1. Painting Bamboo [Ming Dynasty] Zhang Zhuo
Under the Huangling Temple, the moon is bright and there is no Xiangling green chariot passing by.
There are several poles of bamboo left, and the Chu people are still heartbroken. 2. Painting Bamboo [Qing Dynasty] Xie Yingsu
The banyan altar with wind and moon is double clear, and the Shihu mountain studio is made of bamboo.
I added tens of thousands of Yuandang, and listened to the sound of autumn together late at night. 3. Painting Bamboo [Ming Dynasty] Liu Shishao
Whoever makes uneven pipes will sound sad and arouse hatred.
The dragon rises late at night, and the bright moon fills Xiaoxiang. 4. Painted Bamboo [Ming Dynasty] Wang Zuo
The Xiaoxiang green jade Kunlun stone is moved to the plain wall of the high hall.
The cool breeze brings snow in the four seats, and half of the windows keep out rain and smoke drops.
Nine doubtful dreams break away from the Yao and the cold, and the shadows of the clouds fall on the two flying luan.
The neon banners cover her and she is about to go back. The beauty is holding a gift of blue langan.
I also wiped away the green moss and sat on the jagged green sky.
The ghosts in the mountains cry at dusk at the end of the day, and I write my own feelings to express my memories. 5. Painting Bamboo [Qing Dynasty] Zheng Xie
For forty years, he has been painting bamboo branches and writing down his thoughts at night during the day.
The redundant and complex parts have been trimmed away, leaving a lean body. When the painting is raw, it is when it is ripe. 6. Inscription on Bamboo [Qing Dynasty] Zheng Xie
Two branches of slender bamboo stand out in the sky, and a few new bamboo leaves hang upside down.
We have the same root and spirit, no matter how low or how high! 7. Inscription on Bamboo [Qing Dynasty] Xiang Yuzhang
When I was a summer vacationer, I recalled my hometown in Jiang, and built a wall of bamboos for my love.
Today I transplanted it on the fan, and it will cool down without wind or rain. 8. Song of Painting Bamboo [Tang Dynasty] Bai Juyi
Among the plants, bamboo is difficult to write about, and there is no similar painting in ancient and modern times.
Xiao Lang’s writing is unique and lifelike, and he is the only one in the history of painting.
People paint the bamboo body as fat and bloated, while Xiao paints the stem as thin and gnarled.
People paint bamboo shoots with dead and hanging leaves, while Xiao paints branches with moving leaves.
Grown from ideas without roots, grown from pen without shoots.
On the bank of the wild pond, there are two thick bushes with fifteen stems.
Chanjuan still retains her charming look, while Xiao Sa retains her romantic charm.
When I raised my head, it suddenly didn’t look like a painting. I lowered my ears and listened quietly for suspicious sounds.
The seven stems of the Western Cong are strong and healthy, and can be seen on the stone in front of Tianzhu Temple.
The eight stems of the eastern bush are sparse and cold. I recall watching them in the rain in the temple of Concubine Zeng Xiang.
The quiet posture is far away and I miss the few people leaving. I look at the empty space with you and sigh.
Xiao Lang, Xiao Lang is old, his hands are trembling, his eyes are dizzy and his head is as white as snow.
When I say that this is my last work, it is especially rare to write it now.