After reading 300 Tang poems, 800 words _ thoughts after reading them

Poetry is the prosperity of Shili Peach Blossom, the yearning for caring, and the pride of defending our country. Poetry is loneliness in wandering, pain in rainy nights and picturesque scenery in memory. People say that the world is like a dream, and it is cool in autumn several times. There was a light on the balcony last night, and suddenly the building was empty. Looking back on the battlefield of that year, Tiema Glacier can only dream now, which is unpredictable. In those poems, I witnessed the ups and downs of the dynasty and was finally buried by the years. Seeing the homesickness of many wanderers, I can't get rid of it. Looking full of vigor and ambition. Looking back suddenly, those people, those things, those poems last forever. When I accidentally think of it, it is still as bright as ever. The thread in the hand of a kind mother makes clothes for her wayward children. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. However, an inch of long grass is a little sentimental, and it has won three spring rays. "Mother sat peacefully under the oil lamp. Her hands trembled slightly, her needle and thread shuttled back and forth, her face was full of years of fatigue, and her temples were bright and white. Year after year, year after year. Needle and thread, dense, she sewed endless thoughts and concerns into the cuffs of her clothes, and the obsession in her heart slowly melted like lamp oil and fell to the ground, as if the moonlight had spilled all over the floor. Mother is old, but as stubborn as a child. She is worried that the child will not return as scheduled and wait silently in her hometown. It is said that maternal love is like a song and tender as water, and it is not until today that I realize the true meaning. A few days ago, my mother and I went downstairs for a walk. I always like to go ahead. As soon as I turned around, I saw that my face was flush with mine, and the fine lines on her face were like the love she had gone through. I slowed down until I was side by side with my mother. Under the dim street lamp, there are a lot of silver wires in her sparse hair. "Mom, you have white hair." I whispered to her. "Alas, I am getting old." She seems to be sighing, and her eyes seem to be full of fog. My mind was drawn back to many years ago, when my little hand couldn't touch her arm, and my mother liked to bend down and talk to me. At that time, my only wish was that one day I could hold her hand and walk through every street like my father. I remember when I was a child, I always liked to share a bed with my mother. The cold of my body is close to the hot of her skin. She always pushes me away, half true and half false, far away, until the bed. But every morning when I wake up and open my eyes, I always find myself curled up in her arms like a kitten, feeling her sonorous heartbeat. Scenes of the past came to mind, and a warm current climbed into my heart. In a trance, I was still the little girl who babbled. She was still young. "No, you are only forty years old. You are very young. " I took my mother's hand and walked slowly along the street. I only remember that our shadow has been pulled for a long time, like a time that can't be left behind.

When reading poetry, it is inevitable to know the poet. Meng Jiao is called "the prisoner of poetry". I feel a little sour after reading the information. There are too many thorns and bumps in his life and how many storms he has experienced. Perhaps only when people have some experiences and count the past, can they appreciate the affection. It turns out that many people are passers-by in our lives, and even our parents only accompany us for half a lifetime. There will always be parting, and some roads can only be taken by one person. We should not treat our parents' love as profligacy, but cherish it.

"It's hard to go! Travel is hard, don't go astray! Where to go today. One day, I will ride the wind and waves, sail straight and cross the deep sea. " This is selected from Li Bai's It's Hard to Walk. Li Bai wrote countless poems in his life, but I have a special liking for this one. "If I could do it all over again, I would choose Li Bai. Creation can be so high-end and worshipped by so many people. " This is a very popular song not long ago. I envy Li Bai, fall in love with his outstanding literary talent, and yearn for his free and easy. "Cook a sheep, kill a cow, sharpen your appetite, let me, three hundred bowls, a long drink! "His" Into the Wine "is full of chic words, and every sentence is sung in high spirits. I thought he was a contented man. He drank a glass of wine and forgot his sadness. "It is not shameful to die as a chivalrous man." His lofty sentiments of "chivalry" and "killing one person in ten steps" have subverted my view. But when I read "It's hard to walk", I felt respect in my heart. The poet skillfully uses the hardships of the journey as a metaphor for the ups and downs of his official career. In officialdom, you fight for me, flatter me, and hit the poet again and again. Fate is doomed not to be smooth sailing, and the stormy sea will crush him. However, Li Bai's greatness lies in that he has not been defeated by ruthless fate, and he is still "willing to ride the wind and waves", and he is more and more brave until he reaches the other side of his ideal. Those who love China must respect the spirit and culture of China. Thousands of years ago, our ancestors gnashed their teeth in the face of adversity, but never gave up lightly, struggling to find a glimmer of light in the face of tragic adversity. And after many years, have we inherited this spirit? Suddenly, I remembered my head teacher, Mr. Yu, who came out of a poor village where nothing grows, went to a tiny county, worked hard step by step, and now came to Nanjing, the provincial capital. I vaguely remember him talking to us about his hazy eyes, tears in the rain again and again, sleepless nights and disastrous exams. Things are so unsatisfactory. He was depressed several times, too. He told us that he was lonely and helpless in those confused days. Only poetry and books accompanied him, and in those painful years, words accompanied him. Today, he was surprised at several poems he learned in class. Why should we read poetry? What we read is not words, but souls. As young people, we should learn from the spirit of the ancients, face difficulties and strive for a better tomorrow. One day, we can walk through the thick clouds and find the light of hope.

