Problem solving: For example, Song in My Heart and Beauty of Harmony are partial phrases, in which the positive part is Song and Beauty, and the harmony part is partial phrases. Often the "positive" part is the writing object, while the center of expression is the "partial" part, which embodies the writing scope, nature and special requirements of the topic. Just like the topic "Song in My Heart", writing should be centered on "heart". The songs in my heart are different from ordinary songs. It is a silent and unforgettable story, and the notes from the heart constitute the melody of the author's life. Another example is "harmonious beauty", and the focus should be on the attribute of beauty-"harmony". Beauty in life is inseparable from harmony, and harmony is beauty. This biased phrase, the "biased" part is the focus of the article, that is, the "headline eye", which should be expressed in strong colors. The title of the song is Heart, and the song from the bottom of my heart is silent. Not for others, but for yourself. The difficulty is that it must have something that touches people's feelings and causes people's conscience to be sound.
Tip:
There is a wide range of materials and a lot of choice. In terms of time, it can be written as yesterday's song, today's song and tomorrow's song; From the essence of things, we can write sad songs or happy songs in the past. No matter what song you write, the people or things that make up the song must have three characteristics: it is worth collecting, it is true and touching, and it has a certain shocking power.
[Example] The song in my heart
I didn't mean to pass you by, and neither did you mean to pass me by. Accompanied by sandalwood, the ancient rhyme of the piano is getting stronger and stronger, reflecting our memories. It plays the music I wrote for you that autumn. I can't bear to pick up the broken melody, so I have to look at my heart silently. "Boya doesn't die in the clock, it's amazing through the ages." -inscription
The wind blows flowers and leaves, and people are empty, and it is unbearable to be lonely.
"Cast it with papaya and hug it with Qiong precious jade. It is always good to report. "Under the light, you still have your elongated shadow, dancing with smoke to disperse the dust, and stepping on the dust alone and sourly. You left, with countless feelings, some vague thoughts and sad and bitter tears, you didn't look back. I know you can't bear to look back, but you are afraid that mottled memories will make you return to uncontrollable remorse and anxiety. Memories don't want to fade, only way: "jade candle drops dry rain and tears, crystal curtain breaks the moon", very dark. Until this evening, only hazy memories accompany me to sleep, and the empty old traces are sultry. My heart is a song in the autumn wind-bleak.
Drinking snow and cold plum jade is shy, and I miss old feelings very much.
The cool breeze blows Bai Mei's petals, hovering in the air, and slowly falling, so the dew on the petals is waiting for the silent answer from the heart. If the sky is ruthless, it is like going with the wind. The oblique sunset, warm and cold, left the lonely village in place. It is because of "sadness and tears together" that I feel sorry for Leng Yue. Because once "if you are worried, I am worried", listening to the rain still adds a trace of sadness and tears; It is because I am used to "laughing" that your name will emerge in my mind out of order; It used to be "Who cries for Yingying's tears", and I didn't leave until you left. "Knowing that all brothers are in the four seas, where can I meet an old friend?" My love is a song in the winter snow.
Flowers fall and butterflies fall in love with the dust, and the customs accompany me to sing the evening.
"Making friends in life begins with the end, not for ups and downs." The tower is lingyun, but you can't see a happy face; Mount Fuji towering into the sky, can't hear the laughter of tourists; The Statue of Liberty, in the fog, is far away, but it is not in my arms; On the beach of Tantan Island, there is a little light. How can the fishing lamp be in another state? In spring, pottery is ruthless, blowing catkins all over the ground; Running water is also invisible, like ripples flowing eastward. In the sad rain song, I know that you like cloves, sing and dance, and you are not sad. * * * In the year of less sorrow, * * * sighs the vicissitudes of time, and * * * feels the change of spring and autumn, but it is already "a thousand agile poems, a glass of wine." Missing, my poem, is a song in the spring rain-carefree.
Looking at a thousand petals of dust, two lines of tears heartbroken.
How desolate it is when the jade soul is gone. Walking alone for a long night, the wind has passed. Looking at the moonlight, where are you? Teenagers are happy to know each other, but they miss their old friends when they are old. I like who you complain to when you wake up. I admire your endless sense of decay and cold smoke. I appreciate all your hardships and smiles. When years and beauty have become a sigh in the dust, there are still old tears in your sad eyes. Parting is not necessarily in the wind and rain, and crying is not necessarily grief. There must always be the bitterness of "the wind blows the banana", the sadness of "the rain hits the window lattice" and the helplessness of "the moon pool withers the lotus". Gently, you woke me up from a deep sleep and told me that the sails were full of wind. You are a ship, only belonging to the distance. I watched you drift away and took away my infinite feelings under the haze. Lotus that emerges from the mud and is not stained. Your friendship with me is a song in summer-purity.
