Poetry in praise of oil workers

1. Poems about oil workers

Poems about oil workers 1. Poems in praise of oil workers

One more look, safety and insurance.

Take one more step to avoid accidents.

Safety and efficiency go hand in hand,

Accidents and losses occur at the same time.

No matter how busy you are with production, safety must never be forgotten;

Human life is at stake, and safety comes first.

Safety is the lifeline of employees,

Employees are responsible for safety.

Production must be safe,

Safety promotes production.

Safety is the greatest savings,

Accidents are the greatest waste

You only have one life,

Safety is with you throughout your life.

Safety is the foundation of life,

Violations are the only source of accidents.

A thousand days is not enough to ensure safety,

One day is more than enough to cause an accident.

Safety is the guarantee of happiness,

Controlling hidden dangers ensures safety.

2. Poems praising oil workers

Become a library member with a minimum of 0.27 yuan to view the full content> Original publisher: Meng Haibo’s poems praising oil workers’ youth and life, oil workers musicians Composing youth into a song, begging it to last forever. Writers making life into poetry, hoping it can be beautiful. If the vigorous vitality of youth is the fresh green, the enthusiasm and unrestrainedness of life is that touch of red, we oil people are the pursuers of red and green. The creator of poems and songs. On the towering derrick is the oil man's responsibility for honor and disgrace. There is a sound in the solid drill bit. The heartbeat of the oil man who keeps pace with it. The wind and rain remain as before. The bonfire is burning in front of the people. The pieces of the drilling tower are full of pride. Tall and unstoppable, the iron bones are strong. The blood and sweat of the petroleum people spill out the Milky Way and flow in the deep and distant sky. The love and love of the petroleum people are sowing oil. Flowers are blooming. In China, where the four seasons are like spring, time flies by. What remains unchanged is the cry from the bottom of my heart that shakes the motherland. The aspiration of Lingyun stirs up a thousand waves and the eagle that beats the sky flies into the nine-night cloud. The life of youth grows here. The youth of life resides here. The triumphal song of the oil man. The music starts here, there, - the once remote northern capital of Nanguo suddenly resounds in the world of the Chinese nation overnight. How do you and I, young people, express our passion? Let youth bear witness. Hand in hand, we walk together with the years. The ever-splendid oil front! In fact, we are not alone. Don’t say that we have worked hard and never complained. Don’t say that we have gone through ups and downs without caring about the pain. As long as we have your caring greetings and one emotional compliment. No matter how hard it is, we are really tired. Don’t say that we are willing to stay away from the lights of thousands of homes and give up the comfort and leisure. Don’t say that it is difficult. Thousands of words can be expressed to block the inner calling for the happiness of "family" and everyone's joyful reunion for everything, really.

3. Poems about oil

Under the Qilian Mountains Author: Qilian Mountains in the fields, Qilian Mountains, I stand by your side, holding up the luminous cup of Jiuquan, filling it with your snow water, To these ten thousand lights, come to praise the oil workers - the heroes started the drilling rigs and fought on the oil; new cities emerged from the middle of the sea of ??lights; benchmarks one after another, went straight from the mountainside to the top of the mountain; Jinshan presented Gemstones are produced, and fire trees spurt out crude oil, causing the Hexi Corridor to bloom with flowers; making our bodies covered with the scent of oil.

