Methodical piggy bank. Poems about autumn
AUTUMN THROUGH THE EYES OF CLASSICAL POETS
And every autumn I bloom again.
(A.S. Pushkin)
There is in the initial autumn
There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...
The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...
( F .
Tyutchev)
Late autumn time
Late autumn time
I love the Tsarskoye Selo garden,
When he is in the quiet half-darkness,
As if in a drowsiness, embraced
And white-winged visions
On the dim lake glass
In some kind of bliss of numbness
They will become rigid in this semi-darkness...
And to the porphyry steps
Catherine's Palaces
Dark shadows are falling
October early evenings -
And the garden darkens like oak trees,
And under the stars from the darkness of the night,
Like a reflection of the glorious past,
A golden dome emerges...
(F. Tyutchev)
October has already arrived...
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
(A. Pushkin)
The sky was already breathing in autumn...
The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
She stripped herself naked with a sad noise.
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
It was already November outside the yard.
Glorious Autumn
Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
Fragile ice on the icy river
It lies like melting sugar;
Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not yet had time to fade,
Yellow and fresh, they lie like a carpet.
Glorious autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi,
And moss swamps and stumps -
Everything is fine under the moonlight,
Everywhere I recognize my native Rus'...
I fly quickly on cast iron rails,
I think my thoughts...
(N. Nekrasov)
Before the rain
The mournful wind drives
The clouds are flocking to the edge of heaven.
The broken spruce groans,
The dark forest whispers dully.
To a stream, pockmarked and motley,
A leaf flies after a leaf,
And a stream, dry and sharp;
It's getting cold.
Twilight falls over everything,
Hitting from all sides,
Spinning in the air screaming
I think my thoughts...
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Autumn
Autumn has come; bad weather
Rushing in clouds from the seas;
The face of nature is gloomy,
The forests are dressed in blue darkness,
Fog is walking over the ground
And darkens the light of the eyes.
Everything is dying, growing cold;
The distant space turned black;
White day frowned;
The rains poured incessantly;
They moved in with people as neighbors
Longing and sleep, melancholy and laziness.
It’s just that the old man’s illness is boring;
Exactly the same for me too
Always watery and annoying
Stupid idle chatter.
(A. Koltsov)
in autumn
When the end-to-end web
Spreads threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,
We're not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer
We understand more clearly.
(A. Fet)
The sheets trembled, flying around
The leaves trembled, flying around,
The clouds of the sky covered the beauty,
An evil storm burst from the field
It tears and rushes and howls in the forest.
In a warm nest barely visible,
Svetlogruda, light, small,
Not alone in the storm.
And the roll call of thunder roars,
And the noisy darkness is so black...
Only you, my sweet bird,
In a warm nest it is barely visible.
(A. Fet)
The swallows have disappeared...
The swallows have disappeared
And yesterday dawned
All the rooks were flying
Yes, like a network, they flashed
Over there over that mountain.
Everyone sleeps in the evening,
It's dark outside.
The dry leaf falls
At night the wind gets angry
Yes, he knocks on the window.
It would be better if there was snow and a blizzard
Glad to meet you with breasts!
As if in fright
Shouting out to the south
The cranes are flying.
You will go out - involuntarily
It’s hard - at least cry!
Look across the field
Tumbleweed
Bounces like a ball.
(A. Fet)
Everything around is tired
Everything around is tired: the color of heaven is tired too,
And the wind, and the river, and the month that was born,
And the night, and in the greenery of the dim sleeping forest,
And the yellow leaf that finally fell off.
Only the fountain babbles in the middle of the distant darkness,
Speaking about life invisible, but familiar...
Oh autumn night, how omnipotent you are
Refusal to fight and deathly languor!
(A. Fet)
Leaf fall
The forest is like a painted tower,
Lilac, gold, crimson,
A cheerful, motley wall
Standing above a bright clearing.
Birch trees with yellow carving
Glisten in the blue azure,
Like towers, the fir trees are darkening,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there through the foliage
Clearances in the sky, like a window.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
Over the summer it dried out from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
Enters his motley mansion...
( AND .
Bunin)
Autumn. thicket of the forest
Autumn. Thicket of the forest.
Dry swamp moss.
Lake Beleso.
The sky is pale.
The water lilies have bloomed,
And the saffron bloomed.
The paths are broken,
The forest is both empty and bare.
