Our school is going to hold an activity of reciting ancient poems, and there are also knowledge cont

Summary. Dear, when we were studying, the school had a poetry recital! The students used chanting and recitation.

Recitation is an important form of oral communication and an art of conveying feelings, and it is an artistic activity in which the reciter transforms literary works into spoken language for re-creation and re-expression. Poetry recitation means that the reciter uses clear language, loud voice, beautiful posture, and introduced actions to express the original poems and works to the audience emotionally, so as to convey the ideological content of the poem and arouse the resonance of the audience.

Have you ever held a poetry reading in your class or school, and which poem was recited by the students and in what form?

Dear, when we were studying, the school had a poetry recital! The students used chanting and recitation. Recitation is an important form of oral communication and an art of conveying feelings, and it is an artistic activity in which the reciter transforms literary works into spoken language for re-creation and re-expression.

Poetry recitation means that the reciter uses clear language, loud voice, beautiful posture, and introduced actions to express the original poems and works to the audience emotionally, so as to convey the ideological content of the poem and arouse the resonance of the audience.

Dear, remember to wear a mask when you go out, pay attention to protection, and protect yourself, here the teacher wishes you the title of the gold list and success in your studies

New Year's dedication.

1. Spring flowers bloom.

Under the fiery red sun.

Listen, it's the chirping of a hundred birds.

They knocked in surprise.

The first gate of spring.

White clouds come with warm thoughts.

Greetings long gone.

And brought us New Year's blessings.

Those heavy laughter.

Like the hands of the father and the mother, the labor and the harvest are written.

A glass of spirits. Full of hearty nostalgia.

Drunk me on a windy morning.

A wandering wanderer.

I couldn't help but hurry up to go home.

The girl I love.

It's been a long time since we've met.

It's like a slightly trembling cobweb.

Silently grew into a cocoon.

While the spring breeze is still early, I want to hurry up.

Ask your beloved girl.

Love will bloom in this spring.

2. The clear wind is blowing from afar.

There is the scent of a girl.

With the whisper of a wild lily.

Bloom in an instant.

Youthfully, the arms of lovers.

Gently wrap around and embrace you.

Pluck the strings of spring.

The distance of the seasons is so strong that it is impossible to resist.

Just as the earth is pregnant with hope.

I saw the folks, on New Year's Day.

Talking about the harvest of the past.

Count the three hundred and sixty-five days and solar terms.

Speaking of spring. Everyone's eyes burst into flames again.

At that time, corn hung in bunches under the eaves.

Huang Chengcheng's joy.

Floating all over the home, people look at the heart.

Feel excited and grounded.

So I remembered inexplicably.

One day when it snowed many years ago.

A family photo taken by relatives at home.

3. Touched the first drop of dew.

It's colorful.

The snow and ice melt in the north.

The trees in the south spit green.

In the sound of ticking cars.

Along the way, it was a spring wedding.

The happiness that is destined to arrive in life.

You're going to wake up in **.

Listen to the singing of holiness.

Everything that's beautiful in front of you.

Something you can easily touch.

Love at first sight like poetry and water.

And then sweetly pregnant in the spring.

But I still think of the village.

A village sitting on a field.

Fly in the direction of the river.

It's the breeze that keeps blowing.

It made me look around.

The little sister who has just grown up.

She was standing at the intersection of her home to greet her.

In the pose of a spring flower.

This blessed poem is dedicated to you.

Campus in the moonlight.

All the ballads are tinged with youth.

The warm verses quietly pushed away.

Bathed in the enchanting moonlight.

Ideals and books produce a friendship.

The scene is so vivid, so profound.

The campus fell asleep, fell asleep.

Bugs on the grass snored softly.

Shake your long hair. A flute lies horizontally by the mouth.

The melody is heartwarming.

Bloom into delicate flowers.

The moon snickered sheepishly.

I'm on the title page of my journal.

It is full of dreams and reality.

Stand in front of the window and sit against the window.

Hold the pen in contemplative hands.

It is written about dreams, about the madness of life.

How heavy is the hope of a family.

The responsibilities of a teacher can be as onerous as they are.

On this quiet autumn night.

At the beginning of my career, I couldn't sleep at night.

The moonlight flickered on and off.

It seems that someone has cried in a dream.

Who stands against the wind?

Forget about the youthful face.

Follow the sun.

In the mournful sorrow of the moonlight.

Discover the dawn of hope.