浅谈写诗的创作心法与十二忌

引言：入山寻宝，与心同往

各位朋友，大家好！

今天我们不谈晦涩的理论，只聊一个朴素却核心的问题：心底那片混沌的感受——或许是一阵突如其来的惆怅、一次直击灵魂的感动、一段辗转难眠的思念——究竟如何挣脱束缚，凝结成清晰、动人且能穿越时空的诗句？

这趟从心到笔的旅程，需要两样行囊：一颗敏锐而真诚的心，为创作指引方向；一套可靠而趁手的工具，助我们披荆斩棘。心是诗意的源头，工具是赋形的桥梁，二者相辅相成，方能抵达诗的彼岸。

第一部分：诗人的心——诗意的源头

写诗，始于一场内在的修行。技巧可以通过学习掌握，但诗意的敏感度、作品的灵魂厚度，却需要心灵的持续滋养。

（一）内敛沉潜：让感受在时光中发酵

诗人是时间的酿酒师。当强烈的感受扑面而来时，真正的诗人从不急于呼喊，而是默默接住这份触动，将其置于心底，与过往的记忆、人生的经验静静交融、沉淀。陶渊明“采菊东篱下，悠然见南山”的闲适，绝非一时兴起的闲情，而是长期退守田园、与山水共生后，生命状态的自然流露。好诗从来不是情绪的仓促宣泄，而是经过一段寂静发酵期，褪去浮躁后的精华凝结。

（二）真诚本真：袒露灵魂的本来面目

诗是灵魂的“去蔽”艺术，它勇于呈现生命的本真，哪怕这份本真是私密的、复杂的，甚至是不完美的。李贽的“童心说”与袁枚的“性灵说”，都在强调这份发乎本心的力量。真正的诗，敢于袒露那些未被世俗完全驯化的情感。就像张枣在《镜中》写道：“只要想起一生中后悔的事，梅花便落满了南山。” 他没有直白倾诉悔憾，而是将这份隐秘的情绪，与空灵辽阔的意象悄然相连，让真诚以最恰当的诗意形式呈现，既动人又余味悠长。

（三）深刻共情：让心灵与世界共振

诗人的心，是一张敏感的蛛网，既能承接自身的喜怒哀乐，也能为远方的风雨颤动。杜甫从自己“茅屋为秋风所破”的窘迫，推及“安得广厦千万间，大庇天下寒士俱欢颜”的胸怀，这是将小我融入大我的共情；波兰诗人辛波丝卡能从两个陌生人的偶然擦肩，窥见命运网络的精密与温柔，这是对平凡生命联结的敏锐感知。共情让诗人的视野突破个体局限，让诗意拥有了触动更多人的力量。

（四）执拗雕琢：对语言的极致忠诚

诗歌是“精致的瓮”，既需要灵性的滋养，也需要匠人般的执着。贾岛“两句三年得，一吟双泪流”，为一个字反复推敲；现代诗人庞德为《在地铁站》短短两行诗修改数月，这些都不是无意义的文字游戏，而是对“精准表达此刻感受”的近乎苛刻的追求。创作的过程，是诗人与语言的漫长对话——既要驯服语言，让它承载自己的情感；也要敬畏语言，让每一个词都发挥出最大的能量。

第二部分：创作的心法——将诗意赋形

有了丰沛的内心感受，如何让那团模糊的“诗意”，变成具体可感、掷地有声的诗句？以下五大心法，是通往“赋形之境”的实用路径，帮你完成从“有心”到“有诗”的跨越。

心法一：意象转化——为情感找独一无二的“身体”

这是写诗最惊险也最神奇的一步：将抽象的“感受”（如孤寂、狂喜、思念），转化为具体的、可触摸的“意象”——让读者能通过一个画面、一个场景，感知到你内心的情绪。

核心技巧：当一种情绪涌上心头，别满足于第一个冒出来的比喻（比如“孤独像黑夜”“思念像长线”），这些表达早已失去新鲜感。多问自己几遍：“它更像什么？只有我能感受到的样子是什么？” 直到找到那个专属你的、充满细节的意象。

示例：

不说“思念很长”，而说：“我的思念，是毛衣上一个松脱的线头，越拉扯，这个黄昏就越漫长。”（用具体的动作、场景，让思念有了质感和延展感）

李煜写愁：“问君能有几多愁？恰似一江春水向东流。”（赋予“愁”以体积、动态和无尽感，成为千古绝唱）

日常练习：做生活的“意象捕手”。随身带一个小本，记下那些莫名击中你的瞬间：窗台上光影移动的刻度、废弃轮胎里长出的野花、路人电话里半句哽咽的乡音、咖啡杯底残留的泡沫形状……这些碎片化的场景，都是未来某首诗的“种子”。

