Play pipa poetry

1. Poem on the rebound of pipa

Poetry is rebounding pipa 1. Play the poem on the pipa

The sword, spear and halberd are hoarse.

Who will take you to see the fighting outside the city?

Seven-fold gauze clothes spattered with white gauze and blood.

Enemy at the Gates's Sixth Army won't send it.

But goodbye is life and death.

At that time, it was thousands of times around the red line.

For others, the difference between thought and marriage

That scar. Whose old scar?

You can still drink tea quietly.

Crush this bustling fireworks.

A painting stained with blood

How to fight a little cinnabar on your forehead?

Covering the whole world.

It will always be just a fashion.

Flowers dyed red with green blood

I just want to see you cry again.

Listen to the silence of the sword

This tall building is dying and falling down.

It means peach blossom, a lifelong killer.

Who calculated the divination for you?

The perfect romance is not false.

Pipa plays on the west side of Hualou.

Warm air is everywhere. Who is in the spirit?

Color gives the soul and upside down glory.

Refuse to shine on wax.

Say you love flowers rather than childhood friends.

Finally, forget the divination.

I always protect you from the wind and rain.

The bright moon lit up the horizon.

Who finally got the cockroach?

Jiangshan neighing war horse

The silent voice in your arms

The wind blows through heaven and earth.

Hua Rong thanked her and became king of the world.

Climb the Nine Towers

Watching the shooting stars whisper all night.

Go back to that moment

Silent years are also terrible.

Dead vines will grow branches.

It turns out that time passes very lightly.

Dreaming upstairs and under the moon

You are still standing there.

Brush the snowflakes off the clothes.

Look at the vastness of the world side by side

Go back to that moment

Silent years are also terrible.

Dead vines will grow branches.

It turns out that time passes very lightly.

Dreaming upstairs and under the moon

You are still standing there.

Brush the snowflakes off the clothes.

Look at the vastness of the world side by side

Dreaming upstairs and under the moon

You are still standing there.

Brush the snowflakes off the clothes.

Look at the vastness of the world side by side

PS: This is a song. There is also that sentence in it.

2. Try to describe the famous sentence of "Bouncing Back to the Pipa" in Dunhuang, which should be artistic ~ ~

Subtract the word Huanxisha/Huanxisha (this is one word, but it is also seven words).

He Zhu

Find old pipa songs at leisure. The ukulele complains but sings deeply. Yan Feijing painted a deep hall. Sometimes the pillow becomes a rainy dream, and there is nowhere to talk about sex between curtains. From midnight to now.

At the banquet, Yao played and sang a song "Beauty Returns".

Lu Lun (Although this song is playing the guzheng, the words are beautiful, so I'll give you some excerpts).

Tightly closed wrists wrapped in black tea,

Deeply restrain the red string and low eyebrows.

Suddenly, Zhang Ying became complicated.

Jade fingers whirl like snow.

This kind of style of writing that I like is rare in Tang poetry, but it is common in Song ci after the Five Dynasties, as well as in beauty description, pipa, funeral march and so on. It is also one of the main themes of the five pronouns. In other words, if the standard of metrical rules is relaxed, there should be more words that meet the artistic conception.

There is a modern poem, which contains a sentence: "I am the only one playing the pipa in the middle of the night."

The landlord's question is vague, and there are two reasons why there is no answer from asking questions to now:

First, there are not enough keywords. You need to provide relevant clues, such as where you saw it, the author's information, the main line of poetry, etc. The more detailed, the better.

Second, what you were reading was not a poem, but a sentence in the lyrics: Who is playing the pipa? The lyrics are as follows:

fly

Singer: Smile.

If the sea dries up, there will still be a tear.

It is also a thousand reincarnation waiting for you.

Looking back suddenly, I have been stumbling.

All the pride in 2008 can only fly in the painting.

Who is the man who blows Xiao in the desert sunset?

Let the years peel off the red skirt but be scarred.

Who is playing the pipa in the desolate castle?

Just wait for me to come and go in a hurry to meet this life.

Fireworks are flying all over the sky. Who are you attractive to?

It's just that you were drunk when you looked at the flowers.

Quicksand, quicksand, flying all over the sky, who is haggard for you?

Just fate is like water.

4. Writing about playing pipa

Rebound pipa: originally originated from Dunhuang murals, it is a dance style, and now refers to breaking through the conventional way of thinking and behavior; Looking at the problem from the opposite side is unconventional.