Only you are beautiful
Although it has been dry for a long time,
In the hummocks by the bay
Old alder.
You look feminine
–
Into the water, half asleep
And you'll turn silver
First of all, to spring.
(I. Bunin)
October dawn
The night has turned pale and the moon is setting
Across the river with a red sickle.
The sleepy fog in the meadows turns silver,
The black reeds are damp and smoking,
Quiet in the village. There is a lamp in the chapel
It fades, wearily burning.
In the tremulous twilight of a chilled garden
Coolness flows from the steppe in waves...
The dawn is slowly dawning.
First of all, to spring.
Autumn
Lingonberries are ripening,
The days have become colder,
And from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder.
Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees are shining
In a multi-colored dress.
The sun laughs less often
There is no incense in the flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And he will cry sleepily.
(K. Balmont)
in autumn
Autumn has come
The flowers have dried up,
And they look sad
Bare bushes.
Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows
It's just turning green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine;
The wind howls in the field;
The rain is drizzling.
The waters began to rustle
of the fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm regions.
(A. Pleshcheev)
Boring picture
Boring picture!
Endless clouds
The rain keeps pouring down
Puddles by the porch...
Stunted rowan
Gets wet under the window
Looks at the village
A gray spot.
Why are you visiting early?
Has autumn come to us?
The heart still asks
Light and warmth!..
(A. Pleshcheev)
Autumn. Our whole poor garden is crumbling
Autumn. Our whole poor garden is crumbling,
Yellowed leaves are flying in the wind;
They only show off in the distance, there, at the bottom of the valleys,
The brushes are bright red withering rowan trees.
My heart is happy and sad,
Silently I warm and squeeze your little hands,
Looking into your eyes, I silently shed tears,
I don't know how to express how much I love you.
(A. Tolstoy)
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Water causes fog and dampness.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.
The dug-up road sleeps.
Today she dreamed
Which is very, very little
We have to wait for the gray winter.
Oh, and I myself am in the ringing thicket
I saw this in the fog yesterday:
Red moon as a foal
He harnessed himself to our sleigh.
(S. Yesenin)
Golden leaves swirled
Golden leaves swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond,
Like a light flock of butterflies
Freezingly, he flies towards the star.
I'm in love this evening,
The yellowing valley is close to my heart.
The wind boy up to his shoulders
The hem of the birch tree was stripped.
Both in the soul and in the valley there is coolness,
Blue twilight like a flock of sheep,
Behind the gate of the silent garden
The bell will ring and die.
I've never been thrifty before
So did not listen to rational flesh,
It would be nice, like willow branches,
To capsize into the pink waters.
It would be nice, smiling at the haystack,
The muzzle of the month chews hay...
Where are you, where, my quiet joy,
Loving everything, wanting nothing?
(S. Yesenin)
Golden autumn
Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Buried land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
The cold turns over the pages.
( B .
Autumn
Parsnip)
And again, like in the sweet years
melancholy, purity and miracles,
looks into the limp waters
ruddy thinning forest.
Simple as God's forgiveness
The transparent distance widens.
Ah, autumn, my delight,
my golden sadness!
It's fresh and the cobwebs are shining...
I rustle, I walk along the river,
through the branches and clusters of rowan
I look at the quiet sky.
And the wide vault turns blue,
and flocks of nomadic birds -
that timid children's lines
in the desert of ancient pages...
(V. Nabokov)
Beginning of autumn
The webs are floating
Above the sleepy stubble.
The rowan trees are turning red
Under every window.
They wheeze in the morning
The cockerels are young.
Rains lightly
Mushrooms fall out.
Tractor drivers sing
Going out into the cold.
Villages are getting ready
For Harvest Day.
(A. Tvardovsky)
Forest in autumn
Between the thinning tops
Blue appeared.
Made a noise at the edges
Bright yellow foliage.
You can't hear the birds. Small cracks
Broken branch
And, flashing its tail, a squirrel
The light one makes a jump.
The spruce tree has become more noticeable in the forest -
Protects dense shade.
The last aspen boletus
For Harvest Day.
He pulled his hat on one side.
In October
In October, in October
Frequent rain outside.
The grass in the meadows is dead,
The grasshopper fell silent.
Firewood has been prepared
For the winter for stoves.