心法二：感官写作——让读者“身临其境”

不要直接告诉读者你有多“悲伤”“快乐”“孤独”，要让他们通过眼睛看、耳朵听、双手触、鼻子闻，亲身“体验”你的情绪。将抽象情感锚定在具体的感官细节上，诗才会有血肉。

心诀：杜绝空泛的抒情形容词，转而调用视觉、听觉、嗅觉、触觉和味觉，构建可感知的场景。

示例：

写安静：“安静，是雪落在松枝上那‘噗’的一声，轻得像是天空翻了个身。”（用听觉和动态，让“安静”变得可感）

写惆怅：“暮色是旧的，像铜器上擦不掉的绿锈，缓慢地，爬满了整条巷子。”（用视觉和触觉，让“惆怅”有了颜色和质感）

写喜悦：“喜悦是刚剥开的橘子，指尖沾着酸甜的汁水，风一吹，连头发丝都带着暖香。”（用味觉、触觉、嗅觉，让“喜悦”变得鲜活）

心法三：视角转换——打开全新的诗意世界

当你觉得眼前的景物“没什么可写”，或是写出来的内容千篇一律时，试着换一双“眼睛”去看。视角一变，平凡的事物也能绽放出新的诗意。

三种实用视角：

1. 物的视角：让无生命的物体开口说话，赋予其情感和观察。比如：“我是楼道里的旧灯泡，看着一代代人搬来又搬走，只有我，守着深夜里偶尔亮起的孤独。”

2. 逆向视角：打破常规认知，从反面切入。比如写春天不写生机，写“春天是大地一场温柔的溃败，所有坚硬都被绿意攻陷”；写月亮不写圆满，写“月亮是被黑夜咬碎的饼干，碎渣落在人间，变成星星”。

3. 微观/宏观视角：放大细节或缩小宏大事物，制造反差感。比如：“蚂蚁扛着饭粒，跋涉过一片梧桐落叶的褶皱，那是它的万里长征”；“宇宙很大，而我的快乐，只是你递来的一杯热茶，冒着小小的白雾”。

心法四：经营张力——让诗歌充满“矛盾的魅力”

一首平缓如镜湖的诗或许优美，但一首充满张力的诗，往往更令人过目难忘。张力源于对立元素的并置与平衡，让诗歌内部充满拉扯感，从而产生丰富的解读空间。

四种易操作的张力构建方式：

1. 情感张力：将相反的情感叠加，比如“甜蜜的创痛”“平静的绝望”“热闹的孤独”。

2. 语言张力：打破常规搭配，将渺小的事物崇高化、宏大的事物微小化。比如：“露珠里，蜷缩着一整夜的星空”（渺小承载宏大）；“历史，不过是缝在时间袖口一粒松脱的纽扣”（宏大化为微小）。

3. 时空张力：将不同时空并置，制造跨越感。比如：“我刷着手机，屏幕的光，突然映出李白那杯摇晃的月亮”；“外婆的针线篮里，藏着民国的月光”。

4. 虚实张力：将具体的“实象”与抽象的“虚象”结合。比如工人诗人许立志所写：“我咽下一枚铁做的月亮。” 铁是具体的工业零件（实），月亮是乡愁、希望的象征（虚），二者的碰撞既残酷又精准，极具冲击力。

心法五：掌握分行与呼吸——让诗有“韵律感”

现代诗的分行，绝不是简单把散文句子截断，而是为诗歌创造音乐性和视觉节奏的关键。分行的位置，决定了阅读的停顿、重点和气息，是无声的韵律。

三个核心原则：

1. 强调重点：把最重要的词、最想突出的情绪，放在行末（强烈强调）或行首（醒目重启）。

示例：

我走了那么远的路

只为学会如何

轻盈

（“轻盈”独立成行，既突出主题，又留下回味空间）

2. 制造悬念：使用“跨行”技巧，让一个意思在下一行才完成，制造短暂的期待感。

示例：

她转过身，递给我一把钥匙，说这是……

整个下午不断褪色的阳光

（跨行让读者好奇“钥匙是什么”，揭晓答案时形成诗意的意外）

3. 贴合情感：短行带来急促、紧张或跳跃的节奏（适合表达激动、焦虑）；长行带来舒缓、沉思或绵长的气息（适合表达宁静、深情）。让分行的节奏与你想表达的情感同频，诗的感染力会翻倍。

