Great about verses:

Poetry is like painting: one work will captivate you more if you look at it closely, and another if you move further away.

Little cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creak of unoiled wheels.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Of all the arts, poetry is most tempted to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen glitter.

Humboldt W.

Poems succeed if they are created with spiritual clarity.

The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is commonly believed.

If only you knew from what rubbish Poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion near a fence, Like burdocks and quinoa.

A. A. Akhmatova

Poetry is not in verses alone: ​​it is spilled everywhere, it is around us. Take a look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life breathe from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.

I. S. Turgenev

For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.

G. Lichtenberg

A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - our thoughts make the poet sing inside us. Telling us about the woman he loves, he wonderfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He is a wizard. Understanding him, we become poets like him.

Where graceful verses flow, there is no place for vainglory.

Murasaki Shikibu

I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in Russian. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. Because of the feeling, art certainly peeps out. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

- ... Are your poems good, tell yourself?
- Monstrous! Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! the visitor asked pleadingly.
I promise and I swear! - solemnly said Ivan ...

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "The Master and Margarita"

We all write poetry; poets differ from the rest only in that they write them with words.

John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"

Every poem is a veil stretched out on the points of a few words. These words shine like stars, because of them the poem exists.

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok

The poets of antiquity, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. It is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times, a whole Universe is certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for someone who inadvertently wakes dormant lines.

Max Fry. "The Talking Dead"

To one of my clumsy hippos-poems, I attached such a heavenly tail: ...

Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea and not a plague!

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore drive away critics. They are but miserable drinkers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let the verses seem to him an absurd lowing, a chaotic jumble of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from tedious reason, a glorious song that sounds on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.

Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"

Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing but pure poetry who rejected the word.

Opening the calendar
January begins.
In January, in January
Lots of snow in the yard.
Snow - on the roof, on the porch.
The sun is in the blue sky.
There are stoves in our house.
Smoke rises into the sky.

FEBRUARY

The winds blow in February
Howling in the pipes loudly.
Snake rushes along the ground
Light ground.
Rising, rushing into the distance
Aircraft links.
It celebrates February
Army birth.

MARCH

Loose snow darkens in March.
Ice is melting on the window.
Bunny running around
And on the map
On the wall.

APRIL

April, April!
Drops are ringing in the yard.
Streams run through the fields
Puddles on the roads.
Ants coming soon
After the winter cold.
Bear sneaks
Through the woods.
The birds began to sing songs
And the snowdrop blossomed.

MAY

Lily of the valley blossomed in May
On the very holiday - on the first day.
May with flowers,
The lilac is blooming.

JUNE

June has come.
"June! June!"
Birds are chirping in the garden...
Just blow on a dandelion
And it will all fall apart.

JULY

Haymaking is in July
Somewhere, thunder grumbles at times.
And ready to leave the hive
Young bee swarm.

AUGUST

We collect in August
Fruit harvest.
Lots of joy for people
After all the hard work.
The sun over the spacious
Niwami is worth it.
And sunflower seeds
black
Packed.

SEPTEMBER

On a clear September morning
Villages thresh bread
Birds fly across the sea
And the school opened.

OCTOBER

In October, in October
Frequent rain outside.
Grass is dead in the meadows
The grasshopper was silent.
Firewood prepared
For the winter for stoves.

NOVEMBER

November seventh day
Red day calendar.
Look out your window
Everything outside is red.
Flags fly at the gate
Blazing with flames.
You see the music is coming
where the trams were.
All the people - both young and old
Celebrates freedom.
And my red balloon flies
Straight to the sky!

DECEMBER

In December, in December
All trees are in silver.
Our river, as if in a fairy tale,
Frost paved the night
Updated skates, sleds,
I brought a Christmas tree from the forest.
The tree cried at first
From home warmth.
Stop crying in the morning
She breathed, she came alive.
Her needles tremble a little,
The branches were on fire.
Like a ladder, a Christmas tree
The fires fly up.
Flappers glitter with gold.
I lit a star with silver
Ran to the top
The bravest bastard.

A year has passed like yesterday.
Over Moscow at this hour
The clock of the Kremlin tower strikes
Your salute - twelve times.