(S. Marshak)
Indian summer
Indian summer has arrived -
Days of farewell warmth.
Warmed by the late sun,
In the crack the fly came to life.
Sun! What's more beautiful in the world
After a chilly day?..
Gossamer light yarn
Wrapped around a branch.
Tomorrow the rain will pour down quickly,
The sun is obscured by a cloud.
Silver cobwebs
There are two or three days left to live.
Have pity, autumn! Give us light!
Protect from winter darkness!
Have pity on us, Indian summer:
( These cobwebs are us.
D. Kedrin)
Threw off the green summer caftan
Summer has thrown off the green caftan,
The larks whistled to their heart's content.
Autumn, dressed in a yellow fur coat,
I walked through the forests with a broom.
So that she comes in like a zealous housewife
In the snowy forest towers
A dandy woman in a white swing -
Russian, rosy winter!
(D. Kedrin)
Autumn morning
The lovers' speeches are cut short,
The last starling flies away.
Silhouettes of crimson hearts.
Moving heaps of leaves.
(N. Zabolotsky)
September
The rain is pouring big peas,
The wind breaks, and the distance is unclean.
Silvery underside of the sheet.
But look: through the hole of the cloud,
Like through an arch of stone slabs,
In this kingdom of fog and darkness
The first ray breaks through and flies.
This means that the distance is not curtained forever
Clouds, and, therefore, not in vain,
Like a girl, flushed, a nut
It started shining at the end of September.
Now, painter, grab it
Brush by brush, and on the canvas
Golden like fire and garnet
Draw this girl for me.
Draw, like a tree, an unsteady
Young princess in a crown
With a restlessly sliding smile
On a tear-stained young face.
Moving heaps of leaves.
Autumn
When day and light have passed
Nature does not choose itself,
Autumn groves large premises
They stand in the air like clean houses.
Hawks live in them, crows spend the night in them,
And the clouds above, like ghosts, wander.
Autumn leaves dried substance
And the whole earth was covered. In the distance
A large creature on four legs
Mooing, he goes into the foggy village.
Bull, bull! Are you really no longer a king?
The maple leaf reminds us of amber.
Spirit of Autumn, give me strength to wield the pen!
The structure of air contains the presence of diamond.
The bull disappeared around the corner
And solar mass
Hangs like a misty ball above the ground,
And the edge of the earth, shimmering, bleeds.
Rotating the round eye from under the eyelids,
A large bird is flying below.
You can feel a person in her movement.
At least he's lurking
In its embryo between two wide wings.
The beetle opened its house between the leaves.
Architecture of Autumn. Location in it
Airspace, groves, rivers,
Location of animals and people
When rings fly through the air
And curls of leaves, and special light, -
This is what we will choose among other signs.
The beetle opened its house between the leaves
And with his horns out, he looks out,
The beetle dug up various roots for itself
And puts it in a pile,
Then he blows his little horn
And again he hides like a little god.
But then evening comes. Everything that was pure
Spatial, luminous, dry, -
Everything became gray, unpleasant, hazy,
Indistinguishable. The wind blows smoke
The air rotates, the leaves fall in heaps
And the top of the earth explodes with gunpowder.
And all nature begins to freeze.
A maple leaf is like copper
It rings when it hits a small twig.
And we must understand that this is an icon,
which nature sends us,
Entering a different time of year.
(N. Zabolotsky)
Autumn landscapes
1. In the rain
My umbrella is torn like a bird,
And it breaks out, cracking.
It makes noise over the world and smokes
Damp rain hut.
And I stand in the weave
Cool elongated bodies,
It's like it's raining for a moment
He wanted to merge with me.
2. Autumn morning
Autumn morning
The lovers' speeches are cut short,
They fall from the maples all day long
The last starling flies away.
What have you done to us, autumn!
The earth freezes in red gold.
The flame of sorrow whistles underfoot,
Silhouettes of crimson hearts.
3. Last Cannes
All that shone and sang,
The forests disappeared into the autumn,
And slowly breathe on the body
The last warmth of heaven.
Fogs creep through the trees,
The fountains fell silent in the garden.
Some motionless eland
They burn in plain sight.
So, stretching out her wings, the eagle
Standing on the ledge of a rock,
And it moves in its beak
Fire emerging from the darkness.
Moving heaps of leaves.
Autumn maple
(From S. Galkin)
The autumn world is meaningfully arranged
And populated.
