Gansu Jingning No.1 Middle School Youth Literature Society Li Chenglong
commemorate
The lost time, like the April wind blowing through the willow branches, frightened the weak catkins, a pale memory cloud and a clear sky in Wan Li.
Youth has no conspicuous personality, no extraordinary qualifications, and no free and easy rebellion. Every time I think about it, it is a low tide of youth.
Loneliness is a growing fish, wandering in a gray mind. In the dim light, a lonely shadow is far away and near. In the dark night, I am pious until dawn.
An vacillating ideal
In the darkness, the footsteps of youth can't measure the distance of dawn. The pace of walking is so hesitant.
I have nowhere to put my youth, and the other side is farther than the distance;
Where will the silence I can't let go break out? The silent night is quieter than me.
I have no choice but to wander there. Which is closer, tranquility or noise?
The swaying ideal is thinner than the grass in the wind, and the weak body has no bones.
a poem
A poem floated into the depths of my soul, and her lithe figure turned into a flying purple swallow, as if she had struck a match in the dark, and the black world would be inlaid with a touch of light.
My night is no longer lonely, I choose to move forward resolutely at the crossroads. There is no longer night than my feet.
In front of me, the dawn of a fish-belly grey shone with poetic light, and I began to write poems, the real world and my quiet past.
Following the footsteps of poetry, my messy footprints became poetic. I can't touch my handwriting. The charm of a poem attracted me into a whole new world. From then on, my life is full of colorful words, shallow poetry, faint images and good wishes.
husband
I prefer to call him the old man than the teacher, which is a kind name.
Standing on the three-foot platform, the old man taught us meticulously and painted a beautiful blueprint for our growth. A white piece of chalk wrote a beautiful story, and the white hair stained with chalk dust sparkled in the sun.
That morning, he led us into the creative platform with magnetic language and injected the beautiful image of poetry into my mind. Thoughts under the spider web began to sprout, like bamboo shoots after the rain, and my uncontrollable excitement filled every nerve. Every cell of my literature is singing the life I want to bloom.
The old man brought poems, which awakened my sleeping words and aroused my fanatical literary interest. I only have one thought, I want to write articles, I want to write poems, and I want to write about this emotion.
I don't know how to describe my feelings. Every time I start writing every word, I can't forget my father's earnest teaching. It is a star that guides me to go further and further on the road of literary creation. Insist on literary creation, and believe me, a small boat drifting outside, will one day find a warm harbor to dock. Because an old man stood on the lighthouse in front of me and guided me back to Hong Kong.
I want to write a poem for the old man and my dear teacher!
Feeling or imagination?
The footsteps of the years bring all kinds of loads to the end of life. My simple pen won't stop, describing a dull image, not a dull beauty.
Persevering in the sleepy night. Only a shining star beckons the dawn. Like the old man's eyes, every teacher has the appearance of a star, nervous and writing on the podium.
I stood by the Yellow River and looked forward to the next child inspired by poetry.
(Instructor: Li Xinping)