Poems or Prose about Hometown

1. Poems or Prose about Hometown

Hometown [Prose Poem]

Are you the white clouds that drift by on that day.

The white clouds that passed by on the other side of the sky were you. I saw the muddy past under the cypress forest again. I'm going to be able to get a lot more out of it than I've ever been able to. Not the willow flute played on the back of a cowboy in the drizzling rain, nor the elegant mood of a fishing boat singing in the evening-

Born in that time of suffering, I was destined to spend my life with the grass. I was destined to spend my life with the grass, and a crack in the rock was a ray of hope. My father left in that stormy night with hatred, with the old buffalo's deep sigh. With the heavy bleakness of the mountain village. My mother, framed by the storms of the times on the screen mirror of history, swayed into the old neem tree at the entrance of the village. I am the weak little cypress next to the tree-

The lonely hut accompanied my mother and me through our hard days. A kerosene lamp and half a bowl of maize gruel were satisfying, and my mother exchanged hunger for hope to fill my growing up, growing into a pair of sturdy feet, strong and firm in the face of the winds and waves, realizing that the stubbornness I have today has been refined by the life I had before. I'm no longer that weak little cypress tree-

I'm a lone goose soaring in the sky, in the boundless sea, proudly facing the raging storms. Between reality and meditation I adorn my fragile wings with perseverance. I am suffering to cross. For my father's dying will, in the fate of the peak of the difficult trek. Now. You've grown old and the cypress tree by your side has grown up and left you. Taking with it your lost youth. Lost love saved half a bowl of corn porridge affection.

Oh. I am your rebellious son? I'm afraid I'll leave you behind. I am afraid of my stormy sails crushing your heavy back , I am afraid of poor spine to give you too much and too heavy load . I go to the other side of the mountain, carrying the longing for you, planting Acacia trees on the other side of the bank, I want to cry without a sound, a <&lt; hometown clouds >&gt; acerbic pain in my bitter throat, decorated with my every dream of a foreign land-

Nostalgia (Ximu Rong)

Hometown's song is a faraway flute,

Always in the evening of a moon I'm not going to be able to do that.

The face of my hometown is a blur of disappointment,

as if waving goodbye in the fog.

After the departure,

the hometown is a tree without a wheel,

never old.

Prose poem - hometown - clear song

Hometown,

distant place,

long time no see purple rose,

is not still blooming.

The song,

The silent whistle,

is sung leisurely on the prairie,

and the song reaches my ears.

Moonlight,

sprinkled on the balcony,

Thoughts dyed the heart,

Froze my sorrow.

Nostalgia

-- Yu Guangzhong

When I was a child

Nostalgia is a small stamp

I'm at this end

My mother's at the other end

When I grew up

Nostalgia is a narrow boat ticket

I'm at the other end. At this end

The bride is at that end

Later

Nostalgia is a short grave

I'm on the outside

My mother is on the inside

And now

Nostalgia is a shallow strait

I'm at this end

The continent is at the other end

2. Poems and prose praising the homeland

I said goodbye to the land where I was born and raised, and I didn't look back. Because I was afraid that if I turned back I wouldn't be able to hold back my tears.

Away from the distance, the shadow of the hometown is still clear. Parents sound call hovering in the ear, hanging on to the heart, a thousand words; in the dream to talk about the heart. With lovesickness long hard to sleep, the dark night lost the direction of home; can only with the corner of the eyes of the tear will introduce me to the door of my hometown ......

Sun and moon fly by, has been away from home for four years long. Elderly parents, the child always will you two old man hanging. Can not forget the warmth of home, your familiar nagging in mind to become eternal in my heart. Life is in constant pursuit and become eternal, life is in constant struggle and become brilliant. I left with a fighting heart, in my dictionary can not find give up and only the pursuit. I have never been afraid, never lonely, and never given up; only the love of the hometown.

Landscapes are connected to each other, and home is the ultimate destination. The hot sun can't replace the warmth of your parents' embrace; the cup of wine is not as sweet as the mountain springs in your hometown. The beauty of the hometown people, the smile on the face is not mixed with hypocrisy; although the dress is not silk and satin, but it is simple. The city of lights and wine always belongs to others, I'm just a passer-by. Grass endures the ravages, but the breath does not feel a little fresh. The hustle and bustle of the city, crowded crowds, mocking miscellaneous; only the hometown is secluded.

The longest line in the world is not the net line but the thin line of love, always connecting you and me. The parents at home are waiting and waiting, waiting and waiting; I hope that the family will be reunited as soon as possible.

When the moon is missing, the moon will be full;

When will the lone traveler in a foreign land return?