Das lied in Mir
I remember when I was a child, I often listened to my father sing a folk song for the party, embroidered red flag and the party, dear mother with his rich baritone ... Influenced by my father, I also like to sing those songs. I went to primary school. Once, there was a singing contest in the school. I chose to sing "A Song My Mom taught me" without hesitation.
But the instructor always said that I sang too hard and practiced too much, so I was discouraged. When I got home, I couldn't hold back my grievances and confided to my dad. Dad smiled and said, "You sing stiffly because you don't put your feelings into it." So, my father told me his past story with deep affection and said with emotion, "Now your generation is happier. There are not only conditions for going to school, but also conditions for learning calligraphy, piano and singing. Without the party and the party's reform and opening up policy, how could you live such a life today! "
Listening to my father's words, my young heart has a reverence and deep gratitude for the party. Finally, I sang the song in my heart: "My mother taught me a song. Without the * * * production party, there would be no new China ... "
"Without the production party, there would be no new China." With the growth of my age, I began to understand its connotation and know the great achievements of proletarian revolutionaries of the older generation such as Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai and Zhu De. I know that Grandpa Deng Xiaoping has shown us the way to become rich and powerful. I also know that in the new century, the CPC Central Committee with Comrade Hu Jintao as the general secretary will carry forward the past and lead us to a prosperous future for our country. The more facts I know, the more I understand a truth: without the * * * production party, there would be no us today!
In the process of growing up, I believe more and more in a saying circulating in the society: "The more dangerous the moment, the more it can show the height of party member." In the once-in-a-century flood of 1998, I have been watching the raging flood devour farmland and destroy villages on TV, and people's lives are dying. Groups of brave men in green uniforms jumped into the torrent regardless of their personal safety and rescued one victim after another. The party's good son, Li Xiangqun of the People's Liberation Army, fainted and never woke up. Tears welled up in the eyes of the affected people, expressing the voices of many ordinary China people like me: "The kindness of the party is beyond measure in the world; A thousand good things are not as good as socialism! "
After that, I began to look around. Teacher Wang, the head teacher of Senior Three, is a graduate student from party member. Every day, he always comes to the classroom early and urges us to recite English and ancient Chinese. After school, the lights are on, and Miss Wang is still tutoring the students. On Sunday, Miss Wang helped the students with their homework again. I remember a classmate in the class at that time, because his parents divorced, he became depressed, his academic performance dropped again and again, and his personality became more and more weird. Seeing this, Mr. Wang is anxious. He not only encouraged his classmates to communicate with him more, but also went to his house three times and five times to find out the situation, and even visited his classmates' neighbors until he moved his classmates back from disappointment.
After entering the university, many students around me are party member. From these peers, I have a deeper understanding of the valuable qualities of party member. In September 2005, the fourth Party branch of the School of Software of Dalian Jiaotong University, where I am located, responded to the initiative of Dalian Daily to "change the old into love" and launched the initiative of "dedicating your love and building a harmonious society" on campus. The activity lasted for three days and received more than 1000 donated items. After the donation, party member, a student of the branch, used his spare time to send clothes and books to the children at Weita Primary School in zhuanghe city.
I recall many party member products that I have contacted. They are so ordinary, without passionate rhetoric and earth-shattering achievements, but they just work silently and selflessly. These ordinary and extraordinary party member, with their exemplary strength, lit a bright light in our hearts, guiding us as followers of China's * * * production party and willingly following her for a lifetime!
Das lied in Mir
Time is like a song. Sometimes euphemistic and fresh, sometimes bold and exciting, swinging in my heart, rippling.
My hometown is a picturesque village. She wakes up every day with light blue smoke. People are laughing everywhere, chickens are crowing and dogs are barking. Children chase and play in the open space, and every household grinds a sickle and hoe, which is a scene of joy and prance; At night, I sleep peacefully with the dissolved moonlight on my pillow. I grew up here until I was ten years old.
Whenever I see a piece of red flowers in the garden or a leafy locust tree on the roadside, I will think of the mud-walled yard in that small village, the playmates singing children's songs with a runny nose, and the primary school dotted with red flowers and green grass. Oh, my golden childhood!
I like to play hide-and-seek with my friends in the Woods by the river when the sunset is like fire. The wind is long and the clouds are light, and the heart flies gently. I like chasing yellow and white butterflies in lush and colorful orchards; I like to walk on the ridge with a bamboo hat when it is raining, and let my heart float on the scenery with the delicate and soft rain; I like to hide pebbles, bricks, mud and square boards for playing games on the shelf in front of grandma's yard. I like to face the pure blue or purple sky and lie on the high firewood pile ... hometown, you are my paradise forever!
Blue sky, white clouds, lotus leaves facing the sky, lotus flowers reflecting the sun … everything is as simple and natural as my grandparents. Are the underground cars in Can Cao still in use? That is "collective property"-this family uses it to fertilize, that family uses it to transport firewood, and my uncle uses it to push me and the grain I handed in to the agricultural machinery station in town. My aunt's unique skill in rolling pancakes won the praise of her grandmothers. There will be three or four aunts to "bring" cakes in the evening. From time to time, Niu Weiwei and I eat my radish cake and try her fennel stuffing. Before we ate my aunt's leek omelet, our stomachs couldn't hold any more. Hometown, you are the cradle of my growth!
