Modern art poetry

1. Li Ping's artistic poems.

Don

Shu Zhangtong, Gao Qiu.

An empty mountain condenses clouds without flowing.

Hunan and Hubei cry bamboo sorrow.

Li Ping and China play the piano together.

Kunshan jade broken phoenix calls,

Lotus tears and vanilla smiles.

The cold light melted in front of the twelve gates,

Twenty-three silk moving purple emperor.

Nu Wa tried to repair the sky by refining stones.

The rock-breaking stirred up autumn rain.

Dreaming of the holy mountain to teach the gods,

Old Fish danced Bo and Thin jiaozi.

Wu sleeps on the laurel tree,

The wet and cold rabbit flew barefoot.

Listen to Lu playing the piano on a moonlit night.

Tang _ _ Li Bai

Sit on the bright moon at idle nights, and you play the piano.

Suddenly I heard the tune of "Very Taiwan", which seemed to be the voice of "Han Song".

The fingering of Snow White makes your delicate hands busy, and the syllable of "green water" really nourishes your heart.

Unfortunately, Zhong Ziqi has long since passed away, and there is no such confidant in the world.

Nice piano

Tang _ _ Bai Juyi

Nature is good, and the dust machine smells empty.

When you hear it, everything leaves your heart.

Qingchang can cure diseases, soothe the nerves and nourish the mind.

You should listen to Sanle to comfort Pulsatilla.

Zhang plays the piano.

Tang _ _ Changjian

You go to the grass and Xifeng plays the piano.

Is it only in the mountains that you can get rid of your troubles?

When Chao returned from the mountain pass, he came out of the ridge and heard the sound of silence.

Understand the clouds, see the heart of heaven and earth.

Under Xuanhe, Wan Li is in a clear sky, and pine trees dance.

Change course, buckle (and) business voice, listen to the dragons.

I feel a little crazy and gradually know the depth of the fairy.

Will be refined into a golden tripod and vote for me forever.

Listen to the piano

Tang _ _ Liu Changqing

On the seventh silk, the cold wind in the pines.

Although I like this ancient song very much, most people don't play it today.

Jiangnan Nong Zhao se Cai qu

Southern and Northern Dynasties _ _ Shen Yue

Han Danqi made a literary play.

String threading and quick adjustment of shear flow marks.

The crane rises with white clouds.

White clouds are rising, and the aroma is fragrant.

Coming out of the compound, the song is not over yet.

Li Ping quoted poems about art..

Don

Shu Zhangtong, Gao Qiu.

An empty mountain condenses clouds without flowing.

Hunan and Hubei cry bamboo sorrow.

Li Ping and China play the piano together.

Kunshan jade broken phoenix calls,

Lotus tears and vanilla smiles.

The cold light melted in front of the twelve gates,

Twenty-three silk moving purple emperor.

Nu Wa tried to repair the sky by refining stones.

The rock-breaking stirred up autumn rain.

Dreaming of the holy mountain to teach the gods,

Old Fish danced Bo and Thin jiaozi.

Wu sleeps on the laurel tree,

The wet and cold rabbit flew barefoot.

Listen to Lu playing the piano on a moonlit night.

Tang _ _ Li Bai

Sit on the bright moon at idle nights, and you play the piano.

Suddenly I heard the tune of "Very Taiwan", which seemed to be the voice of "Han Song".

The fingering of Snow White makes your delicate hands busy, and the syllable of "green water" really nourishes your heart.

Unfortunately, Zhong Ziqi has long since passed away, and there is no such confidant in the world.

Nice piano

Tang _ _ Bai Juyi

Nature is good, and the dust machine smells empty.

When you hear it, everything leaves your heart.

Qingchang can cure diseases, soothe the nerves and nourish the mind.

You should listen to Sanle to comfort Pulsatilla.

Zhang plays the piano.

Tang _ _ Changjian

You go to the grass and Xifeng plays the piano.

Is it only in the mountains that you can get rid of your troubles?

When Chao returned from the mountain pass, he came out of the ridge and heard the sound of silence.