The spring breeze wakes up the willow in front of the window,

Born in another country for another year

3. Poetry or prose describing the hometown

The hometown [prose poem] The white clouds that passed by on that day are you. I'm not sure if I've ever been to a place where I've had a good time, but I'm sure I've had a good time. My hometown. I see the muddy past under the cypress forest again. I see you again. Not the willow flute played by a cowherd in the drizzling rain, nor the elegant mood of a fisherman's boat singing in the evening - born in that time of suffering. I was destined to spend my life in the company of grass, and a crack in the rock was a ray of hope. My father left that stormy night with the old buffalo's deep sigh. With the mountain village thick bleak.

Mother was framed by the storms of the times on the screen mirror of history, swinging into the old neem tree at the entrance of the village. I was the small, weak cypress next to the tree - a lonely hut that accompanied my mother and me through our days of hard work. A kerosene lamp and half a bowl of maize gruel were enough to satisfy me, and my mother exchanged hunger for hope to fill me with growth and a pair of big, sturdy feet, strong and firm in the face of the winds and the waves, knowing that my stubbornness today is the result of the life I had lived before. I am no longer a weak cypress tree - I am a lone goose soaring in the sky, facing the raging storms on the boundless sea. Between reality and meditation I adorn my fragile wings with perseverance. I have traveled hard. For my father's last will and testament, I trudged through the peaks of destiny. Now. You've grown old and the cypress tree by your side has grown up and left you. Taking with it your lost youth. Lost love saved half a bowl of corn porridge affection.

Oh. I am your rebellious son? I'm afraid I'll leave you behind. I am afraid of my stormy sails crushing your heavy back , I am afraid of poor spine to give you too much and too heavy load . I go to the other side of the mountain, carrying the long thought of you, planting Acacia trees on the other side of the bank, I want to cry, a > astringent pain in my bitter throat, decorated with my dream of a foreign land - Nostalgia (Ximu Rong) The song of the hometown is a distant flute, always ringing in the night of the moon.

The face of the hometown is a kind of vague disappointment, as if waving goodbye in the fog. The first time I saw it, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night.

Prose Poem - Hometown - Ching Song Hometown, a distant place, long time no see the purple rose, is it still blooming. The song is sung on the grassland by the silent whistle, and the song reaches my ears.

The moonlight is spreading on the balcony, my thoughts are coloring my heart, and my sorrow is frozen. Nostalgia -- Yu Guangzhong When I was a child, nostalgia was a small stamp, and I was here, and my mother was there. When I grew up, nostalgia was a narrow ship's ticket, and I was here, and my bride was there. Later, nostalgia was a short grave, and I was there, and my mother was there, and now nostalgia is a shallow strait, and I am here, and the mainland is there.