第三部分：需要警惕的十二个误区

知晓了“应如何”，更要明了“不应如何”。以下十二个常见误区，如同创作路上的警示牌，帮你绕开弯路，让诗意更纯粹、更有力量。

一忌“直”：直白如口号，诗意尽失

诗贵含蓄，切忌把情绪和观点直接喊出来。比如“青年俊杰有才华，为国争光创辉煌”，意虽好，却如宣传口号，毫无余味。学学李清照“只恐双溪舴艋舟，载不动许多愁”，用具象化的表达让情感自然流露，比直白倾诉更动人。

二忌“泛”：面面俱到，空洞无物

写诗如同摄影，聚焦一点才能拍出精彩，面面俱到只会模糊焦点。比如《誓把中华享太平》，立意正确却空泛无力，没有具体的场景、细节支撑，难以打动人心。学学王昌龄“秦时明月汉时关”，用七个字压缩千年边关历史，以小见大，力量无穷。

三忌“平”：平铺直叙，毫无起伏

“文似看山不喜平”，诗的情绪和节奏要有抑扬顿挫。如果一首诗从头到尾都是一个调子、一种情绪，就像一条没有波澜的河流，读来乏味。学学李白《将进酒》，从悲慨到狂放，再到深寂，一波三折，让读者的情绪跟着诗句起伏。

四忌“枯”：语言干瘪，缺乏血肉

诗需要有温度、有质感的语言，切忌干巴巴地讲道理、描景物。比如“参观景区心欢喜，景色优美令人醉”，语言空洞，如同干花，没有生命力。学学宋祁“红杏枝头春意闹”，一个“闹”字将视觉转化为听觉，让春意鲜活起来，化枯为润。

五忌“生”：生造词语，拗口难懂

创新不等于生僻，切忌为了追求“特别”而编造词语、堆砌冷僻字。比如“三千冬岁逝，壮志未曾消”，“冬岁”拗口又生硬，不如“三秋岁月逝”自然。真正的创新，是用常见的词语组合出新鲜的意象，就像海子“面朝大海，春暖花开”，词语朴素，却充满诗意。

六忌“涩”：晦涩难懂，故作高深

晦涩不等于深刻，好诗应在“可解与不可解之间”。有些人为了显得“有深度”，故意堆砌象征、滥用典故，让读者读来一头雾水。学学李商隐的诗，虽朦胧却有情丝可循；舒婷《致橡树》，意象明确、线索清晰，既深刻又易懂。

七忌“俗”：情趣庸常，语言油滑

“俗”分两种：一是情趣俗（如“科学无知实为庸”，用语粗直，情趣低下）；二是语言俗（如“暮洗尘衣问暖凉”，流于客套应酬，毫无新意）。诗贵清雅，要提升审美品味，从独特的角度观察世界，写出“唯独你能看见”的东西。

八忌“旧”：陈词滥调，缺乏新意

月亮、梅花、乡愁等传统题材不是不能写，而是不能重复别人的表达。如果只是简单套用“举头望明月，低头思故乡”的思路，写出来的诗只会陈腐老套。学学张若虚《春江花月夜》，以宇宙意识解读月亮，让传统题材焕发新的生命力；你也可以写“月亮是悬在摩天楼间的古老钟摆”，结合现代生活，写出专属你的月亮。

九忌“浅”：只描表象，缺乏内核

好诗不止于描绘景物和情绪的表面，更要深入内核，由象及情、由情及理。比如《杭州中秋夜》，只写“明月当空照，游人乐开怀”，没有挖掘中秋背后的思念、团圆等深层意蕴，显得浅薄。学学里尔克《豹》，通过笼中豹的意象，探讨自由与禁锢的哲学命题，让诗有厚度。

十忌“露”：全盘托出，毫无留白

诗的魅力在于“言有尽而意无穷”，切忌把话说满、把情绪宣泄殆尽。比如“我非常想念你，每天都在盼你归”，直白有余，回味不足。学学李白“却下水晶帘，玲珑望秋月”，不写怨而怨自深；顾城“你，一会儿看我，一会儿看云”，简单的句子里藏着复杂的情感张力，留白处正是诗意生长的地方。

十一忌“实”：过于写实，缺乏想象

诗不是记叙文，不需要精确还原场景和细节，过于写实会让诗变得板滞、缺乏灵气。比如写“我在公园散步，看到桃花开了，柳树绿了”，如同流水账，没有想象空间。学学柳宗元“孤舟蓑笠翁，独钓寒江雪”，实写渔翁，虚写其清高孤傲的精神境界，虚实相生，空灵动人。