"Although a country is divided, mountains and rivers still exist, and trees and grass turn green again in spring. Sad state, can not help but burst into tears, amazing birds, leaving sorrow and hate. The war lasted for more than half a year, and letters from home were rare, with a hundred thousand gold. I stroke my white hair. It has become so thin that it can no longer hold hairpins. " Speaking of patriotism, there are countless famous poets in history, but what I admire most is the poet and sage Du Fu. I still remember the first time I came into contact with his poems, when I was in primary school. "The news of this distant western station! The north has been recovered! At first, I couldn't stop tears from coming to my coat. " It is said that the two banks of the Yellow River were recaptured by the imperial army is the first quick poem in his life. I am too young to understand the depth of the country. Being "ecstatic" with him is also a different kind of happiness. Different from Li Bai's romance, he gives the impression of profound realism. And when I read this song "Hope in Spring", my heart was hit hard and I felt breathless. The capital fell and the city was broken. Although the mountains and rivers are still there, there are grass everywhere and the trees are gray. Ancient poets and poets always liked to write such words as "deep", "how deep the courtyard is" and "the plants and trees are green in spring", which was stained with desolation and helplessness. In the occupied Chang 'an, the ancient dance music has long since disappeared, and the prosperity of a city has suddenly turned into sand. Looking at it, it is dilapidated, and there are no people in thousands of miles, only weeds. Sentimental current events, the sight of beautiful flowers, my thoughts were aroused, and I remembered two lines of muddy tears that wet my clothes. I haven't seen my family for days, and my thoughts are getting stronger and stronger. Suddenly, I heard birds singing, and my heart trembled and started suddenly. Look at the blazing war, spreading the blue sky to the color of blood, and then look at the diffuse smoke. I don't know when to stop. Waiting silently, I only hope to send a letter from home, telling my family that my wife and children are safe. Time flies, white hair, like dead leaves falling in late autumn, falls in large quantities, becoming more and more rare, and it is almost impossible to make a hair clasp. After reading the poem, my heart is empty, but it seems to be blocked by something. Thousands of years in China, how many wars have been experienced in this land, and how many families have been ruined. Those years of escape and wandering will never be forgotten. I should be glad that I was born in such a peaceful era, an era of sunny all day. You can see your parents' faces when you wake up in the morning and say "good night" before going to bed. After reading those poems, I suddenly felt how happy I was. Mencius said: "The foundation of the world is in the country, the foundation of the country is at home, and the foundation of the home is in the body." As descendants of the Chinese people, we should try our best to make modest contributions to our country. Today's very popular movie Wolf Warriors, "When you encounter difficulties abroad, don't forget that there is a strong motherland behind you." Friends circle, Weibo dynamic, have praised. The inner shock at that moment was beyond words. But after that, who really took action? Words are useless, we should devote ourselves to practical actions. As students, if we are filial to our parents, respect our elders and study hard, we are patriotic. It doesn't need to make earth-shattering events, but it exists in every bit of life.

I remember when I was a child, I was not interested in poetry. It is better than a fairy tale, watching the princess meet the prince after many twists and turns, hoping that the little match girl will quietly ascend to heaven on that snowy night. At that time, my knowledge was poor, but I stayed in "Goose Goose, Goose Goose, Xiang Tiange". "This slightly superficial poem. Just reciting, never trying to understand. Now when I grow up, I find that poetry is not just poetry, it can contain many things. Poetry can be a kind of memory, just like showing a silent movie and carving an inch of old times. Look at the previous dynasties, how many romantic figures there are, and there are endless heroic epics; Is it still the same today? Poetry can be Qian Qian's eternal sustenance: travelers express their thoughts and concerns about their hometown through poetry; General soldiers who fought bravely on the battlefield expressed their patriotism and ambition to serve the country through poems; Affectionate people use poetry to express their heartbreaking love for beauty ... poetry is more a symbol of cultural prosperity and an unparalleled peak!

If China is a country of poetry, then Tang poetry is the peak and treasure in the history of China's poetry development. Its length is not long, but it is the crystallization of the wisdom of Chinese children. Between the lines, it embodies the strength of China people from generation to generation. It tells us that the Chinese nation has gone through thousands of years of history. We have grieved and cried, but we have never given up! We should inherit and carry forward it, and make it an eternal classic of China, which will remain in the hearts of the people of China forever.

One song, one dance, one pipa, one winter, one autumn and one summer, one smile, one care, one knife, one sword and one scar, one mountain and one water for a lifetime. When the sideburns turn into frost, I sigh in my poem that life is like a dream; When the sideburns turn into frost, looking back at the bustling road, it is full of injuries; Frost the temples, make a pot of green tea, watch the lights on the balcony last night, and wait for the afterlife to be full of red makeup.

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