In the previous publication, we offered you, and now let's take a closer look at the autumn brothers-months. These are some adults who think that autumn is equally gray and slushy, but in fact, all autumn months are different and attractive in their own way!
Let's teach kids to see the world as amazing in any season, and let's learn it ourselves again!

We read poems about September, October, November with the children!

Poems about September

S. Marshak

On a clear September morning
Villages thresh bread
Birds rush across the sea -
And the school opened.

Let's start, as always, with the classics - poems from Marshakov's "All the Year Round" and, of course, from the first month of autumn - September! It can be rainy and thoughtful, cool and a little sad - but still, September is so green, warm, often sunny, like summer!

N. Firefly

September came with colors
Touched the leaves affectionately
And a simple tree
Suddenly it turned golden.

Juliet

Autumn boat in cozy gray
Guiding with a silent oar,
Only the tree glows festively
Behind a cold autumn window.

Still green stubbornly
Only this maple did not want to wait:
Blazed like the sun, but early
He flew south like a firebird.

N. Yazeva

In september, in september
Lots of leaves on the ground
Yellow and red!
All are so different!

September apricot

Juliet

The mornings are piercingly cold.
It's autumn, and seriously.
But you don't have to worry about
So said the September apricot.

This is how the cicadas sing on a warm evening,
After all, as in summer, the night is shorter than the day.
The rains are not in a hurry to meet,
Like the birds catch up with the summer.

Summer did not close, like doors,
Behind a distant horizon.
And believe me, all is not lost
It's not time to spread the umbrella yet.

In September, in love with summer,
Because he is waving a branch to me
Apricot, summer green,
All playing in the sunshine.

A. Metzger

***
The yellow leaf flies like a bird
Chanterelle hurries to the lesson.
New backpack on the back
Knapsack with forest alphabet.

September. The bell rang
The baby is going to first grade.
And a ball of yellow leaves
The wind is blowing across the sky.

Poems about October

S. Marshak

In October, in October
Frequent rain outside.
Grass is dead in the meadows
The grasshopper was silent.
Firewood prepared
For the winter for stoves.

But in October, autumn is already in earnest ... But still, there is no need to worry, although it’s good sometimes to grieve a little about summer ... And then start up - and throw yourself into piles of golden leaves - rustling, fragrant, magical!

Juliet

For some reason we dreamed of summer
Though it's been autumn for a long time,
And the wind ruffled the trees all night,
Cutting off wet leaves.

Thinned solar maples,
You can see the blue through the crowns.
And the trees stand in surprise
And they drop the gold into the grass.

Maybe they also dreamed of summer ...
Only really - autumn in reality
Scatter generously like coins
Golden underfoot foliage.

Whatever colors the trees surprise in October, when the artist-Autumn, who timidly tried her new colors in September, has already sold with might and main and paints the world in warm, sunny, fiery tones! As if specifically to make us warmer among the rains and fogs.

bonfire tree

Juliet

At the edge of the fog
the tree stands.
Crimson torch
the tree is on fire.

Do not touch the crown:
seems to touch a little -
Will burn your palms
fire tree.

Washed paint off the trees
rain... but still
Doesn't go out in the rain
bonfire tree!

O. Alenkina

Soon the hedgehog will go into hibernation,
The grove will throw off its outfit,
In the meantime, along all the tracks
The leaves are brightly circling.

Smiling October,
And already tickling the nose
School morning,
Early in the morning
The smallest
Freezing.

I. Demyanov

October is coming.
But the forest day is bright.
And autumn smiles
blue skies,

Silent lakes,
That lay their blue,
And pink dawns
In the birch region!

Here is moss gray lace
On an old boulder
And the yellow leaf is spinning
The other is already on the stump!..

And side by side, under the vines,
Under their dense canopy,
The boletus climbed -
And a sideways hat.

But everything in the forest is sadder:
Couldn't find a flower
How the pendulum swings
Aspen leaf.

Tree shadows are long...
And colder rays.
And cranes in the sky
Bubbling streams!

Poems about November

S. Marshak

November seventh day
Red day calendar.
Look out your window
Everything outside is red.
Flags fly at the gate
Blazing with flames.
You see the music is coming
where the trams were.
All the people - both young and old -
Celebrates freedom.
And my red balloon flies
Straight to the sky!