Qilian Mountain, I ask you to take off your silver hair; put on an aluminum helmet on your high head; turn your childlike innocence into a red flame! Crazy red willow text/The black elf is on the wasteland station covered with alkali white. When the south wind blows quietly in the iron duty room, tell me that the crazy red willow dances in the sunshine and shows a smiling face in the play and whisper of the wind. Tell me that the spring eyes of late winter have opened up, and the entire Yellow River Delta is teased by the crazy red willows, and the new buds are vying to show off. When the naked spring girl wakes up in the wilderness, she holds the green leaves with her snow-white jade hands. Dandelion, bitter cauliflower; it is the crazy red willow wandering in my mind, telling me that she unexpectedly shines the sun on Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai dancing among the catkins, so that the legend of their love continues in the singing of birds. , tell me, it is the crazy tamarisk that wants to hug the neck of the sun, tell me when the dark clouds compete in the sky, when the rainbow is enviable with its seven-color feathers, and the immortal sun is dressed up with jealousy, surrounded by tens of thousands of dazzling golden threads. , It was the crazy red willow that grabbed the reins of the galloping horse in the time of lightning and lightning. He missed home. He did not complain, but told me that it was the crazy red willow that broke free from the shackles made of salt and alkali, and pierced deeply. The stretched roots tell me that it is the crazy tamarisk, which lines up to welcome us when the autumn wind blows; scattering bright red handkerchiefs and scarves like bonfires, leading us onto the red carpet of Suaeda, telling me that it is the crazy tamarisk. , making the exclamation of the towering drilling tower in the clouds blow the horn, contending in the empty wilderness of Bohai Bay, driving away the ferocity and loneliness of the jackals, the silver shuttle hanging high in the night sky, weaving silk brocade back and forth, without caring. , tell me, it is the crazy tamarisk, which uses a silver hook in the center of the wilderness to smash the dangerous climate of evil beasts. The ferocious devil's living space stretches red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple brocades everywhere, sending colorful dreams to the oil people. The "a tree" engraved with the stained years in my heart tells me that it is the crazy red willow that dances in the smiling face of the early spring in March and the song of the harvest in October. He who is crazy about it, it is seductive, Driving away all the malicious black, the evil lonely shadow, the person holding the black spirit of oil, spreading her wings in the young dream of the Yellow River entering the sea, is the crazy red willow love of Liaohe Oilfield - in memory of Liaohe Oilfield Factory 673 was founded 40 years ago. You came and I came. You are from the mainland of Hubei and I am from all directions outside Yumen Pass. Our passionate sons and daughters have taken root in the "Great Southern Wilderness". Battle of Xinglongtai. The wind of the Liao River. The clouds of the Liao River hold up the colorful oil fields. The sentiment of oil The dream of oil is dedicated to the new era. Liaohe Oilfield. I am nostalgic for this magical land. Meet under the oil trees and sing songs for thousands of years. Looking back at the time of hard work and starting a business, our parents are no longer in their youth. Looking forward to the future glorious days, my fathers and fellow villagers are always looking forward to it no matter what. The ends of the world are still close at hand. In my dreams and outside my dreams, I want to tell you the love in my heart. You come and I come. You come from the Sichuan Basin and I come from all directions outside the Great Wall of Xinjiang. My passionate sons and daughters take root in the "Great Southern Wilderness". Battle with thousands of wells and thousands of wells in Xinglongtai. Thousands of songs merge into the blood of oil. Thousands of songs sing about the splendor of Liaohe. Liaohe Oilfield. I belong to this magical land. I show off my singing voice and my heart is filled with pride. Looking back at the hard work of starting a business, my father and my mother are no longer in their youth. Looking forward to the glorious future. Fathers and fellow villagers. Always looking forward to it for a long time No matter the ends of the world or close at hand, in and out of dreams, I want to say my deep love to you, Karamayiwen/ xjzwj In front of the camp where I am stationed, there is a gurgling oil spring, black and bright. The clear, bright oil flows endlessly, coming from ancient times and heading towards the future. The sun shines brightly in the morning, and the bright moon sways in the night. This is the magical Karamay.

Who knows how many years this black oil has been flowing like this, who knows how many more years this black oil will continue to flow like this, Black Oil Mountain is its wordless monument, - this is magic of Karamay. Forty years ago, the heroic oil workers came to Black Oil Mountain. The black oil that flowed spontaneously finally flowed to the Great Wall, to the Yellow River, to the Yangtze River, and to the world.

A place called Karamay was born, and a city called Karamay was built. This is the magical Karamay. Only the red willow trees stand at their posts like sentinels, facing the strong wind from Mobei.

Only the elms and poplars are like green pines and cypresses, one after another, making the desert look like an oasis. This is the magical Karamay. Praise you, elm and poplar tree. You drink the sewage without any regrets. When you come to the Gobi, you put down your roots.

