Poems about "Ao Jiu Jie" 1. Are there any poems about "Ao Jiu Jie"

There are poems about "Ao Jiu Jie":

1. Lin Zutao's "Miscellaneous Poems in the Middle Years of Fujian"

According to legend, it has been going on for nine years, and each of them cooked mixed dates and hazelnuts.

Sweep away the dust and throw away the filth, and give him the money god.

2. Qing Ye Meng Jun's Xiao Zhou

Steamed pears with tangerines have different meanings, and a pot of dates and millet is mixed.

Feeding Tongwu birds in the annual report means that Rongcheng has an ancient style.

There are different folk legends about the origin of Ou Jiu porridge. One is that it is said that Mu Lian's mother was fierce and was sent to hell to suffer after her death. When Mulian grew up, every day when he sent food to his mother, he was eaten by a kid, so he had to cook a bowl of porridge with dark color. The kid didn't dare to eat it, so it was named "Kujiu porridge", and the day when Mulian sent food was called "Aojiu Festival" and "Filial Festival". When it comes to sending the poor out of the source, Xie Zhaozhi, a scholar in the Ming Dynasty, said: "Levin's son, who was poorly clothed, died in the dark of the first month, made a mess of the world, abandoned the streets and lanes, and eliminated the poor ghosts."

2. Poems of Ao Jiu Jie

1. Farewell to my mother

Qing Dynasty: Huang Jingren

bowed the curtain and went to the mother's river beam, worrying for nothing and watching her eyes dry.

It's a miserable snowy night in Chai Men. It's better to have children than nothing at this time.

Vernacular translation:

Because I want to go to Heliang to make a living, I lifted the curtain and reluctantly said goodbye to my old mother. When I saw my white-haired mother, I couldn't stop crying and my tears dried up.

On this snowy night, it's a pity that you can't be filial to your mother, but you have to hide Chai Men's miserable death. What's the use of adopting a son? I might as well not.

2. In the west, I left my mother's grave

In the Tang Dynasty, Chen Quji

On the top of Gaogai Mountain, the sun was dim, and there were few birds staying alone at dusk.

The wine in the forest is empty, but I can't see Ding Ning telling me to go home early.

Vernacular translation:

The high mountains block the sun, only the thin light shines, and a few birds stand alone in the sunset.

I can only shed tears when I sprinkle wine in the Woods to mourn my ancestors, and I can't hear (my mother) telling me to go home early anymore.

3. You Zi Yin

Tang Dynasty: Meng Jiao

the thread in the hands of a fond-hearted mother, makes clothes for the body of her wayward boy.

carefully she sews and thoroughly she mends, dreading the delays that will keep him late from home.

but how much love has the inch-long grass, won the third spring festival.

Vernacular translation:

A loving mother uses a needle and thread in her hand to make clothes for her son E69DA5E6Ba962616964757A 686966667.13336366

Before he left, he sewed a needle tightly, fearing that his clothes would be damaged if his son came back late.

who dares to say that a child's weak filial piety like grass can repay the kindness of a loving mother like Chunhui Puze?

4. Arriving home at the end of the year

Qing Dynasty: Jiang Shiquan

loved his son endlessly, and was happy to be home.

A cold coat has a dense needle and thread, but a letter from home has a new ink mark.

I feel pity and thin when I meet you, and I ask you questions.

I feel ashamed of the son of man and dare not sigh.

Vernacular translation:

There is no end to loving your son, and the happiest thing is that the wanderer returns in time.

The stitches for sewing cold clothes are so dense that the handwriting and ink stains in the home book are as good as new.

My mother was distressed to see her son lose weight, calling me to inquire about the hardships of the journey.

mother, my son has been ashamed of you, and he won't have the heart to tell the story of his wanderings.

5, except for the night work

Tang Dynasty: Gaoshi

The cold lights in the hotel stayed up alone, so why did the guest's heart turn sad?

I miss my hometown for thousands of miles tonight, and it will be another year in the Ming Dynasty.

Vernacular translation:

If a person can't sleep at night in a hotel, why does the guest's heart suddenly become sad?

