A poem about Iris 1 Poetry about iris.
Light iris/October blue light, an iris. Gently, emitting a fresh fragrance. On a colorful summer day, you smiled, not because the sneer of the rose beside you was charming, nor because the peony was generous and beautiful. Your smile is bright and simple, just like the smiling face of a child in June. Harmony, love for summer, expectation for summer. However, in this gorgeous pink season, only the butterfly shadow protects the flowers and plants around you, but it doesn't pick honey from you alone; Soft moonlight caresses the petals beside you, but leaves you alone in the lonely night. On a cold and sad morning, round dew, with tiredness, dripped on your petite petals and turned into crystal clear and lonely tears. Iris, you also long for your own butterfly and touch your own flower and moon. However, that tearful morning, a faint cool breeze blew the bleak autumn, and the flowers fell, but I couldn't bear to watch you wither and wither and be buried in the autumn soil painfully. If I were a butterfly, I would take you off cruelly and protect that bright smile forever; If I were the moon, I would burn you decisively, take away your fragrance, and together with that lonely love, seal it deeply and sprinkle it with the soft moonlight that never dies. Perhaps, this is my eternal and selfish fantasy.
Goddess of the rainbow
1 at night, in the wind, on the edge of the rain,
I found five irises, and I said they were lovely.
Like a woman, once, lying beside them.
Then wake up, get up, walk away and let your hair linger.
Memories on their sweet tongues.
I really want to tear off these petals with my teeth.
I really want to study these hairy selves,
Their beauty and indifference. they
Hold your breath all your life
Open, open.
2
We are not lovers, brothers and sisters,
Although we strolled through the hall hand in hand
When thoughts and desires
Extinguish, in this dream of life,
In this sleeping life, we die awake-
Purple turns blue, turn
Black, black, all these.
Pray by iris,
When she prayed for her home.
& lt/p & gt；
2. Poems about Alice
Iris (Xi Murong)
Goddess of the rainbow
Please keep silent and never answer me again.
After all, I must leave this tenderness and clarity.
Spring with a breezy face
It's bright, meticulous and tireless.
A world in which all life processes are presented.
Even if it is an effort to expand the small joy.
Concentrate on taste.
The happiness of peace is prolonged as much as possible.
And then between the starting point and the end point
The mysterious distance is still unmeasurable.
This boundless loneliness must be shouldered.
All the memories are not far from me.
In the silent forest, the traces of moss that we have walked through are reflected.
But there is an uncertain mood, even if it is
I found the right word, and I gradually lost control.
Finally, I am yours.
Like the purple iris in spring.
After all, we still have to turn our backs on each other.
(and at the moment, it is beautiful in an extreme time. It's finally a masterpiece. )
References:
Xi Murong's Poems
There is a poem about Iris.
Shu Ting's "Singing Iris" Singing Iris Shu Ting, my sadness rises a faint light wheel because of your light-inscription 1 I have become a singing iris on your chest. The breeze you breathe blows me, and in the tinkling moonlight, you temporarily cover me with your broad palm. 2. Can I dream now? It's snowing.
Ancient wind chimes and leaning towers in the big forest. Can I have a real Christmas tree with skates, magic flute, fairy-tale fireworks and fountains to show off my happiness? 3. Where is my little basket? What about the autumn harvest of my fertile land and long grass? Where is my old kettle? What about my thirsty lunch break under the scaffold? What about the bow I haven't played with? My English exercise: I love you. Love you, I fold the elongated figure under the street lamp, and I shed countless tears. Don't ask me why I turned my head slightly in my dream. Like a cricket hiding in a corner, I sobbed quietly and stubbornly, which made me have a quiet dream. Don't leave my short street We've been walking for a long time. Let me have a peaceful dream. Don't bother me. Ignore the crows who can't hover. As long as there are no clouds in your eyes, let me have an absurd dream. Do not laugh at me. I will walk into your poems every day and come back to you with red every night. Let me have a crazy dream. You are my darling, don't blame me ... I even long for the waves of passion to drown you thousands of times. When our heads meet, like a high-speed train to the moon, the world screams sharply and falls backwards. Time spins wildly and falls like an avalanche. When we look at each other quietly, the soul is like a whirlpool in an art exhibition. Sunshine attracts us to deeper silence and enrichment. Harmony Six just sat in the dark, holding hands, listening to the old and young voice passing through our hearts. Even if the emperor knocks at the door, you don't have to pay attention, but ... wait seven times? What is that? What sound woke up the scarlet heartbeat in my veins? When I feel dizzy, I will always be awake in the sea. What is that? Whose will makes my body and soul eyes open together. "You have to carry a cross every day and come with me." Eight umbrella-shaped dream dandelions generally fly around a crater. You'd rather live and die than go back to your stormy hillside. Don't shake the wild swan in my nature on the vase. Even if you are shot, you should cross the winter without shelter and don't miss the spring scenery with railings. My name and my belief appear on the runway at the same time, representing a single record of this country. I have no right to rest. The sprint of life has no end, only ten speeds. I will look up to the sky, where I will make the highest decision. You can take me with you, but I still have the right to admit that I am not happy. Dear, raise your lamp and follow me on the road. Let me spread it far away with my poem. The ideal clock is behind the swamp in the hometown of overseas Chinese. The night is so gentle. Lights and cities are gathered in my arms. The lights are arched. Let my poem continue to trudge with me. The avenue twisted its tentacles and shouted: I can't cross the earth with spring water, but I gave the road sign to Hua 12. I walked through the criss-crossing city streets of Kouga. Go to the square, walk into the pumpkin shed, walk out of the highlands and live in the wilderness. I cast a heavy yoke while wearing a corolla, but no one knows that I am still your stupid girl who can't calculate. No matter how the symphony of the times immediately swept away my echo, you can still hear my unique voice. I stood upright, tasteless and proud. Especially young and painful storm in my heart. The sun is on my forehead. My yellow skin is bright and transparent. My black hair is thick. Chinese mother, rename the child who came to answer. Call me your "birch seedling" and your "little blue star". Mom, if the bullet comes, hit me first. I smiled and my eyes slowly slid down from my mother's shoulder. Don't cry, safflower and blood. Burning on your waves ... at that time, don't be sad, my love, although no one will raise a light-colored dress through the rain lane to knock on your stained glass window, although there will be no naughty hand to dial the alarm clock, angrily say: now go to your place, go back to your route, don't shape my simple image on the jade base, and don't turn the calendar page by page with a lonely guitar. Your position under that banner is ideal, making the pain shine. This is the last sentence I entrusted to you from the olive tree. Come to see me with pigeons in the morning. You will find me in people's love and your feelings, which is the love of the younger generation. Confusion and the pursuit of love. This poem was written in a sad and optimistic way and ended in a cheerful and confident way. It makes people feel that the iris, which represents love and beauty, will bloom.
4. sentences describing the blooming of iris
Iris is beautiful and graceful, much like lily. But lily has six petals, but people don't know that iris has only three petals, and the other three petals are sepals to protect the bud. It is precisely because these three petal-shaped sepals look like petals that they are often confused with the real ones and difficult to identify. Because Europeans often refer to iris as "lily", many people think that the national flower of France is lily. Although they understand this, they are used to it and can't change their minds.
Hey! Yesterday, the blue buds turned red overnight, and the buds were competing to grow, and my heart was full of joy. Ah! That half-purple and half-green bud is in bloom! Their openings are about the size of water bottle caps. There is a pale yellow stamen in the center of the flower, which is very beautiful. Like a beautiful butterfly, the breeze blows and the butterfly dances.