Modern poetry about reading, poetry about reading modern poetry

Passed, passed, missed, and we thought we had grown.

Finally, you can smile in tears or in pain.

Holding yourself high in the morning when the tide is undulating, wrapping yourself in the dark blue water, it turns out that you don't miss it, it turns out that everything is still remembered, and it turns out that you can't forget it if you don't swear it.

All the happy and sorrowful past, when I think of it, I am overwhelmed.

Zhang Yang's twitching body when he played the guitar, and the gentle voice when he raised his **, everything was still so clear.

It's always these two people who have been missing.

Even if the long youth ends, it still makes people infinitely nostalgic.

It's just that no matter what kind of memory is fresh, youth still has white wings and flies away, and it doesn't care what we pray.

Time runs in the opposite direction, we can only grasp the fragments of the past, in the early morning when spring flowers bloom, in the afternoon when the summer rain roars, in the dusk when the autumn wind whimpers, and in the late night when the winter snow falls, the lonely aftertaste.

There are many people who write their youth in **, and there are also many people who use youth to sing.

What my mother experienced in this era is always engraved in the years.

The diary of my youth, the group photo I used to take a look at, the gardenia on campus, and the playground ...... where we walked together

These delicate details are smeared with the years of our common laughter.

They are the symbols of our youth, painfully and soberly recording the trajectory of growth.

Chapter 1: Reading has a feeling.

Hold a book of spiritual reading.

Sit on the floor. Facing the West with a rainbow of clouds.

In the most comfortable posture.

The most feminine gaze.

The most unpretentious way.

**。Bold simplicity.

Tranquil and peaceful plumpness.

Hearken. Flowers bloom and fall.

The shallow chant of several contentious songs.

Like a gentle breeze.

Passing by. Beautiful for a lifetime.

Chapter 2: Reading late at night.

The night is quiet. Hold a book collection.

Bedridden and read. on the wall.

The clock ticks, ticks.

Walk rhythmically.

Window. Moonlight at the moment.

Just like water. Chapter 4: Reading.

Turn through each page of the book.

I can't find my favorite.

Because of the destination of all sorrows.

The thickness of the blankly stacked between the lines.

It makes me feel like I'm getting more and more horse-toothed.

It seems to be moving in the dark.

We are writers who have been obliterated.

Write our favorites in the catacombs.

by the currents of the crowd.

Exile to distant glaciers.

It's a thick blank.

Calf I love the grass on the book mountain, the autumn is late, the spring is early, there is more sweet, less bitter.

I chewed carefully, chewed slowly, gnawed out the juice, chewed out the taste, gnawed soul, chewed dreamy.

The leaves are tender, the stems are pretty, knowledge is your nourishment, and wisdom is your embrace.

In order to find you, I am not afraid of the high mountains, in order to love you, I face the steep, always want to eat more, always want to eat enough.

Modern poems about reading books are as follows:In Praise of Reading Modern Poetry Chapter 1

It accompanies us through the spring, summer, autumn and winter of life.

Books are the roots, sprouts, and flourishes of our lives.

There is an infinite wealth of humanity in the book.

We are free to draw nourishment from it.

Books are video recorders of human development.

I know that you can see the footprints of your predecessors in it.

Books are an ocean of knowledge and wisdom.

We grew up in the sea of books.

The book is yours and mine

Books are the eternal friends of mankind.

Praise of Reading Modern Poetry Psalm 2

Books are an ocean of knowledge.

I would like to be a light boat.

Carrying the sails of ideals.

Ripple on the surface of the sea.

Books are an ocean of knowledge.

I would like to be a small fish.

Singing in the embrace of the sea.

Use your life's blood to develop the treasures in the book.

Books are an ocean of knowledge.

It is rich, vast and vast.

It's beautiful and vast.

It contains the hopes and yearnings of our ancestors.

A Praise of Reading Modern Poetry Psalm 3

Book, what is it? It is the food of the human spirit and the ladder of human progress.

Book, what is it? It is the mother of the Yellow River, nurturing thousands of children who seek knowledge.

Book, what is it? It is the key to human evolution and opens the door to wisdom.

Book, what is it? It's the clear blue sky that allows us little birds to fly freely.

Book, what is it? It is a mysterious space waiting for us to explore and discover.

Every word in the book is precious. Every sentence is thoughtful.

Every article is about the past and the future.

No speedboat is like a book that can take us to faraway places.

Nor is there any horse, like pages of joyful psalms, leading us to travel across time and space.

Good books are the source of knowledge, which irrigates our hearts and minds.

Good books are our teachers, putting wisdom into our veins.

Reading a good book enables us to understand how wide the heavens are and how wide the earth is.

Reading a good book makes us understand how high the mountain is and how far the road is.

Reading a good book can enable us to clear the clouds and smoke in front of us and eliminate difficulties.

Reading a good book can make us see a bright future and a long way to go.

Poems about reading books Modern poems are as follows:

This spring, I sat down in the library, read the rise and fall of the previous dynasty, read the joys and sorrows of the individual, read the joys and sorrows of life, and the search eyes reached every corner of the library, so the field of hope gradually appeared in that corner in front of me, and she lay quietly and quietly and quietly Is it silently abiding by the promise of our previous life? Gently wiping off the dust and holding it in the palm of my hand, I seemed to be comforting an injured child, and opened the home page and wrote: In 89, so-and-so borrowed the yellowed pages to tell the past, and it was the person who read the book.

What remains unchanged is the feeling of reading this spring, Confucius who sat quietly outside the door of the library seems to have opened his mouth to read with a smile, author: Sheng Tang calmly modern reading, such as listening to ** as soon as you enter the world, when you enter the wilderness, when you enter the wilderness, when you enter the exotic country, when you enter the sunset, when you enter the world, you will be troubled and troubled for a while, and the surrounding broken doors and walls will suddenly come to naught, and the world in the book and the world in your heart will be integrated, and the troubles of the characters will drive away their own troubles, and the tension of filial piety will replace the tension of reality.

Even if the sad mood has a change, reading is like a long and short trip, strolling on your own spiritual road, let yourself be led by words to travel far Along the way, there is a lot of traffic, there are colorful neon lights, there are mountains, rivers and beautiful scenery, this is the happiest departure, but also the happiest siege of the city, reading is to look in the mirror, see yourself dancing in the mood, through the labyrinth of words, even if the night is so deep that you can't touch the edge, you will be confident and calm, because there is love in the heart, and love is the eternal light in the world.

Reading is actually in other people's stories, looking for their own dreams, but what they find is too much freshness and strangeness, no regrets and grievances, only open-mindedness and tolerance of other people's thoughts, blossoming and bearing fruit, becoming a beacon that can hang high on the branches, and the pursuit of becoming a symbol of hope, and sweat is the fire that ignites dreams, the open pages are vibrating wings, carrying us through time and space, meeting gods, no speedboat to take us to distant places, and no horse can be like a page of joyful poetry.