Enter it and be at peace with your soul,
Like this maple.
And if dust covers you for a moment,
Don't be dead.
Let your sheets be washed at dawn
Dew of the fields.
When will the storm break over the world?
And a hurricane
They will make you bow to the ground
Your thin figure.
But even having fallen into mortal languor
From these torments
Like a simple autumn tree,
Shut up, my friend.
Don't forget that it will straighten up again,
Not twisted
But wise from earthly understanding,
Autumn maple.
Moving heaps of leaves.
Autumn
There was a late wind,
Carried the ashes of rotten leaves
And dregs, like from plates,
Spilled out of puddles.
The bunch of rowan trees was glowing.
And the forest, recently dense,
The foliage shone gloriously,
Became visible to everyone.
It was like a close home
Where the wallpaper was torn off,
There are no lamps overhead, -
You will find out, but with difficulty.
To different ends
Folding your curtains
And having taken down my pictures,
The residents have left.
Rain flowed from the darkness,
The smell of prey lingered,
And it's like they've been burned
Wet trunks.
Oh, sweet homes!..
In vain my heart is sad:
Everything will be straightened out skillfully,
Winter will whiten everything.
(K. Vanshenkin)
Autumn has just started working...
Autumn has just begun to work,
I just took out my brush and cutter,
I put some gilding here and there,
here and there I dropped the crimson,
and hesitated, as if deciding
Should she be accepted this way or that way?
Then he despairs, interfering with colors,
and in embarrassment he takes a step back...
Then he will go to pieces with anger
he will tear everything apart with a merciless hand...
And suddenly, on a painful night,
will find great peace.
And then, having put together
all efforts, thoughts, ways,
paints a picture like this
that we won’t be able to take our eyes off.
And let us become quiet, involuntarily embarrassed:
what to do and what to say?
...And she is still dissatisfied with herself:
they say, it didn’t work out that way again.
And she herself will destroy it all,
the wind will blow it away, it will flood with rain,
to get rid of winter and summer
and start again in a year.
(Margarita Aliger)
Early autumn
Autumn is early.
Leaves are falling.
Step carefully into the grass.
Each leaf is a fox's face...
This is the land on which I live.
Foxes quarrel, foxes are sad,
foxes celebrate, cry, sing,
and when they light their pipes,
It means the rain will come soon.
Burning runs through the trunks,
and the trunks disappear into the ditch.
Each trunk is the body of a deer...
This is the land on which I live.
Red oak with blue horns
waiting for an opponent from silence...
Be careful:
an ax underfoot!
And the roads back are burned!
But in the forest, at the pine entrance,
someone actually believes in him...
There's nothing you can do about it:
nature!
This is the land I live on
(B. Okudzhava)
Autumn
Love's sublime origins
forests and pastures are preserved.
Invisibly Pushkin's lines
intertwined in the autumn leaf fall.
And among the sensitive silence
in the font of golden sleep
The soul is full of charm
And she is full of bright thoughts.
Native poetry freedom
embraced both the distance and the heights,
that where is Pushkin, where is nature,
go try and figure it out...
(N. Rachkov)
Poems for the Miss Autumn contest:
Website “Mom can do anything!” I collected the most beautiful poems about autumn for children. They will create a special autumn mood, as well as introduce you to the features of nature at this time of year. These poems will not only broaden your horizons, but also show your child all the beauty of golden autumn.
These poems are suitable for memorizing or reading in kindergarten or school. They can be told at an autumn festival or simply read after a walk in the park.
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
If in the trees
the leaves have turned yellow,
If the land is far away
the birds have flown away,
If the sky is gloomy,
if it rains,
It's that time of year
It's called autumn.
(M. Khodyakova)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
I walk and feel sad alone:
Autumn is nearby somewhere.
A yellow leaf in the river
summer has drowned.
I throw him a circle
your last wreath.
Only summer cannot be saved,
if the day is autumn.
(G.M. Novitskaya)
In the aspen forest
In the aspen forest
The aspen trees are trembling.
The wind blows
From aspen scarves.
He's on the path
Will take off the scarves -
In the aspen forest
Autumn will come.
(V. Stepanov)
The rain is flying
The raindrops are flying, flying,
You won't get out of the gate.
Along the wet path
A damp fog creeps in. Around the sad pines
And fiery rowan trees
Autumn comes and sows
Fragrant mushrooms!
