almost all of the euphemistic words depict the beauty of love, some are heartbreaking, some are heart-wrenching, and some are touching ....... In short, there are many, many more, the author uses the most beautiful words to tell the most sincere feelings, but we are looking for the dusty past in their poems. Shen Yuan's Shuangbi "Hairpin Phoenix".

Lu You: Although the Mountain League is here, the brocade book is difficult to trust, Mo, Mo, Mo. Tang Wan:

Afraid of people asking questions, hiding tears and pretending to be happy, concealing, concealing, concealing. The inexhaustible love is shallow, and the unspeakable is fateless. Every word tells the sincerity of the sea between them, which is unforgettable.

It's a pity that the red dust is a hundred plays, the creation makes people, the last Huan Hai ups and downs, a red face is the soil, the poems on the wall of Shen Yuan are crying, endless regret and sorrow.

I like Su Shi's "Jiangchengzi" the most, ten years of life and death, not thinking, unforgettable, thousands of miles of lonely graves, nowhere to talk about desolation. Even if you don't know each other, your face is dusty, your temples are like frost, you come to your hometown at night, you are dressing up, you are speechless, there are only a thousand tears.

Du Qiuniang's "Golden Silk Clothes" persuades the monarch not to cherish the golden silk clothes, and persuades the monarch to cherish the youth. Flowers can be folded straight, do not wait for no flowers and empty branches. Roughly speaking:

I advise you not to cherish the luxurious golden clothes, I advise you to cherish your youth. Like the blooming flowers, they must be plucked in time. If you don't pick it in time, you can only break the flower branches when the spring flowers fall.

This little poem vividly describes that money is not as precious as the time of a teenager in life, because teenagers are the best age to absorb knowledge in life, teenagers do not work hard, and the boss is sad, which is the truth.

The ancient palace is sparse, and the palace flowers are lonely and red. The white-headed palace maid is here, sitting idle and talking about Xuanzong. Parse it down:

In the lonely and lonely ancient palace, the red flowers can only bloom and fall lonely. Several gray-haired palace maids were sitting idle talking about Tang Xuanzong back then. The artistic conception of the poem, this small poem of Yuan Zhen has a far-reaching artistic conception, the poem is short, just four lines of poetry, the meaning is infinite and amazing.

As for the artistic conception of the poem and the poet's emotions to be expressed, the subject slowly understands it, it is not interesting to explain too much, and it is subtle. In just four lines of poetry, it talks about the rise and fall of changes, which makes people feel emotional.

In recent years, as I grew older, I was deeply impressed by the poems I had read before, and what moved me deeply was "Qingming Day to Wine" by Gao Zhu, an important poet of the Jianghu School in the late Southern Song Dynasty. For many years, this poem has been haunting my heart, with the passage of years, life is bumpy, birth, old age, sickness and death. I have a deeper, even unforgettable, feeling of this poem.

"Nanshan" is a virtual finger, that is, in all directions, the poet said: You see, there are so many cemeteries on the north and south hills in all directions, and in the Qingming Dynasty, each family dragged their families to come here to worship and sweep the ancestors. The burning paper flew in the wind, how like a dancing white butterfly, the relatives in front of the grave grieved and cried, lovesick into tears, tears into blood, as if it was a red cuckoo.

One other door changed the fire three times, and the end of the world stepped on the red dust. Still smiling as spring warmth. There is no wave of the real ancient well, and there is a festival of autumn yun.

The melancholy lonely sail was sent overnight, sending off the light moon and clouds. Don't use your eyebrows before honoring. Life is like a reverse journey, and I am also a pedestrian.

According to the veins and veins, thin as light smoke and like waves, the moon is not long and the flowers are easy to fall, and the life is melancholy for Ido.

I don't know the author's name, I don't know the poem, and I have a flash of inspiration: "A thousand lights, I only have one moon." Take your hand and fly over a place of moonlight. ”

There are flowers in spring, there are moons in autumn, cool breeze in summer, and snow in winter. If there is nothing to worry about, it is a good time in the world! Favorite this poem!

The morning and dusk thoughts of the monarch are lingering, and the lovesickness does not dare to speak with the monarch.

I am worried about where this situation is going now, but I can only send it to the clouds and water.

Drunken Dream Boy.