I haven't been home for a long time. The other day, Mr. Zhong called and said that the building at home had been built, just north of the wide asphalt road built in the village. Go home in rainy days, and you won't be covered in mud.
I really want to go back. Was it still blue that day? Is that cloud still soft? Is the sunset still red? Will you still eat zongzi made by Lunan guo grandma? ...
I seem to see the wisps of kitchen smoke floating in the village again, and hear the local accent that my grandmother urged me to go home-this is a song in my heart, and it will make people ecstatic to sing it!
Das lied in Mir
Writing down this topic, my mind began to quickly filter the past. Who and what will be the songs in my heart? Mom and dad? Brother and sister-in-law, dear teacher? Friendly colleagues? Close lover? The son in the barracks? My closest relative, my beloved niece and nephew? My filial daughter-in-law, niece and son-in-law Any one of them, everything, is the song that I can't give up in my life.
There are too many people and things to sing in this article … I don't know where to start.
How can thousands of words have so many connotations?
Contradictions, suddenly remind of a photo of Zhang Baocun. Today, I might as well seal up my love for my relatives and tell a story behind this photo. Let everyone comment, can he be a song in your heart and mine?
The orchard in this photo is at the front of my hometown. To the east of the orchard is a big reservoir and to the south is a hill called Baoshan. Our village lies to the north of the orchard. Countless beautiful birds that we call "Didi Didi" will fly to our village in the morning to look for food left by chickens scattered on the ground by neighbors. Adults and children will look at them from a distance with caring eyes, and no one has ever hurt them.
These birds are so beautiful. They are covered with white feathers, and several regularly distributed black silk threads are painted by artists. The cutest thing is that they have a pair of black and white longitudinal feathers on each head. They are small and lovely, small and exquisite, and tiny birds bring countless fun to children's childhood.
There lived an old man in the orchard near my hometown. I can't remember his real age, but I know he is an old man with a rough fate. When my son was working in his hometown coal mine, he was accidentally buried by a landslide. The daughter-in-law ran away from home with her granddaughter. My wife couldn't stand the double blow of losing her son and granddaughter, so she couldn't stand the ordeal and went to Huang Quan Road again. The villagers sympathized with the lonely old man and offered him help to look after the orchard in the village. As a result, there is an industrious figure in that orchard every day.
The orchard of more than 30 mu of land is well managed by the old man, and the villagers call him Uncle Mao. Since then, a few drops of water have tried to live in that orchard, and the arrival of birds has brought fun to Uncle Mao. Uncle Mao always likes to feed birds with his own corn and millet planted in the cracks of fruit trees. He dissolved all his feelings into the days when he got along with birds. In order to train the bird, come back on time when it feeds. Uncle Mao made a small willow whistle himself. He always blows his whistle first and then scatters millet to feed the birds. After a long time, birds formed a rule. As long as Uncle Mao blows the willow whistle, the lovely "dripping water" will fly to the old man and take away the rations that the old man has worked so hard to plant. Day after day, year after year, the number of birds increased from a few to hundreds. Did you see the dense bird's nest hanging on the branches in the photo clearly? That's their home.
I remember going home that year, listening to the villagers talking about Uncle Mao, the orchard and the birds that Uncle Mao cooked. I marvel at the bumpy life of the old man, I admire his ordinary love, and I am full of curiosity about those birds. The desire to see Uncle Mao dominated me, so I picked up my camera and walked to the orchard. On the way to the orchard, I was thinking, I must leave a photo for the old man and his beloved birds to remind the world of this respectable uncle Mao.
The old man in the orchard told me about fruit trees and birds. I didn't expect Uncle Mao, who is usually taciturn, to have such rich language and sincere feelings. Uncle Mao, who loves birds, trees and life, has benefited me a lot. When I offered to take a picture of Grandpa Mao and his bird, the old man shook his head like a drum: "No, no, birds are afraid of their lives. You can't disturb them. " At my repeated request, Uncle Mao agreed to let me stand far away and take this photo. The old man refused to walk into the camera. In this photo, only the fruit trees and birds will live in the nest when they come back.
Seeing all this, you must be surprised that those bird's nests are hung so close and so many? Do you want to meet Uncle Mao, who is simple, kind and caring in his hometown? Unfortunately, the old Maoshu has passed away, and the orchard has long since disappeared. Wealthy villagers built rows of buildings here. For many years, I have been thinking about how the birds left here sadly after the old man left. No one can tell me where they went. With this regret, Uncle Mao's image in my heart is getting bigger and bigger.
Please tell me, is Uncle Mao the song I should have sung in my heart?