4. Prose poems in praise of the homeland

★ Poetry in praise of the motherland II ★: "O motherland, my dear motherland" I / am your clustered ideals, just from the mythological cobwebs / break free; I / am the germs of the ancient lotus / under your snow quilt; I / am the / smiling edges of your hanging tears; I / is the freshly brushed / snow-white starting line; is the / Crimson dawn is / eruption; - -O Motherland! I / am one of your one billionth part, the / sum of your nine million six hundred thousand squares; you / feed the confused me, the deep-thinking me, the seething me, with your scarred breasts; then / from my flesh and blood go to obtain your abundance, your glory, your liberty;- O Motherland, my beloved / Motherland! ★ Poetry in praise of the motherland three ★: my motherland the Yangtze River, the Yellow River across the mountains and rivers of the Divine Continent everywhere present a brilliant and glorious journey as the golden lamp light illuminates the sails of the voyage my motherland you with a wise soul to lead the masses of the general public to open up the broad road to make the motherland flowery and delicate depicted the Orient's radiance my motherland flowery beautiful motherland from your spirit from your blueprint read the burning soul to open up the My motherland from the border to the coast of your enchanting beauty I carry simple feelings will be full of deep feelings sent to wish the motherland more prosperous and bright My motherland the Yellow River, the Yangtze River, the Great Wall forged the ancient rivers and mountains reform, opening up, and development of the world's vision of the world I am proud of the splendor of the motherland My motherland the dawn of the sun with a firm belief in the surging will be transformed into an eternal persistence to create a better tomorrow Great Motherland Eastern Civilization The great motherland of the cradle of civilization in the East is like a Mercedes-Benz train facing the dawn of the century to lift up the burning faith to a more brilliant future ★ Poetry in praise of the motherland four ★: Ode to the motherland ----- --------- The years carry the footsteps of history and the earth Accumulated the essence of civilization at the beginning of the century I think of the motherland, full of passion motherland - here I sing for you motherland ah, the motherland - you are the accumulation of a thousand years of history and civilization of the confluence of sources you are the Yellow River Hukou waterfalls covered with the snow of the Tianshan mountains you heavy and deep and broad and broad. You are the theme of the world and everything in my life. O motherland, motherland--You are a cry from Tiananmen Square, a blazing flame of socialism, a clarion call of the people's revolution, a sail that rides on the wind and waves, you are strong and self-confident, progressive and avant-garde, and the grand blueprint of socialism is alive with your wisdom. The grand blueprint of socialism is enlivened by your wisdom, and the rising sun in the East is filled with your vitality. You are the creator of the world, the practitioner of socialism, the motherland, the motherland--You are the spring breeze on the coast of the South China Sea, the sunrise in the small village of Luohu, the railroad track on the Tibetan Plateau, and the set of derricks in the Tarim oil fields. The drastic changes have proved your boldness, and the smiles on the people's faces are a reflection of your greatness. Motherland--You have created life and transformed the world. Motherland, Motherland--You are the flag flying for world peace, the messenger of the progress of human civilization, and the warrior defending the truth, and the mother who nurtures her children. You are the mother who defends the truth and nurtures your children. You are the mother of integrity and love, the mother of strength and kindness, the mother of the people of the world who admire your heart, the mother of the children of China who are grateful to you for your motherly love. The motherland ah motherland - you have gone through a thousand years of history, across the world civilization you clear, firm for the Intana Xiong Naier endless life you kindness and fraternity, defending the green and peace we are proud to be your sons and daughters we are proud to have such a motherland motherland - we are with you with the same heart we embrace you to move forward your sons and daughters firmly believe that the motherland tomorrow better world tomorrow better tomorrow better tomorrow for mankind ★ Praise motherland of the Poetry V★: The Motherland! This poetic name pervades your every season that is the white dove in the blue sky to wake up the first morning of October! Motherland I love you too y and too long ...... O October! My motherland, please give me a torch to follow in your footsteps and make every dream dripping with sweetness and all your singing voices stained with golden notes on the day of your death - please spread out the colorful clouds in the sky for me and I'll infuse your Weiweiwei with eternal vitality the first October is always like a hot tear falling from a flower stained with echoes the sound of the country's footsteps walks through your heart and extends to your most exciting heartland. In my heart, you are not only a green island for resting, you are a red cloud for me to step on and rise up to the beat, no matter what the mountains, valleys, fields, paths, or the sea, countless failures and successes have made October fuller! Motherland ...... For whom is the crown of October worn? On the first morning of October, in front of Tiananmen Square, I felt the afterglow of danggui and the vibration of the harvest drums and music. I recalled the sound of those historical voices on the alabaster carvings, and my thoughts were already changing to the fluttering clouds, and how could the mountains and rivers not inculcate in me a good character and integrity? Rising October has been a thousand sails and my singing my motherland into a group of soaring doves quill quill quill quill quill quill ...... China is one of the world's four major ancient civilizations, a vast expanse of mountains and rivers, magnificent, meteorological, rich in produce, a long history and culture.

Five thousand years of humanistic creation and the natural landscape created by the sky opened up everything for us to leave a proud scene, a large number of places of interest, creating a brilliant cultural and artistic motherland of the motherland of the October motherland ah! This poetic name pervades your every season that is a white dove in the blue sky to wake up the first morning of October ah! Motherland, I love you too much for too long ...... O October! My motherland, please give me a torch to follow in your footsteps and make every dream dripping with sweetness and all your singing voices stained with golden notes on the day of your death - please spread out the colorful clouds in the sky for me and I'll infuse your Weiweiwei with eternal vitality the first October is always like a hot tear falling from a flower stained with echoes the sound of the country's footsteps walks through your heart and extends to your most exciting heartland. In my heart, you are not only a green island for resting, you are a red cloud for me to step on and rise up to the beat, no matter what the mountains, valleys, fields, paths, or the sea, countless failures and successes have made October fuller! Motherland ...... For whom is the crown of October worn? On the first morning of October, in front of Tiananmen Square, I felt the afterglow of danggui and the vibration of harvest drums and music, and I recalled the sound of history on the white jade carvings, and my thoughts were already changing to the fluttering clouds and the miles of rivers and mountains, how could they not inculcate in me a good character and integrity? Rising October has been a thousand sails and my singing my motherland transformed into a flock of soaring doves vibration quill quill quill quill quill ...... "motherland ah, my dear motherland" I'm your worn-out old waterwheel on the riverside for hundreds of years spinning a tired song I'm the blackened miner's lamp on your forehead to shine on you.