The beauty rolled the beaded curtain, sat deeply and frowned, but when she saw the tears wet, she didn't know who she hated.

A lifetime of obsession, there is wine, and half a lifetime is spent without poetry.

The two atria are filled with directions.

One breathes like a bell.

One wanders like a cloud.

Thousands of mountains and rivers flow, ghosts and ghosts.

I said, girl, you're like a begonia in May.

My clouds don't want to wander.

Be grateful.

On a mountain that has just rained.

Hold back your desires.

Stand beside a pine tree

We live in a world full of judgments, we are judged by others all the time, and we are also unconsciously judging the people around us, especially our lovers and children.

Should, right or wrong, good or bad, must, must – these words are deeply engraved in the soul of our language and belief system.

These words will naturally burst out, both in interaction with children and when communicating with those around them.

Knowing that these words are not conducive to our connection and are not conducive to our intimacy. But it's uncontrollable anxiety, irritability, irritability, control, and demand.

Every time we lose our temper with our child, after we put all kinds of labels on our child, we actually regret it in our hearts. Judgment has become an instinctive habit of our communication.

Lazy, abrasive, hyperactive, disobedient, timid, stupid. These words are often dressed up as "love" and "I am all for your good". And how to convert judgment into observation and expression can be practiced.

Today, I came across a little poem by the composer and poet Ruth Bebenmeier, and when I recited it gently, I couldn't help but shed tears.

I would like to ask all parents to read it silently, it can help us to observe without any judgment.

I've never seen a lazy man, I've never seen him running, I've seen him sometimes sleep in the afternoon and stay home on a rainy day.

But he's not a slacker.

Before you say my gibberish, think about whether he is really a slacker or if he has been labeled a "slacker" by his behavior.

I've never seen any stupid kids;

I've seen what this kid sometimes does, I can't understand or don't expect it, I've seen this kid see things differently than mine, but he's not a stupid kid.

Before you say he's stupid, think about how stupid he is, or does he know things differently than you know?

Some people say it's lazy, while others say it's an indifferent life.

What some call stupidity, others call it a different view.

Therefore, I conclude that we can avoid confusion if we do not mix our opinions with what we see.

You may still be confused, therefore, I want to say that:

I know that's just my opinion.

I read this poem three times.

I couldn't help but burst into tears, but I felt softness and warmth in my heart.

When I look up at the world around me, the pure observation and expression of feelings becomes clear and natural.

Love the light of the mountain - the snow of the Tianshan Mountains. The paradise of ugly dolls - Ye Xiao porridge. The Story of Two Grains of Sand – EddieBoiled in a crockpot of the old bamboo rhyme. Personally, I think these articles are okay.

1.You can't be in the mirror twice.

Look into the same eyes, at the same time.

Take off the glass of cause and effect inversion.

Two, successively passing by the dead cannot.

Approaching a deeper black.

And the plural of you has long since scabbed, fallen off and lost.

Albeit aimless.

Why don't you start talking about it at this moment.

Talk about fire, and all the loud branches.

2.I wandered outside and came back.

Hometown has lost a lot of weight

Uncle Dunzi is gone, and the pond in front of the door.

Half-done. A hunchbacked willow tree behind the house.

The hair was scattered all over the ground, the old house was squatting by the grave, and the white clouds on the roof.

Still running in the wind.

It was a flower, bright red ......However, the flowers of youth will always forget ......When I was young, my mother said, I miss my youth. Youth, what a word, faint, still, rich.

Youth is nothing in my eyes, but when I get old, I will understand what it feels like to miss it. Perhaps, now, I will understand.

Missing is a faint love, a nostalgic feeling, an ideal kite, and the wings of dreams; Youth is a green mango, a faint grass, a rich flower, or ......something elseI don't know, however, I know the only thing, and that is to cherish. Cherish the youth now, cherish the beauty of the present, cherish, everything now. When you get old, you go back and relive it, it's gone.

What they were saying, they composed a poem, vivid, beautiful and ......

It was the old days, and it was a love made of youth.

At that time, we were full of childishness, but we were happy.

Isn't it? Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, we went swimming, we traveled.

Youth is a song, a bleak song.

But wait until it's ripe and savor it.

It doesn't express sadness, but.

Warm. Youth is the musical score of love, beating notes.

It's a dream, a fluttering wing.