My father
Your gray hair.
Tell me you're not young anymore.
Your bent back beam
Used to hold up a sky at home.
Your rough palm
How many hardships paved the way for me.
Father, oh, father
This word is so beautiful.
He will feel warm when he is helpless.
Shouting when discouraged will restore his confidence.
Father, oh, father
How many wrinkles are there on your forehead?
Frown day and night
Let the mark left by the years
Your efforts are endless.
I see through your love.
Behind your hard work for your children
I will never be able to repay you.
Father, your back is as wide as a mountain.
You are tirelessly waiting for me.
Unconsciously,
Time has dyed your hair white.
Crows have the ability to feed back.
Sheep have the grace of kneeling and nursing.
Father, I sent you too many kind greetings.
I have so much to say to you.
Father, my father
Your love flies in the wind
You are the eternal sun in my heart.
You are the swan song of the children's six-string piano.
Modern poetry about father II. paternal love
This is a song.
This song
To the heart
Sing softly
paternal love
This is a painting.
This painting
Hanging in my heart
Don't show off in front of your eyes
paternal love
This is a mountain.
This mountain
Tough and straight
The sky will not fall.
paternal love
This is a river.
This river
Sometimes the waves are rough.
But more often,
It is calm and soft.
ah
On this festival,
Let's wade across the river again.
Look at this mountain.
Look at this picture.
Listen to this song.
You'll really understand
The greatness of fatherly love
You'll really understand
The once strong body
Why did you finally bend?
Inclined bow
Modern poetry with the theme of father always wants to go back to that era.
I'm still young, and you haven't experienced wind and frost.
Always trying to stop this growth,
I'm still in your heaven.
How I want to erase it. When I left my hometown,
Your worried eyes.
I wish I could hide when I get married,
Your sadness.
Now, your white hair has nowhere to hide,
And I married far away.
Now, you still keep reminding me,
I have too much to hide in my heart.
I don't want to be too sentimental,
But when I think about it, I hate the rush of time.
I don't want to remember,
Memories, you led me out of every confusion.
Thank you for taking care of you all the way.
Let me not know the direction of happiness.
Appreciate every day with you,
Like the sunshine in spring.
Warm my heart.
Father is a desolate village.
I woke up from a nightmare in the city.
The soul is in the undulating building.
Trekking from one building to another.
Looking for a locust tree as lonely as his father.
A father as stubborn as a plow share.
Guard a few acres of thin land with his cattle.
I hope to dig out something interesting from the soil.
Fill the barren old age
A village dotted with weeds, cow dung and rice flowers.
A wrinkled country road
The pond in front of the door dried up into your eyes.
There is no frog, song for you.
All summer night, except the scalper.
Only the old courtyard is on guard.
After years of wandering, I have blurred your face.
Indulge in the illusion of the city
My heart is covered with coptis chinensis.
I don't understand until I break the cup.
This city belongs to others.
My father's village belongs to me.
Modern poetry on father when he was 5 years old.
Father is the branch secretary of the brigade.
Although I can't say.
People gathered together like clouds.
But everything he said.
Around the mountain or hitting the floor?
A year has passed.
Our main room is full of all kinds of delicious food.
A wisp of fragrance
Often suck water out of our taste buds.
But seeing them is like seeing a mine. I dare not touch any of them.
Because they are all going back.
That new year's eve
Father asked me to return a bunch of fans with him.
The sky is full of stars.
I shrink my neck and follow carefully with my hands in the sleeve cage.
I can't see my fingers on the road.
I almost tripped a few times.
It was a woman in her fifties who knocked at the door.
Father talked with her for a long time.
I just heard what happened.
It turned out that her son worked outside all the year round and was deeply cared for by his father.
But I just don't understand.
What did my father take me to that house for?
Modern Poetry on Father 6 Past, Father went home.
Bring a bulging snakeskin pocket.
There are clothes that our family doesn't wear, and all kinds of daily necessities.
This time, I came home with only what he had been carrying for decades.
That black leather bag
It's full of drugs for cardiovascular diseases.
Father used to go home.
They all take the 1 1 bus to the bus station or railway station by themselves.
I have to be with him this time.
Because I found that he talked less and less in recent years.
His feet are getting unstable.
His eyes are not as bright as before.
His sanity is not as clear as before.
I lost it in the wrong way. Isn't it my fault?
In the waiting room of the railway station
We sat face to face.
I found my father really old.
The white hair is standing on end, and the dyed one is squeezed into the ear.
Go to the ticket gate
What I want to say in my heart is condensed into one sentence:
There is only one stop to the hometown county.
Get off as soon as the car stops.
Through the thick glass door of the waiting hall
Father followed the people to the west of the platform with a black bag on his back.
Smaller and smaller, smaller and smaller
As if from old age to middle age, from middle age to youth, from youth to childhood.
The road under your feet is getting shorter and shorter.
Finally disappeared into the crowd.
The train suddenly blew its whistle like a sword.
I scratched my heart.
Move as soon as the train starts.
The speed is too slow.
It seems that my father is overloaded.
There seems to be a persistent person in the back.
Modern poetry with the theme of father 7. Father has come a long way.
Those socks, licking the wound
Squeeze together with heaven and earth
Shake the shining sky
Father took a pile of socks.