Understand the clouds, see the heart of heaven and earth.

Under Xuanhe, Wan Li is in a clear sky, and pine trees dance.

Change course, buckle (and) business voice, listen to the dragons.

I feel a little crazy and gradually know the depth of the fairy.

Will be refined into a golden tripod and vote for me forever.

Listen to the piano

Tang _ _ Liu Changqing

On the seventh silk, the cold wind in the pines.

Although I like this ancient song very much, most people don't play it today.

Jiangnan Nong Zhao se Cai qu

Southern and Northern Dynasties _ _ Shen Yue

Han Danqi made a literary play.

String threading and quick adjustment of shear flow marks.

The crane rises with white clouds.

White clouds are rising, and the aroma is fragrant.

Coming out of the compound, the song is not over yet.

3. Modern poetry about art, shorter, about six or seven minutes, is for learning, four people, one generation.

Gu Cheng

The night gave me black eyes.

I use it to find the light.

This song is the shortest.

far and near

Gu Cheng

You,

Look back at me,

Watch the clouds later.

I think,

When you look at me from a distance,

You observe the clouds up close.

alley

Gu Cheng

alley

It's curved and long.

There is no door

There are no windows.

I took an old key.

Knocking on the thick wall

eagle

Gu Cheng

Shan Ying Li

Show ancient soldiers

Lead a good horse

The road disappeared around.

He became a relief.

Into a different story.

Like a demon today.

Tomorrow is an angel again.

4. Ask for an original poem about the art festival? Black-haired prose poems

The evening is melting, the wind is blowing, and your long black hair.

As silk as floc, as smoke as rain. Turn my heart into a pair of scissors of dreams and cut a long ribbon. Like a waterfall, flying down, sparkling, kissing the evening breeze.

Your big eyes are hidden in your soft and elegant black hair. What's more, blond hair and blue eyes don't deserve a little lofty and elegant. I saw you skillfully roll up your black hair with light fingers and spin into the thin rain curtain with a petite oil-paper umbrella.

I can't take my eyes off your gentle and beautiful image. For example, the girl who picks lotus in Jiangnan has a nobler face than lotus. Fair skin, long dark hair and black and white eyes. They were born here and spread their wings here.

The spirit and ethereal spirit of art is like a graceful fairy among flowers. Your beautiful figure is outlined on thousands of souls. This is the nobleness of art above all else-it seems that only kindness can explain it.

In a trance, you take small steps and disappear into this illusory and real dream.

The evening breeze gently brushed my face. It seems wet, it's the kiss of your black hair and the breeze.

5. Poetry and Music Short Chapters in Praise of Art Author: Ji Bolun Music Short Chapters ① I sat next to my lover and listened to her telling stories.

I was silent and listened quietly. I feel a kind of power in her voice, which makes my heart tremble.

That electric shock separated me from myself, so my heart flew to the boundless space and swam there. It thinks that the world is a dream and the body is a narrow prison.

A strange magic, integrated into my lover's voice, dominates my mood at will. Because I satisfied my magic with silence, I diluted her language.

People, she is music! I heard her-when my lover sighed after some sweet words, or smiled in some sweet words; I heard what she said-when she spoke in intermittent language, sometimes in fluent and coherent language, and sometimes in a language that left half between her lips. I saw the influence of my lover's heart with my hearing eyes.

Through music, she made me focus on her emotional treasure-inner voice, but neglected the treasure of tasting her language. Yes, music is the language of the soul, and the tune is the breeze that stirs the strings of feelings.

She also felt a delicate hand knocking at the door. She awakens her memory, which will trace back and reproduce all the past events that have influenced her.

Music is a gentle melody. If she is sad, she will recall the painful and sad time; If she is in a happy mood, she will recall Shu Lang and the happy time.

She put all her memories in an imaginary photo album. Music is a collection of sad sounds.

When you hear her, she stops you, fills your heart with pain and anxiety, and paints you with misfortune like a phantom. She is also a collection of cheerful melodies.