十二忌“散”：意象杂乱，没有主线

一首诗无论意象多跳跃，都需要有一根内在的情感或逻辑主线贯穿，切忌像散珠无串，杂乱无章。比如《草原晚秋》，一会儿写草黄，一会儿写风大，一会儿写牛羊，一会儿写落日，四个画面孤立无援，缺乏勾连。学学艾略特《荒原》，虽碎片化，却有“水”与“干旱”的核心隐喻统摄全篇，形散而神聚。

结语：在法则的尽头，遇见自由

最后，让我们将这一切融会贯通：

心性，是诗歌的种子——保持敏感、真诚与好奇，让内心始终有丰沛的情感流动，这是诗的根基；

心法，是培育种子的技艺——熟练运用意象转化、感官写作、视角转换、经营张力、分行节奏，让诗意精准赋形；

禁忌，是园丁的经验之谈——警惕“直、泛、平、枯”等误区，帮我们避开弯路，让创作更健康地生长。

但请记住，所有的心法与禁忌，都只是“拐杖”——它们的作用是帮你站稳脚跟，而不是束缚你的脚步。当你通过持续练习，将这些法则内化为本能，就会在某个时刻超越它们：你不再刻意纠结“是否符合技巧”，而是让情感顺着语言自然流淌；你不再刻意回避“禁忌”，而是懂得如何创造性地突破，让“禁忌”成为独特的表达。

那时，你写下的将不是“一首符合规则的诗”，而是从你生命深处自然流淌出的、不可复制的语言结晶。最高的技巧，是让技巧消失不见；最动人的诗歌，是在所有法则的尽头，依然颤动的那份独一无二的真诚。

愿我们都能在语言的密林中，找到属于自己的那条小径，带着一颗真诚的心，手握实用的技巧，勇敢地走下去——让每一份感受都能凝结成诗，让每一首诗都能成为生命的见证。

主讲人：王本海

海浪花文艺微课堂

On the Creative Principles and Twelve Taboos of Poetry Writing

Introduction: Seeking Treasures in the Mountains, Traveling with the Heart

Dear friends, hello everyone!

Today, we won’t delve into obscure theories—we’ll just talk about a simple yet core question: How does that vague feeling in our heart

perhaps a sudden wave of melancholy, a soul-stirring touch, or a sleepless night of longing—break free from constraints and condense into clear, moving verses that transcend time and space?

This journey from heart to pen requires two pieces of luggage: a sharp and sincere heart to guide the direction of creation, and a set of reliable and handy tools to help us cut through thorns. The heart is the source of poetic inspiration, and tools are the bridge to shaping it. Only when both complement each other can we reach the other shore of poetry.

Part One: The Poet’s Heart—The Source of Poetic Inspiration

Writing poetry begins with an inner practice. Skills can be learned through study, but the sensitivity to poetry and the depth of a work’s soul require continuous nourishment of the heart.

(1) Reserved Contemplation: Let Feelings Ferment in Time

A poet is a winemaker of time. When intense feelings surge forth, a true poet never hurries to shout them out. Instead, they quietly embrace this touch, place it deep in their heart, and let it blend and settle gently with past memories and life experiences. The leisure in Tao Yuanming’s line “Plucking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, I gaze leisurely at Nanshan” is by no means a casual mood of the moment—it is the natural expression of a life state formed after long-term retreat to the countryside and coexistence with mountains and rivers. Good poetry is never a hasty outpouring of emotions, but the condensation of essence after a period of quiet fermentation, stripped of impetuosity.

(2) Sincerity and Authenticity: Reveal the True Face of the Soul

Poetry is an art of “unveiling.” It dares to present the authenticity of life, even if that authenticity is private, complex, or even imperfect. Li Zhi’s “Theory of the Childlike Heart” and Yuan Mei’s “Theory of Natural Disposition” both emphasize this power of originating from one’s true self. True poetry dares to reveal emotions that have not been fully tamed by the world. Just as Zhang Zao wrote in “In the Mirror”: “Whenever I think of the regrets in my life, plum blossoms fall all over Nanshan.” He did not directly pour out his remorse, but quietly connected this hidden emotion with an ethereal and vast image, allowing sincerity to be presented in the most appropriate poetic form—moving and lingering.

