Water fights in fish ponds,
Yellow chestnuts hide hope,
Count the pride of catching scarabs.
Fold the textbook into a paper plane and throw it out of the classroom window.
Footprints left by barefoot spread hope,
Disappear into the soil, grow grass,
There is no trace at the scene. The window of the classroom.
internally and externally
It doesn't allow me to be confused.
I want to sail.
Rolling the Yangtze River upstream (part two)
Poetry in the classroom
Lin Andong
The electric fan is always on.
The light from the electric lamp is cut off forever.
Intermittent lights
Reminds me of a terrible cemetery.
It's quiet and cool.
only
This place is crowded with people.
Ghosts are everywhere.
People here are forced to open their heads.
The ghost there was forced to take his own life.
I guess
This is the same.
Recall my childhood.
When I was young, I whipped the top to spin, and time passed like this.
Looking back on my childhood friends,
Roasted cicada,
Looking forward to foraging and growing in the fields,
Take away the imagination and pour it on the rice pile in the grain field
2. Chen's two modern window poems.
( 1)
Your window
Sail to the sun
Open to the blue sky in April
Why is it covered with heavy curtains?
Let the spring breeze slip through the smoke?
How will I find it?
Those lonely footprints
At your quiet window
How will I find it?
My lost sigh?
Let the night be full of stars
Bring you my thoughts.
It can also bring you worry-free sleep.
I feel like a stranger.
Walk quietly by your window.
(2)
Emptiness locks your window.
Lock my sunshine
Heavy curtains block the view.
Let the night breeze stay the same.
Free swallows
It's gone. You took it with you
According to my shadow
Your lighthouse
I got lost alone.
Endless dusk
I have trouble sleeping.
Cold winter
And my window.
Drive into the night
Open to the silent starry sky
Ai Qing outside the window
original work
On such a beautiful day
I looked out of the window leisurely.
I can see her, too
She is in my imaginary window.
I hope she is at the window, too.
Support a plump chin with your hands.
And her gentle eyes
Immersed in thoughts.
In her missing eyes
Reflect a boundless sky.
The color of that day
It is as green as a dream.
Above the blue sky
White clouds are floating.
Track that cloud.
She can see my shadow.
Yes, she can see me.
It is also on such a day.
Because I also live in
In the window of her fantasy
3. Zheng Chouyu's mistakes in describing windows in modern poems.
I walked across the south of the Yangtze River/I looked like a lotus flower in the season/the east wind didn't come, the catkins in March didn't fly/your ass.
My heart is like a small lonely city/like a bluestone street/dead of night, the spring curtain in March is not exposed/your heart is there.
The closed casement/My horseshoe is a beautiful mistake/I am not a returnee, I am a passer-by. ...
Bian Zhilin's>
You stand on the bridge and watch the scenery.
The landscape man is watching you upstairs.
The bright moon decorated your window.
You decorated other people's dreams.
A dusty window —— Dedicated to Mr. Lu Xun (modern poetry)
sir
If that dusty window
Transmit a ray of sunlight
What's behind the sunshine?
Is it a comforting look?
Is it a long-term grief?
Or something that should have been forgotten long ago?
Oaths and promises that cannot be forgotten?
It is cloudy.
If it rains, it won't rain, but if it is sunny, it must be sunny.
Grass is growing.
The new swallow seems to realize something.
Slide gently
What kind of gesture is that?
Not a strong man
And not weak.
As if with heart or heart.
Skim under the dark sky
A little stubborn, right?
Have a little patience
Some are helpless.
A little sad ...
Some, unwilling and rebellious, right?
This is a secular gesture.
This is a gesture, we pretend to be strong, but in fact we are weak.
Sir, what you shouldn't remember is deeply remembered.
So what cannot be forgotten has been forgotten.
If so, how many memorial halls are there?
Hua Song took blood under the ice.
I want to be unrestrained, but I just froze.
The burning fire in Yuan Ye is fragrant because of the barbecue game.
I don't know if roast game hurts.
Do the burnt ashes know the pain?
Fire shouldn't be used like this!
Fire was once used by our ancestors to drive away the cold.
To guard against wild animals, now
Should it be used to burn our souls?
why
But to fill endless desires? !
Cloudy sky
The cloud refused to retreat.
And the wind has been shrinking.
Even if the dusty window is opened.
Can there be a ray of sunshine?
Eager flowers are crying in despair on the balcony.
How many years later, sir?
We can't long for the exciting sunshine.
Is the sunshine buried with handwritten banners? !
But the little firefly took away all the gloomy days.
Can you grow?
Grow up like spring grass.
Some souvenirs
Because of the unique form
And it looks heavy and desolate.
However, in the final analysis, it is just some memorial services!
Although that window never opened again.
The sun never shines through.
And not completely dead-is this hope?
I dream on such a day.
I hope other memorial halls will not be so sad.
4. The poem describing the classroom is the ancient poem Song Renzong.
Give a poem to Zhang Heng, the top scholar.
Pay attention to the school for ten years,
Sure enough, there is an article today.
Qianshan moved during the Lingao earthquake,
Sweet-scented osmanthus blossoms, and Wan Li is fragrant.
In the three waves, the dragon showed its horns,
Beyond the clouds, the phoenix is auspicious.
The champion post is written in gold,
Straight into the stadium and become a pillar.
Tang Lihe. Quotations from Li Ping.
Wu Si, Shu and Zhang Tong are in high autumn, and the empty mountains are not flowing.
Jiang Yue wept for Motome's sadness, while Ping Li was playing China.
Kunshan jade broken Fengming, hibiscus crying, Xianglan laughing.
The cold light melts in front of the twelve gates, and the twenty-three silk moves the purple emperor.
Nu Wa makes up the sky by refining stones, and the stones break the ground to stir up the autumn rain.
Dream into the holy mountain to teach the gods, and the old fish dance with the waves.
Wu Mian leans against the laurel tree, showing his feet and flying obliquely to wet cold rabbits.
5. Poem 2 about the classroom. shabby room
Although it is,
Some shacks,
Some old tables and chairs.
But usually a song is not finished,
Then a song started again.
Until today,
This song is still singing,
I just can't see you.
It's not what it used to be,
This kind of singing,
Ten thousand kinds of laughter,
Who treasures it?
Passing by,
It's a long way,
Who pity the prodigal son?
If you want to make a color book without paper,
Crush the broken pen.
How many things,
Has become a dream,
What are you talking about?
Less wood, no rice;
A bedroll,
A bundle of broken books,
Just trying to keep quiet.