5. Poetry and prose in praise of the hometown

Farewell to the native land where I was born and raised, I did not look back.

Because I'm afraid to turn back I can not help but shed tears. With tears in my eyes, I walked forward, and my heavy steps were y imprinted on the land of my hometown.

Away from the distance, the shadow of the hometown is still clear. The parents sound call hovering in the ear, holding the heart, a thousand words; in the dream to tell the heart.

With lovesickness long hard to sleep, the dark night lost the direction of home; only with the tearstains in the corner of my eyes will introduce me to my hometown home ...... Sun and moon flew by, has been away from home for four years long. Elderly parents, the child always will you two old man hanging.

Can't forget the warmth of home, your familiar nagging in mind to become eternal in my heart. Life is in constant pursuit and become eternal, life is in constant struggle and become brilliant.

I left with a fighting heart, in my dictionary can not find give up and only the pursuit. I've never been afraid, never been alone, and never given up; only the love of my hometown.

Landscapes are connected to each other, home is the ultimate destination. The hot sun can't replace the warmth of your parents' embrace; the cup of wine is not as sweet as the mountain springs in your hometown.

The beauty of the hometown, the smile on the face is not mixed with hypocrisy; although the dress is not silk, but simple. The city has always belonged to others, I am just a passerby.

The grass endures the ravages, and the breath does not feel a little fresh. The hustle and bustle of the city, crowded crowd, mocking miscellaneous; only the hometown is secluded.

The longest line in the world is not the net line but the thin line of love, always connecting you and me. The parents at home are waiting and waiting, waiting and waiting; I hope that the family will be reunited as soon as possible.

The moon is full when it's missing; when will the lone traveler in a foreign land return? The winds of spring awakened the willow in front of the window, and the birth of another year in another country.

6. Modern prose poems about the hometown of a shorter urgent

1. Hometown of a street, an old street. The first time I saw this was when I was a student at the University of California at Berkeley. The first time I saw a picture, I saw a picture of an old picture. The street is full of people, but many of them seem to know each other well. Look at each of their faces, they are imprinted with daylight, with smiles, with visions of tomorrow, with the joy of a family reunion. All this is like a pot of wine, never tire of tasting, the more it ages, the more fragrant it is. It is also like interpreting photos, which seem to be repeated every day, but every day has new insights. Autumn wind blowing leaves floating all over the ground, the autumn wind ah you can not let it become hasty ah, I just want it to replace the yellow, rustic and fragrant. Because this is my home, my hometown.2. Thinking of my hometown On such a beautiful night, looking up at the stars in the sky, the wind blowing and the color of the night, the vicissitudes of last night, the longing to go home, my thoughts to the faraway places, no matter how far I go to the ends of the earth and the sky, still clear is the appearance of my hometown, always make me tear up, huh? My hometown, my longing for you has been incorporated into my blood and bones, and your roots have been y rooted in my soul. I have always been y in love with my hometown's melodious songs, my hometown's bright moonlight, my hometown's familiar sunset, my hometown's familiar streets, but I don't see familiar faces, and my heavy bag, which is loaded with my hometown, has gently stirred up the bitterness of my longing.

7. Poems in Praise of Hometown

Broken Chapter

Bian Zhilin You are standing on a bridge looking at the scenery, and those who are looking at the scenery are looking at you from upstairs, and the bright moon decorates your windows, and you decorate other people's dreams. Yu Guangzhong: Nostalgia When I was a child, Nostalgia was a small stamp, and I was at this end, and my mother was at that end, and when I was growing up, Nostalgia was a narrow ticket, and I was at this end, and my bride was at that end, and later, Nostalgia was a short tomb, and I was at the outer end, and my mother was in the inner end. Now, nostalgia is a shallow strait with me here and the mainland there Ximurong I'm a summer lotus in full bloom, I wish you could see me now, before the frosts and the autumn rains fall, and the season of youth has already left me, I'm already in the pavilion, I'm not worried, I'm not scared, and now is the moment of my greatest beauty, but I've locked the door behind my fragrant smile, who would know what's going on in my heart of lotus, who knows I'm not destined for you, you're either too early, or you're too late. Xu Zhimo I am a cloud in the sky, occasionally projected in the center of your waves - you do not need to be surprised, not to mention joy - in a split second disappeared.