(3) Profound Empathy: Let the Heart Resonate with the World

A poet’s heart is like a sensitive spider web, capable of catching both their own joys and sorrows and trembling at the wind from afar. From his own distress of “the thatched cottage being destroyed by the autumn wind,” Du Fu extended his compassion to “a broad house covering ten thousand hectares, sheltering all the poor scholars in the world”—this is empathy that integrates the individual into the collective. The Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska could perceive the delicate and gentle connection of the fate network from the accidental brush of two strangers—this is an acute awareness of the bonds between ordinary lives. Empathy breaks the limitations of the individual perspective, endowing poetry with the power to touch more people.

(4) Stubborn Polishing: Ultimate Loyalty to Language

Poetry is an “exquisite urn,” requiring both spiritual nourishment and craftsman-like dedication. Jia Dao “spent three years crafting two lines, shedding tears with a single recitation,” repeatedly revising a single word; the modern poet Ezra Pound revised his two-line poem “In a Station of the Metro” for months. These are not meaningless word games, but a nearly harsh pursuit of “expressing the current feeling with precision.” The creative process is a long dialogue between the poet and language—one must both tame language to carry their emotions and reverence language to make every word exert its maximum power.

Part Two: Creative Principles—Shaping Poetic Inspiration

With abundant inner feelings, how do we turn that vague “poetic inspiration” into concrete, vivid, and powerful verses? The following five principles are practical paths to the “state of shaping,” helping you bridge the gap from “having a heart” to “having a poem.”

Principle 1: Image Transformation—Finding a Unique “Body” for Emotions

This is the most thrilling and magical step in writing poetry: transforming abstract “feelings” (such as loneliness, ecstasy, longing) into concrete, tangible “images”—allowing readers to perceive your inner emotions through a single scene or picture.

Core Skill: When an emotion surges, do not settle for the first metaphor that comes to mind (e.g., “loneliness is like the night” or “longing is like a long thread”), as these expressions have long lost their freshness. Ask yourself repeatedly: “What is it more like? What does it look like that only I can feel?” Until you find that unique, detail-rich image that belongs solely to you.

Examples:

 Instead of “Longing is long,” write: “My longing is a loose thread on a sweater; the more I pull it, the longer this dusk becomes.” (Using specific actions and scenes to endow longing with texture and extension)

Li Yu wrote about sorrow: “How much sorrow can one bear? It is like the spring river flowing eastward, endless day and night.” (Endowing “sorrow” with volume, dynamics, and endlessness, becoming an eternal masterpiece)

Daily Practice: Be an “image catcher” in life. Carry a small notebook with you and jot down those moments that unexpectedly move you: the scale of light and shadow moving on the windowsill, a wildflower growing in an abandoned tire, half a choked hometown accent in a stranger’s phone call, the shape of foam remaining at the bottom of a coffee cup… These fragmented scenes are all “seeds” for future poems.

Principle 2: Sensory Writing—Let Readers “Be There”

Do not directly tell readers how “sad,” “happy,” or “lonely” you are; let them experience your emotions through seeing with their eyes, hearing with their ears, touching with their hands, and smelling with their noses. Anchoring abstract emotions in specific sensory details gives poetry flesh and blood.

Mantra: Eliminate empty lyrical adjectives and instead use sight, hearing, smell, touch, and taste to construct perceptible scenes.

Examples:

 Writing about quiet: “Quiet is the ‘puff’ of snow falling on pine branches, so light it’s as if the sky turned over.” (Using hearing and dynamics to make “quiet” perceptible)

Writing about melancholy: “Dusk is old, like the indelible patina on bronze, slowly crawling over the entire alley.” (Using sight and touch to endow “melancholy” with color and texture)

Writing about joy: “Joy is a just-peeled orange, with sweet and sour juice on the fingertips; when the wind blows, even the hair strands carry a warm fragrance.” (Using taste, touch, and smell to make “joy” vivid)

Principle 3: Perspective Shift—Opening a New Poetic World

When you feel that the scenery in front of you is “nothing to write about” or that what you write is clichéd, try looking at it with a different “pair of eyes.” A shift in perspective can make ordinary things bloom with new poetic charm.

Three Practical Perspectives:

1. Object Perspective: Let inanimate objects speak, endowing them with emotions and observations. For example: “I am an old light bulb in the corridor, watching generations of people move in and out; only I guard the occasional loneliness that lights up late at night.”

2. Reverse Perspective: Break conventional cognition and approach from the opposite side. For example, instead of writing about vitality when describing spring, write: “Spring is a gentle defeat of the earth, where all hardness is conquered by greenery”; instead of writing about completeness when describing the moon, write: “The moon is a biscuit bitten by the night, and its crumbs fall on the world, becoming stars.”