I was thousands of miles away from my hometown thinking about my hometown, and my beard was frosted again, and then another year passed.

3. Poems, articles, speeches, etc. about Aojiu Festival

It is the 29th day of the first month, which is called Aojiu every year here. At this time, children send a bowl of Aojiu porridge to their parents to show their filial piety and wishes, so Aojiu Festival is also called Filial Piety Festival.

There are many legends about the origin of the Aojiu Festival, but the most popular version is that a mother and son lived together a long time ago. Later, the mother died, and the son was in pain. Every day, he had to bring his mother's favorite food to his grave to worship. So year after year. One day, my son dreamed that his mother told him that on the 29th day of the first month of every year, there would always be a group of hungry ghosts who would come to grab food. The mother was too old to fight them, so she had to go hungry. My son was heartbroken. After waking up, I racked my brains and finally came up with a way. He knew that his mother loved sweets made of glutinous rice, so he put glutinous rice, peanuts, sesame seeds, red beans, red dates, longan and so on together to make porridge, and added brown sugar to the porridge, and took it to his mother's grave on the 29th day of the first month. The next day, the mother came to dream again and said that the hungry ghosts had come to grab food again, but when she saw the sticky and black things in her son's crock, she couldn't tell what they were like bugs. The hungry ghosts didn't dare to eat them. At last, the mother was not hungry. She also said that the porridge sent by her son was delicious and she liked it very much. Since then, every year on the 29th day of the first month, my son will always cook a pot of porridge that his mother likes to eat and give it to his mother. People lament their son's filial piety, and gradually this custom has spread among the people. Every year, nine children will send their parents a bowl of porridge to express their gratitude for their parents' parenting, and wish their parents peace, health and longevity.

Now, on this day every year, the government will remind people to respect and love the elderly by SMS, and send a love and filial piety to their parents. Today is the ninth festival again. Did you visit your parents? How much have you done and done for them in the past days? Nine years old, nine years old now, caring for the elderly for a long time; Everyone will be old, not old today, so it's time to honor your parents.

I am deeply grateful

Maybe my children owed too much to their parents in my last life, so God arranged for us to be their children in this life to repay their kindness in my last life. Everyone wants to pay off this debt. But it seems not that easy.

-Inscription

Year after year, day after day. It's the ninth festival again. But people are carried away by too many complicated emotions in the world, and forget that there are two people in this world who are really worth remembering all the time. That's our parents.

We may not remember their age, but we must never forget the increasing wrinkles on their faces, because that is what we impose on them. We may not remember their birthdays, but we must never forget their telephone numbers, because that may be the only way for us to contact our parents.

Every household has a strong aroma of Wojiu porridge. My parents did it for themselves. Their children may be running around in a deserted town, but they forget that today is such an important festival. Old people may call with anticipation to ask if their children can come back for the holiday, but the answer is no. Have they ever considered the feelings of their elderly parents? Disappointed in the end, only helpless and lonely.

remember the ninth festival last year. My mother and I went to the supermarket to buy the ingredients needed to make glutinous porridge, and then came back to make it ourselves. That kind of warm scene is still looming in front of us. Our family of three gathered around the kitchen, doing their assigned work, and not talking too much. That steaming is the best proof.

the porridge is ready. I scrambled to put them on the table, but there was silence after I sat down. I think I should say something to them, but I don't know where to start. Just when I was worried, my mother gave me the dates in her bowl. She said that it would be better to eat more jujube skin.

I'm stunned. This seems to be what I should say. But why is it mom who said this? I choked up, didn't know what to say, and finally began to cry. It was supposed to be a happy holiday, all because of me. I want it back. I scrambled to clean up the dishes and chopsticks, and scrambled to wash the dishes. I just want them to know that my daughter still loves them.

So that Jiujiu Festival gave me a very deep memory.

Lin Zutao's poem "Miscellaneous Odes in Middle Fujian" says: "According to legend, after nine years of fragrant Chen, each boiled a mixture of dates and hazelnuts. Sweep away the dust and throw away the filth, and give him money < P > God. "