Hold up the pain without bleeding
And use tangent clouds.
Copy and paste points inside and outside the time.
The wound can't help but fluctuate.
As if in the past memories.
Through the eyelashes.
Wake up and sleep, sleep and wake up.
Father stroked the mended past.
You can't see any sadness or joy on your face.
Now it's like touching a grain of dust.
Come when you should, and leave when you should.
Stockpile: a wooden tool used to mend socks in the old days.
Modern Poetry on Father When I got home at 8 o'clock in the evening, my father excitedly said to me, "I saw you on TV. You ran so smoothly." I smiled, extremely happy smile.
There is a sports meeting in the district, and my running style was edited by my colleagues in Taiwan Province on TV. Since I moved to Weihai two years ago, my father has been paying attention to the "Huancui News" edited by me, and my running map has been waiting for him.
"It's a pity that your mother didn't see it." The picture is only four or five seconds. When dad told mom to watch it, the picture flashed by. Mom said, "You don't even know how happy your father is. You told me with a loud voice that you are not proud to have such a daughter."
Because the sport I participated in is a skillful 8-character orienteering, I can only run by one person at a time, and there is no line collision in the official competition. So, my father doesn't know my ranking in the competition. The father is proud of his daughter, not because her daughter has achieved impressive results, but because she saw her participation and her running posture.
I remember 1994 the sports meeting when I first joined the work. My father and mother came all the way from the countryside to the city just to watch my game. And this kind of sports meeting is just an annual routine sports meeting in a district, without any gold content. I advised my father not to come, but he insisted on coming, watching his daughter run and cheering for her.
More than ten years have passed, from 15 years old to the school sports meeting for the first time, to the annual sports meeting since graduation, I have participated in more than 30 sports meetings, which is considered an old sport. There are only two or three games that can leave an impression in memory. The scene of my father's presence is deeply imprinted on my mind.
This is an ordinary sports meeting with few spectators. Because my opponent is weak, I am sure to win, and there is no suspense in winning or losing. Even if my parents don't come, I will win the championship. But when parents come, the sports meeting with parents will be different from before, which is essentially different.
That difference is not the glory brought to me by winning the championship, but the care of my parents for my daughter. The glory of the champion soon disappeared with the end of the sports meeting, but the care of my parents was permanently stored in my memory, which warmed my heart and inspired me to move forward, move forward and move forward again.
"Proud of my daughter"-When I came out of my parents' house and walked home alone, I remembered my mother's words in my mind and burst into tears unconsciously. I am just an ordinary daughter. Doing ordinary work in ordinary posts. In the past twenty years, I have been unknown and have not made any achievements of a prominent family. But mom and dad, with their consistent love, support their daughter and be proud of her!
I can't help but think of Professor Jing Wong's lecture in Tsinghua University at the weekend-don't be the first, be the only. Every child is "unique". "First" is relative and "only" is absolute.
I think, as long as parents in the world pay attention to their uniqueness with love, encourage its participation and be proud of it, then this uniqueness will be the happiest one in the world, just like me at the moment!
Father's Modern Poems at the Entrance of Village 9
The fiery red sun
Suddenly fell to the top of the mountain.
Ignite the junk my father has accumulated for many years.
The old man gave his father a cigarette.
A stack of one-dollar bills
Pulled a car full of garbage and left.
Father's eyes
Pulled by an old tricycle—
That car
It's half of what my father used.
A broken sickle, rusty rake teeth
And an ancient stone mill.
There are even
What the villagers once envied.
Panda brand black and white TV set
Father stood on crutches.
Follow the car slowly.
Behind him
Follow an old dog
And long shadows
The four wheels of the car are spinning rapidly.
I saw grandpa's stone mill.
Also quickly turned up.
Tear those rags to pieces.
Like father's tears.
Come so fast, so suddenly.
A modern poem about my father 10 Once you were a myth in my heart.
You didn't just create me.
Gave me a warm home.
You weren't very tall then.
But I blushed and stood tall and straight.
You sound like Hong Zhong.
Never whisper.
I'm always afraid of you
Although your powerful slap
Never fell on me.
As far as I can remember, you have never been kind to me.
Even a new dress.
A pack of snacks
You are busy every day.
And rarely at home.
Naive, I even think you are redundant.
One day someone pointed at you and asked me.
Who is that old man?
I just realized that you are old.
My hair has turned a little white.
Wrinkles also began to spread.
I saw you cry for the first time.
It was at my wedding.
Even if you hide yourself like this
I still see your tears.
You turn and walk towards the busy crowd.
The back is so lonely
Then you had a stroke.
Walking can no longer be like a gust of wind.
But like a toddler
Your hands are shaking.
I can't even hold chopsticks steadily when eating.
You never asked me to help you.
Stubborn temper hasn't changed at all.
You are old.
Father is like a mountain.
As fragile as a child.
You start to get scared.
Afraid that we won't be around you
Afraid of loneliness.
Every time I see us, I get excited like a child.
Although you can't make it clear.
Or nagging in labor?
Ah, father, don't be afraid.
The child has grown into a forest.
We hold hands for you.
Build a windbreak wall
It's like you spent your youth.
Caring for our growth