You feel her, and she grabs your whole (1). This article is the first work officially published by Ji Bolun and published in the American Arab Expatriate Magazine in Lop. A body and mind, let her dance happily on your chest.

She is the sound of strings, drifting into your ears with etheric waves. She may turn into a tear and flow out of your eyes. This tear is the pain of the lover's distance, or the pain of the wound bitten by the tooth of time.

She may become a smile, bursting from your lips, and that smile is actually a symbol of happiness and well-being. She is the body of the dying: it has a soul and comes from desire; It has a reason, from the heart.

Man appeared, and music inspired him as the language of God. Different from other languages, she tells the hidden meaning inside, between one heart and another, because she is the whisper of the heart.

She is like love, and its influence is everywhere. So the savage in the desert sang and shouted, and the kings of China in the palace swayed back and forth.

The mother who lost her son intertwined her with her own wailing, and then she broke a stone's heart; Happy people spread her with their own happiness, and then she is an ode to those who have been knocked down by disasters. She is also like the sun, illuminating all the flowers in the field with sunlight.

Music is like a bright lamp, which drives away the darkness in the heart, illuminates the heart and shows everything hidden in the heart. In my opinion, music is a beautiful image of the true self, or an illusion of life feelings.

The mind is like a mirror, standing in front of all kinds of events and actors in the world, reflecting images of those feelings and hallucinations. The soul is a delicate flower before the wind of evaluation. The morning wind blew it and bent its stem in the morning dew.

This is also the cry of a bird, which awakens people from Meng Dan. So people use it to listen, feel and praise wisdom-the sweet calls of birds and the creators of their subtle feelings.

Natiha inspired his thinking, so he asked himself and asked around him what secrets this insignificant bird's singing revealed. It could pluck the strings of his feelings and inspire him with the meanings contained in previous books. He asked: do birds call flowers in the fields or learn soft skills in the canopy? Are you imitating a flowing spring or chatting with the whole nature? But he couldn't find the answer. People can't understand what the birds on the branches are saying, and they can't understand the tinkling of spring water gently flowing on pebbles and the sound of waves slowly pushing to the shore.

He can't understand the story of rain dripping on the leaves, and he can't understand the story he told when he tapped the glass window with his gentle fingertips. He doesn't know what the breeze said to the flowers in the field.

However, he feels that his heart knows and understands the meaning of all these voices, so he sometimes trembles with joy and sometimes feels sad and annoyed. Some voices call him in obscure language, and wisdom puts him in front of nature, so his heart communicates with nature frequently, while he is silent, hesitant and stands aside.

Perhaps tears replaced his language, because tears are the best transmitter of language. Time is with me.

Oh, a rational man! Get on the stage of memories and see clearly what position music plays in those ethnic groups that are covered by time. Come on! Let's think about what influence music has left in all stages of Adam's son's development.

The Dildeans and Egyptians worship music as a great god, bow to it and praise it. Persians and Indians believe that music is the soul of God on earth.

A Persian once said, "Music was originally the fairy of the gods in the sky. She loves human beings and descended from the sky to the ground to find her lover. When the gods learned about this, they flew into a rage and sent a strong wind to follow.

The fairy scattered the strong wind into the air. As a result, the strong wind spread to all corners of the world. The fairy herself is not dead, absolutely not! She lives in human ears. "

An Indian philosopher also said, "The sweet melody consolidated my hope for a beautiful and eternal existence." Music is the god of the Greeks and Romans.

They built a towering temple for him and still tell us about their magnificent altar, offering the best sacrifices and the most fragrant incense. This god, they call it Apollo.

They described him perfectly, which made him stand out, just like a river with trees floating on the water. Apollo played the piano with his left hand and plucked the strings with his right hand. His eyes stared into the distance, as if he saw the profound details of everything.

People say that the sound of Apollo strings is natural.

6. Modern poems about China's traditional culture should be original. I don't know which direction the wind is blowing.

I don't know the wind

Which direction does it blow—

In my dream,

In the light waves of dreams.

I don't know the wind

Which direction does it blow—

In my dream,

Her tenderness, my intoxication.

I don't know the wind

Which direction does it blow—