“You see, the music goes where the trams went” - I remember this line from childhood! And although now not everyone and not everywhere celebrates the “red day of the calendar”, I like the poem!

A.S. Pushkin

Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less
The day was getting shorter
Forests mysterious canopy
She stripped naked with a sad noise.
Fog fell on the fields
Noisy geese caravan
Stretched to the south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
November was already at the yard.

L. Lukanova

The rain is pouring like a bucket,
The kids are at home.
All November frowns
It's cold outside.

T. Kersten

Apple and plum trees are bare.
Our autumn garden looks dull.
Outside the window, then rain, then cold snow.
Gloomy, uncomfortable for everyone.
The sun sank in the puddles of November.
But we will not be angry with him for nothing.
Prepare skis, sleds and skates.
Winter days are coming soon.

And although autumn sadness is becoming more and more distinct in November verses, I think that its thick fogs are surprisingly cozy! Here, go out for a walk in the evening, when the red light of the lanterns gently dissipates in thousands of tiny raindrops.

Winter is coming... But it's great! It means the first snow New Year, pleasant surprises, new meetings and joys!

In the meantime... Let's make friends with Autumn and wait for the new Summer together!

Juliet

***
Summer ended today
And the rain does not subside in the morning ...
We are warmly and colorfully dressed,
And it was hot yesterday!

How quickly summer ended!
We have been waiting for him for a whole year -
It flashed like a comet
And autumn is upon us again.

Summer is suddenly over...
It rushed off across the sea
And disappeared behind the clouds somewhere
Leaving us the rain of September ...

Well, summer is over...
But we have our warm House.
All winter we will be warm
Cozy home warmth.

Well, summer is over.
But don't worry about him.
We know that it is somewhere
And we are waiting for him again!

(Read 1 time, 3 visits today)

Opening the calendar
January begins.
In January, in January
Lots of snow in the yard.
Snow - on the roof, on the porch.
The sun is in the blue sky.
There are stoves in our house.
Smoke rises into the sky.

FEBRUARY

The winds blow in February
Howling in the pipes loudly.
Snake rushes along the ground
Light ground.
Rising, rushing into the distance
Aircraft links.
It celebrates February
Army birth.

MARCH

Loose snow darkens in March.
Ice is melting on the window.
Bunny running around
And on the map
On the wall.

APRIL

April, April!
Drops are ringing in the yard.
Streams run through the fields
Puddles on the roads.
Ants coming soon
After the winter cold.
Bear sneaks
Through the woods.
The birds began to sing songs
And the snowdrop blossomed.

MAY

Lily of the valley blossomed in May
On the very holiday - on the first day.
May with flowers,
The lilac is blooming.

JUNE

June has come.
"June! June!"
Birds chirping in the garden...
Just blow on a dandelion
And it will all fall apart.

JULY

Haymaking is in July
Somewhere, thunder grumbles at times.
And ready to leave the hive
Young bee swarm.

AUGUST

We collect in August
Fruit harvest.
Lots of joy for people
After all the hard work.
The sun over the spacious
Niwami is worth it.
And sunflower seeds
black
Packed.

SEPTEMBER

On a clear September morning
Villages thresh bread
Birds fly across the sea
And the school opened.

OCTOBER

In October, in October
Frequent rain outside.
Grass is dead in the meadows
The grasshopper was silent.
Firewood prepared
For the winter for stoves.

NOVEMBER

November seventh day
Red day calendar.
Look out your window
Everything outside is red.
Flags fly at the gate
Blazing with flames.
You see the music is coming
where the trams were.
All the people - both young and old
Celebrates freedom.
And my red balloon flies
Straight to the sky!

DECEMBER

In December, in December
All trees are in silver.
Our river, as if in a fairy tale,
Frost paved the night
Updated skates, sleds,
I brought a Christmas tree from the forest.
The tree cried at first
From home warmth.
Stop crying in the morning
She breathed, she came alive.
Her needles tremble a little,
The branches were on fire.
Like a ladder, a Christmas tree
The fires fly up.
Flappers glitter with gold.
I lit a star with silver
Ran to the top
The bravest bastard.

A year has passed like yesterday.
Over Moscow at this hour
The clock of the Kremlin tower strikes
Your salute - twelve times.