Playing the pipa is the most beautiful dance in Dunhuang art, which is vigorous, fast and harmonious. Playing the pipa is actually playing music and dance, which concentrates superb playing skills and wonderful dancing skills on the shoulders of this dance position gracefully and charmingly. It is difficult for us to know whether there was really a talented Longji as a model at the beginning, or whether it was the imagination and outstanding creation of the painters. In any case, playing pipa is an eternal symbol of Datang culture.

Rebound arpeggio is a form and result of seeking difference thinking. After seeking differences in various directions, it is finally determined to develop in the opposite (or relative) direction to the original "information", that is, a reverse thinking of seeking differences. Only by using the method of reverse thinking can we have a new artistic conception and make people think.

5. Write poems about beautiful women playing pipa

On the trip to pipa, I saw off guests on the banks of Xunyang River, and maple leaves and rushes rustled in autumn.

I, the host, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our cups, hoping to drink-but, alas, there is no music. Although we drank a lot of wine, we were not happy. When we were leaving each other, the river mysteriously widened in the direction of the full moon.

We heard a sudden sound, a guitar crossed the water, the host forgot to go home and the guests left. We followed the melody, asked the player's name, and the voice was interrupted ... and then she reluctantly answered.

We moved the boat closer to hers, invited her to join us, and summoned more wine and lanterns to start our party again. However, before she came to us, we called a thousand times and urged her for a thousand times, but she still hid half of her face behind her guitar from us.

... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings. Every string is a kind of meditation, and every note is a kind of deep thinking, as if she were telling us the pain of her life.

She frowned and bent her fingers, then started her music and talked about endless things in your heart. Take your time, first the air in the rainbow skirt, then the six small ones.

Big strings hum like rain, and small strings whisper like secrets. Humming, whispering-and then mixing together, like pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade.

Between Guan Ying's words, the bottom of the flower is slippery, and spring water flows along the beach. By checking its cold touch, the string seems to be broken, which makes us never stop.

The depth of sadness and the hiding of sadness are more told in silence than in voice. A silver vase suddenly burst, pouring out a stream of water, jumping out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons.

Before she put down the pick, her stroke was over, and all four strings made a sound, just like tearing silk. The east ship was silent, and the west ship was silent. We saw the white autumn moon entering the river.

Put it on the strings thoughtfully, straighten clothes and gather customers. Tell us how she spent her girlhood in the capital and lived in her parents' house in Toad Hill.

She mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, and her name ranked first in the list of musicians. Song often teaches excellent talents, and her beauty is the envy of all the leading dancers.

How did the aristocratic youths in Wuling compete generously? Countless red silks were given to a song. And the blood color of the skirt was stained by wine, China.

Season after season, joy followed, and neither the autumn moon nor the spring breeze attracted her attention. My brother joined the army and my aunt died. Night after night passed and her beauty disappeared.

There were fewer and fewer cars and horses in front of the door, and finally she married herself to a businessman. Who, first of all, stole money, accidentally left her and went to Fuliang to buy tea a month ago.

Go to Jiangkou to watch the boat in the air, and the moon sails around the boat in cold water. Sometimes in the middle of the night, she dreams of her victory and is awakened from her dream by her hot tears.

Her first guitar note made me sigh. Now, after listening to her story, I feel even sadder. We were all unhappy until the end of the day, when we met. We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? .

A year ago, I left the capital and came here. Now I am a sick Jiujiang exile. Jiujiang is so far away that I haven't heard music, neither strings nor bamboo sounds for a whole year.

I live in a small town near the river, which is low and humid. Huang Lu bitter bamboo is born around the house. What can you hear here in the morning and evening? The cuckoo's bleeding cry, the ape's sobbing.

I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the spring morning with flowers and the autumn night with moonlight shining. Of course, there are folk songs and bagpipes in the village, which are hard to hear.

Tonight, when I heard you playing the guitar, I felt that my hearing was illuminated by wonderful music. Don't leave us. Come, sit down. Play it for us again. I will write a Long song about guitar. ..

... she was moved by my words, stood there for a while, and then sat down to play her strings-they sounded even sadder. Although the tune was different from what she had played before, all the listeners covered their faces.

But which of them cried the most? , this Jiujiang officer. My blue sleeves are wet.