3. Micro/Macro Perspective: Magnify details or shrink grand things to create a sense of contrast. For example: “An ant carries a grain of rice, trekking through the wrinkles of a sycamore leaf—this is its long march across ten thousand miles”; “The universe is vast, yet my happiness is just a cup of hot tea you hand me, curling with small white mist.”

Principle 4: Managing Tension—Endowing Poetry with “The Charm of Contradiction”

A poem as calm as a mirror lake may be beautiful, but a poem full of tension is often more unforgettable. Tension arises from the juxtaposition and balance of opposing elements, filling the interior of the poem with a sense of pull and thus generating rich interpretive space.

Four Easy Ways to Build Tension:

1. Emotional Tension: Superimpose opposite emotions, such as “sweet pain,” “calm despair,” or “lively loneliness.”

2. Linguistic Tension: Break conventional collocations by elevating trivial things or minimizing grand things. For example: “In a dewdrop, the entire night’s starry sky curls up” (trivial things carrying grandeur); “History is just a loose button sewn on the sleeve of time” (grandeur reduced to triviality).

3. Time-Space Tension: Juxtapose different time and space to create a sense of transcendence. For example: “As I swipe my phone, the light on the screen suddenly reflects Li Bai’s swaying moon in his cup”; “In my grandmother’s needlework basket, there hides the moonlight of the Republic of China.”

4. Virtual-Real Tension: Combine concrete “real images” with abstract “virtual images.” For example, the migrant worker poet Xu Lizhi wrote: “I swallow an iron moon.” Iron is a concrete industrial part (real), while the moon symbolizes homesickness and hope (virtual); the collision between the two is both cruel and precise, with great impact.

Principle 5: Mastering Lineation and Breath—Giving Poetry “Rhythm”

Lineation in modern poetry is by no means simply cutting prose sentences; it is the key to creating musicality and visual rhythm for poetry. The position of line breaks determines the pauses, emphasis, and breath of reading—it is a silent rhythm.

Three Core Principles:

1. Emphasize Key Points: Place the most important words or emotions you want to highlight at the end of a line (strong emphasis) or beginning of a line (eye-catching restart).

Example:

I have traveled such a long way

Only to learn how to

Be light

( “Be light” stands alone, both emphasizing the theme and leaving room for reflection )

2. Create Suspense: Use the “enjambment” technique, allowing a meaning to be completed in the next line to create a brief sense of expectation.

Example:

She turned around, handed me a key, and said it was…

The fading sunlight of the entire afternoon

( Enjambment makes readers curious about “what the key is,” creating a poetic surprise when the answer is revealed )

3. Align with Emotions: Short lines bring a rapid, tense, or jumping rhythm (suitable for expressing excitement or anxiety); long lines bring a gentle, contemplative, or lingering breath (suitable for expressing tranquility or deep affection). Align the rhythm of lineation with the emotions you want to express, and the appeal of the poem will double.

Part Three: Twelve Taboos to Avoid

Knowing “what to do” is even more important than knowing “what not to do.” The following twelve common taboos are like warning signs on the creative path, helping you avoid detours and make poetic inspiration purer and more powerful.

Taboo 1: Being Too Direct—Plain as a Slogan, Losing Poetic Charm

Poetry values subtlety; avoid directly shouting out emotions and viewpoints. For example, “Young heroes are talented, striving for the country’s glory” has good intentions but is like a propaganda slogan, lacking aftertaste. Learn from Li Qingzhao’s “I fear that the tiny boats on Shuangxi cannot carry the weight of so much sorrow”—using concrete expressions to let emotions flow naturally, which is more moving than direct confession.

Taboo 2: Being Too Vague—Trying to Cover Everything, Empty and Lifeless

Writing poetry is like taking photos: focusing on one point can capture brilliance, while trying to cover everything will only blur the focus. For example, “Vowing to Make China Peaceful and Prosperous” has a correct theme but is vague and weak, lacking specific scenes and details to support it, making it difficult to move people. Learn from Wang Changling’s “The bright moon of Qin, the pass of Han”—compressing thousands of years of border history into seven words, achieving great power through small details.

Taboo 3: Being Too Flat—Plain Narration, No Ups and Downs

“Writing is like viewing mountains; one does not like flatness.” The emotions and rhythm of poetry should have ups and downs. If a poem maintains the same tone and emotion from start to finish, it is like a river without waves, boring to read. Learn from Li Bai’s “Quiet Night Thought” (Note: Corrected to a more appropriate example—“Drinking Alone Under the Moon” or “Will Enter the Wine”), which transitions from sorrow to wildness, then to depth, with twists and turns that make readers’ emotions ebb and flow with the verses.