You and I meet on the sea of night, you have your, I have my, direction; you remember or not, it is better that you forget, in this rendezvous mutual light! By Bei Dao Meanness is the passport of the mean, nobility is the epitaph of the noble; behold, in that gilded sky floats the bent reflection of the dead. The Ice Age is past, why is there ice everywhere? The Cape of Good Hope is found, why are a thousand sails in the Dead Sea? I came into the world with nothing but paper, rope, and figure, in order to read the voices of the condemned before the judgment.

Tell you what, world I - do not - believe! Even if there are a thousand challengers at your feet, then count me as the thousand and one. I don't believe that the sky is blue, I don't believe in the echo of thunder, I don't believe that dreams are false, I don't believe that there is no reward for death.

If the ocean is destined to burst its banks, let all the bitter water be poured into my heart, and if the land is destined to rise, let mankind re-select the peaks of existence. A new turn of events and sparkling stars are filling the unobstructed sky.

That is the hieroglyphics of five thousand years, that is the eyes of the future people gazing. Lin Huiyin "death is comfort" death is comfort a chain of rings, never open, life is a knot, and a knot! Death is really a cloud.

A rope, forever holding, life is a kite, rare drift away, death is a river fog, confused fly away? A long journey, always in the middle, life is a string of footsteps, mud-like heavy --- death is the end, no longer hard. Between a stream, flowing day and night, life is a kind of running away, forever parting! Death is only once, it is comfort.

Lonely Island Looking from afar, it is full of picturesque mountain peaks standing far away in the heart of the river proudly towering poor it is just unfortunate lonely island --- natural no ridge embankment, artificial did not build a rainbow bridge. He asked his reflection for the surrounding water prisoners forever; land in it, is not reach the hope! Loneliness in the morning and evening it often hold the boat! In the morning and evening, it often holds the boat in loneliness, and in times of wind and rain, it lets the river fog hide itself from the world.

On sunny days, it holds a small tower, exquisite alone to the cloud heart; disk disk stone steps, by the sound of the bell in the pine forest, beyond the quiet. Special outline it made by painstakingly, indifferent to the earth and where to find a little sympathy? Untitled Dai Wangshu Between me and the world is a wall, between the wall and me is a lamp, between the lamp and me is a book, between the book and me is a date diaphragm!

She has the same color as lilacs, the same fragrance as lilacs, and the same sadness as lilacs, and she wanders in the rain, sad and wandering; she wanders in the lonesome rainy alleys, holding an oil-paper umbrella like me, and silently walking with indifference, bleakness, and despair, just like me. She silently approached, approached, and cast a general gaze of too much breath she drifted through like a dream, like a dream in general, poignant and confused.

Like a branch of lilacs floating through the dream, I floated by the side of this woman; she silently far, far away, to the dilapidated hedge wall, walk through the rainy alley. In the dirge of the rain, dissipated her color, dispersed her fragrance, dissipated, even her too breath like vision lilac melancholy.

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long, long and lonesome rainy alley, I hope to float through a lilac like a girl with sorrow.

Why don't you throw more broken copper and iron, and splash your leftovers? Maybe the copper to green into emerald, rust out a few petals of peach blossom on the tin can; and then let the grease weave a layer of Luo Qi, mold to him to steam out some clouds.

Let the stagnant water fermented into a ditch of green wine, floating pearl-like white foam; small beads of laughter into a large bead, and by the theft of wine flower mosquito bite. Then a ditch of desperate stagnant water, but also boasted a few distinctive.

If the frog can't stand the loneliness, and count the stagnant water called out the song.

If the frogs can't stand the loneliness, then the stagnant water will call out a song.

How about letting the ugly reclaim it, and see what kind of world he creates? The old horse Zang Kejia had to ask the cart to be loaded enough, it did not say a word, the pressure on its back snapped into its flesh, and it hung its head down heavily! This moment does not know the life of the next moment, it has tears only to the heart to swallow, eyes floating a whip shadow, it raised its head to look ahead I hope to help you, hope to adopt.

8. Poems about the hometown

1 Near the hometown is more timid, do not dare to ask the people

2 Raise your head to look at the bright moon, head down to think of the hometown

3 Hometown clouds Feixiang

The sky drifted past the hometown clouds

It kept calling to me

When the breeze around me gently blew

There is a voice calling to me

Come back, come back

The wanderer

Come back, come back

Don't wander around

With heavy feet

The road to my home is so long

When the breeze is blowing gently around me

It brings the scent of the earth in my hometown

Come back, come back

I'm not sure if I'll ever see you again

I'm not sure if I'll never know what I'm talking about.

The winds of my hometown

The clouds of my hometown

Wipe away the wounds

Wipe away the wounds

4 The merchant's daughter doesn't know that she hates her country.