Just show yourself to the fearless oil workers. Wherever the hardships are, there will be your unyielding figure. Praise you, Karamay, praise your magic, praise your selflessness, praise your dedication.

You feed us with your black milk, and you tolerate us with your great mind. ——This is the magical Karamay.

[Original poem-----Youth Poetry] Written to my friends around me--a night patrol worker on the front line of oil production. Due to the cold weather, my body froze and my legs hurt too much. Since the dormitory was not divided, I applied to the team leader to live in the team, and the leader quickly agreed. I am very happy to be with my brothers and sisters on the front line and feel their daily life, personality and temperament.

Write about the night shift workers——the oil-extracting nighthawks! The black cat brothers of the oil field! You are like an arc of lightning, shooting straight into the night sky! Patrolling the oil dragon in the oil field. A pair of sharp eyes, competing with oil rats, inspecting the oil wells.

The root thermometer is the backbone of the pumping unit, the rotating second hand, and the return of the water volume.

The sun, moon and stars will accompany you in spring and autumn, and the scorching sun and wind will accompany you in summer and winter. You are the proud night watchmen, the black cat directors who defend Oil City! Praise you, nighthawk of the oil fields.

4. Poems about oil

Under the Qilian Mountains

Author: Tian Jian

Qilian Mountains, Qilian Mountains,

I stand beside you,

Holding the luminous cup of Jiuquan,

Filling it with your snow water,

Facing these ten thousand lights,

p>

Let’s praise the oil workers——

The heroes started drilling rigs,

fighting on oil;

New cities one after another,< /p>

Emerging from the middle of the sea of ??lights;

One after another, benchmarks,

Running straight from the mountainside to the top of the mountain;

Jinshan offers gems ,

The fire trees spurted out crude oil,

making this Hexi Corridor,

bloom with flowers;

making our bodies,

The smell of petroleum.

Qilian Mountain, I ask you,

to take off your silver hair;

on your high head,

to wear An aluminum helmet;

Turn your childlike innocence into a red flame!

5. Poems describing the "oil man"

The sun is shining in the village of Sartu, and it is full of glory and glory.

The road is wide, the field is wide, the spirit is high, the people are strong and strong, and the aluminum helmet is bright. Don’t bow your pride to the overlord, hold your chest high and celebrate your victory.

On a silent black earth and bright moonlit night, a train of oil trucks flies as far as the eye can see. The poems praising the oilmen's youth and life, the oilmen's musicians composed their youth into music, begging it to last forever. The writers composed their lives into poems, hoping that it would be beautiful and happy. If the vigorous vitality of youth is the fresh green, the enthusiasm and unrestrainedness of life is that. A touch of red, we oilmen, are the pursuers of red and green, the creators of poetry and songs. What is powerful on the towering derrick is the responsibility of honor and disgrace of oilmen. The sound in the solid drill is the heartbeat of oilmen who keep pace with it. The wind and rain remain the same. At that time, bonfires were burning brightly in front of people, and pieces of heroic drilling towers were towering and could not overwhelm the iron bones. The blood and sweat of oil people spilled out the Milky Way, shining and flowing in the deep and distant sky. The love and love of oil people sown oil flowers. Fragrant in China, which is like spring all year round, time flies by and the years will never change. What remains unchanged is the cry from the bottom of my heart.

6. Please help me to write a poem or essay about oil or oil workers. It is best to write the original poem

Pipeline Dragon

Our feet extend to the South China Sea

Those are the wings of dreams

Carrying our loyalty to the motherland

Soaring in the vast sky of the west

< p> Its body is flowing with the blood, sweat and tears of oil workers

It is a silent dedication to the motherland without regrets

It is a tribute to hometown Endless thoughts with our loved ones

Time flies and years pass

What remains unchanged is our passionate passion

and the cry from the bottom of our hearts

In this fanatical land of the Northwest

We sweat like rain

Silently guarding the energy ocean of the motherland

Facing the biting north wind, we do nothing Fearless

The towering iron tower cannot crush the iron bones

Youth is flying here

Dreams are blooming here

The spirit of the oil people Never fall