Taboo 4: Being Too Dry—Sterile Language, Lack of Flesh and Blood

Poetry requires warm, textured language; avoid rigidly lecturing or describing scenery. For example, “Visiting the scenic spot fills my heart with joy, and the beautiful scenery intoxicates me” has empty language, like dried flowers without vitality. Learn from Song Qi’s “On the apricot branches, spring is bustling”—the word “bustling” transforms vision into hearing, bringing spring to life and turning dryness into richness.

Taboo 5: Being Too Forced—Coining Words, Awkward and Unintelligible

Innovation does not equal obscurity; avoid making up words or piling up rare characters to pursue “specialness.” For example, “Three thousand winter years have passed, but lofty ideals remain” is awkward and forced—“three autumn years have passed” is more natural. True innovation is combining common words to create fresh images, just like Haizi’s “Facing the sea, with spring blossoms”—simple words yet full of poetry.

Taboo 6: Being Too Obscure—Unintelligible, Pretending to Be Profound

Obscurity does not equal depth; good poetry should be “between understandable and incomprehensible.” Some people deliberately pile up symbols and overuse allusions to appear “profound,” leaving readers confused. Learn from Li Shangyin’s poems, which are obscure yet have traceable emotional threads; Shu Ting’s “To the Oak Tree” has clear images and symbols, with distinct emotional clues—both profound and understandable.

Taboo 7: Being Too Vulgar—Mediocre Taste, Sleazy Language

“Vulgarity” has two forms: vulgar taste (e.g., “Ignorance of science is truly mediocre,” with crude language and low taste) and vulgar language (e.g., “Washing dusty clothes at dusk, asking about warmth and coolness,” which is rigid and conventional, lacking freshness). Poetry values elegance; improve your aesthetic taste, observe the world from a unique perspective, and write what “only you can see.”

Taboo 8: Being Too Clichéd—Stale Expressions, Lack of Freshness

Traditional themes such as the moon, plum blossoms, and homesickness are not unwriteable—they just should not repeat others’ expressions. If you simply imitate “Raising my head, I see the bright moon; lowering my head, I think of my hometown,” the poem will only be stale and conventional. Learn from Zhang Ruoxu’s “Ode to the River of Flowers on a Moonlit Night,” which interprets the moon with cosmic awareness, endowing traditional themes with new vitality; you can also write “The moon is an ancient pendulum hanging between skyscrapers,” combining modern life to create your own unique moon.

Taboo 9: Being Too Superficial—Only Describing Appearances, Lack of Core

Good poetry does not stop at describing the surface of scenery and emotions; it should delve into the core, moving from images to emotions, then to reasoning. For example, “Mid-Autumn Night in Hangzhou” only writes “The bright moon shines in the sky, and tourists are happy,” failing to explore the deep meanings of longing and reunion behind Mid-Autumn Festival, making it superficial. Learn from Rainer Maria Rilke’s “The Panther,” which explores the philosophical proposition of freedom and imprisonment through the image of a caged panther, giving poetry depth.

Taboo 10: Being Too Explicit—Saying Everything, No Room for Imagination

The charm of poetry lies in “saying enough yet leaving much unsaid”; avoid saying everything and exhausting emotions. For example, “I miss you very much, and I look forward to your return every day” is too direct, lacking aftertaste. Learn from Li Bai’s “Lowering the crystal curtain, I gaze at the bright autumn moon through the delicate lattice”—expressing sorrow without directly saying it; Gu Cheng’s “You, look at me for a while, then look at the clouds” hides complex emotional tension in simple sentences, where the blank space is where poetic inspiration grows.

Taboo 11: Being Too Literal—Overly Realistic, Lack of Imagination

Poetry is not a narrative; it does not need to accurately restore scenes and details. Being overly realistic makes poetry rigid and lacking spirit. For example, “I walked in the park, saw peach blossoms blooming and willows turning green” is like a travel log, with no room for imagination. Learn from Liu Zongyuan’s “A lonely boat, a straw hat and coir raincoat; an old man fishing in the cold river snow”—literally describing an old man fishing, but implicitly expressing his noble and isolated spiritual realm, blending emptiness and reality to create an ethereal and moving effect.

Taboo 12: Being Too Disorganized—Chaotic Images, No Main Thread

No matter how jumping the images in a poem are, there must be an inner emotional or logical main thread running through it. Avoid being like scattered pearls without a string, chaotic and disorganized. For example, “Late Autumn on the Grassland” writes about yellow grass, strong wind, cattle and sheep, and sunset in turn—four isolated scenes lacking connection. Learn from T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” which, although fragmented, is unified by the core metaphors of “water” and “drought,” achieving “disorganized form but unified spirit.”

Conclusion: Meeting Freedom at the End of Rules

Finally, let us integrate all of this:

The heart is the seed of poetry—maintain sensitivity, sincerity, and curiosity, allowing abundant emotions to flow in your heart. This is the foundation of poetry.

Creative principles are the skills to nurture the seed—proficiently use image transformation, sensory writing, perspective shift, tension management, and lineation rhythm to shape poetic inspiration accurately.

Taboos are the lessons of a gardener—be vigilant of taboos such as “directness, vagueness, flatness, and dryness,” helping us avoid detours and make creation grow healthier.

But remember: all creative principles and taboos are just “crutches”—their role is to help you stand firm, not to restrain your steps. When you internalize these rules into instinct through continuous practice, you will surpass them at a certain moment: you will no longer deliberately worry about “whether it conforms to skills,” but let emotions flow naturally with language; you will no longer deliberately avoid “taboos,” but know how to break through creatively, turning “taboos” into unique expressions.

At that time, what you write will no longer be “a poem that conforms to rules,” but an irreproducible crystallization of language flowing naturally from the depths of your life. The highest skill is to make skills disappear; the most moving poetry is that unique sincerity still trembling at the end of all rules.

May we all find our own path in the forest of language, move forward bravely with a sincere heart and practical skills—let every feeling condense into poetry, and let every poem become a testimony of life.

Speaker: Wang Benhai

Hailanghua Literature Micro-Class

策划出品发行：

中国•思路海浪花文化艺术服务中心

特别推出王本海原创诗词一组十一首作品展示

一、《劳动之光》

百年工运铸辉煌，热血曾经破旧章。  

铁臂擎天开伟业，匠心织梦焕荣光。  

千行汗润山河壮，万众情凝岁月长。  

再展宏图挥巨笔，征程新启耀东方。  

二、《岳溪高铁站》

岳溪胜景启新章，铁骥驰风韵绕梁。

凤舞仙姿开画境，鲤鱼奔汉聚祥光。

浦河卷浪彰雄浑，碧水腾波显浩茫。

九域通途兴骏业，千秋伟绩永传扬。

三、《鹧鸪天•春之韵》

亿万人民斗志坚，齐心共赋鹧鸪天。

修成大道心安泰，引荐贤良梦傲然。

南海涌，北风眠。联盟工匠报平安。

神龙踏破环球路，货币倾盆用处宽。

四、《咏重庆湖广会馆》

东水门边古馆崇，飞檐翘角傲苍穹。

禹王殿内香烟绕，粤客堂前笑语融。

壁画山川呈胜景，梁雕瑞兽展祥风。

移民浩史千秋颂，故梓宏情万代雄。

五、《咏鲤鱼城寨》

岳溪胜景鲤鱼城，雾绕云环史韵盈。

旧堞残痕思往昔，青山焕彩启新程。

灵波轶事添幽趣，隆替交更悟此生。

文保鸿篇开画卷，铁龙驰暖梦方荣。

六、《研盘湾》

星望银潢灌斗光，浦河仓水绕环塘。

回龙映月沉犀影，困犊衔辉卧犬梁。

圣像携童东障固，狮岩踞势岭南昂。

跃登直下江天阔，一脉沧溟接大康。

 七、沁园春•九三阅兵

八秩风云，烽烟未远，青史长铭。看天安门下，旌旗猎猎；长安道上，步履铿铿。铁甲洪流，银鹰浩宇，犹记当年血火程。凝眸处，正山河无恙，日月同明。

 //

今朝再聚雄兵，承先烈精神续远征。恰鼓鼙催马，初心未改；风霜砺剑，浩气难平。赤县同欢，神州共庆，告慰忠魂慰此生。豪情起，待复兴梦遂，再耀丹青。

八.临江仙•研盘湾

口王本海

浦水汤汤环故苑，龙蟠虎踞呈祥。三梁续脉接穹苍。望星凝浩渺，宝鼎护乡邦。

∥

九世传薪承祖训，诗联高雅昭彰。家山入梦总牵肠。初心凝雅赋，文脉万年长。

王本海人物介绍

王本海，字木心，号一合，笔名思路、河边柳、马平、云鹤寿松、星空明月等，1965年2月出生于重庆