(Ivan Demyanov) 
Leaf fall
Leaf fall,
Leaf fall!
Yellow birds are flying...
Maybe it's not birds
Are you getting ready for a long journey?
Maybe this
Just summer
Flying away to relax?
He will rest,
Will gain strength
And back to us
Will come back.
(I. Bursov)
Autumn treasure
Yellow coins fall from a branch...
There's a whole treasure underfoot!
This is golden autumn
Gives leaves without counting,
Golden gives leaves
To you, and to us,
And to everyone.
(I. Pivovarova)
Autumn tears
Cried at night
Yellow maples.
We remembered the maples,
How green they were.
From yellow birch
It was also dripping.
So, birch too
I cried...
(E. Mashkovskaya)
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
(A.S. Pushkin)
***
Plums are scattering in the garden,
A noble treat for wasps...
A yellow leaf took a swim in the pond
And welcomes early autumn.
He imagined himself as a ship
The wind of wanderings rocked him.
So we will swim after him
To berths unknown in life. And we already know by heart:
In a year there will be a new summer.
Why is there universal sadness?
In every line of poetry by poets?
Is it because there are traces in the dew?
Will the rains wash away and the winters freeze?
Is it because all moments are
Fleeting and unique?
(Lyudmila Kuznetsova)
***
In the morning we go to the yard -
Leaves are falling like rain,
They rustle underfoot
And they fly... they fly... they fly...
Cobwebs fly by
With spiders in the middle,
And high from the ground
The cranes flew by.
Everything is flying! This must be
Our summer is flying away.
(E. Trutneva)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Wait, autumn, don't rush
Unwind your rains,
Spread your fogs
on the choppy river surface.
Slow down, autumn, show me
Yellow leaves turn for me,
Let me make sure, don't rush,
How fresh your silence is
And how bottomless the sky is blue
Over the hot flames of the aspens...
(L. Tatyanicheva)
September
Summer is ending
Summer is ending!
And the sun doesn't shine
And he's hiding somewhere.
And the rain is first grade,
A little timid
In an oblique ruler
Lines the window.
(I. Tokmakova)
Leaf fall
Foliage flutters in the air,
All of Moscow is covered in yellow leaves.
We are sitting by the window
And we look outside.
The leaves whisper: - Let's fly away! —
and dive into a puddle.
(Yu. Korinets)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Lingonberries are ripening,
The days have become colder,
And from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder. Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees are shining
In a multi-colored dress. The sun laughs less often,
There is no incense in the flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And he will cry sleepily. (Konstantin Balmont)
***
Boring picture!
Endless clouds
The rain keeps pouring down
Puddles by the porch...
Stunted rowan
Gets wet under the window
Looks at the village
A gray spot.
Why are you visiting early?
Has autumn come to us?
The heart still asks
Light and warmth!..
(Alexey Pleshcheev)
October
Here is a maple leaf on a branch.
Now it's just like new!
All ruddy and golden.
Where are you going, leaf? Wait!
(V.D. Berestov)
Autumn song
Summer has passed
Autumn has arrived.
In the fields and groves
Empty and sad. The birds have flown away,
The days have become shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
(Alexey Pleshcheev)
Mischiefmakers
Spun around me
The rain of leaves is mischievous.
How good he is!
Where else can you find something like this?
Without end and without beginning?
I began to dance under it,
We danced like friends -
Rain of leaves and me.
(L. Razvodova)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
On a bush-bush -
yellow leaves,
A cloud hangs in the blue, -
So it's time for autumn!
In the red leaves of the banks.
Each leaf is like a flag.
Our autumn park has become stricter.
Everything will be covered in bronze!
Autumn, it seems to me, too
Getting ready for October...
In the red leaves of the banks.
Each leaf is like a flag!
(Ivan Demyanov)
Indian summer
Indian summer
Days of farewell warmth.
Warmed by the late sun,
In the crack the fly came to life.
Sun! What's more beautiful in the world
After a chilly day?..
Gossamer light yarn
A bitch has wrapped itself around it. Tomorrow the rain will pour down quickly,
The sun is obscured by a cloud.
Silver cobwebs
There are two or three days left to live.
Have pity, autumn! Give us light!
Protect from winter darkness!
Have pity on us, Indian summer:
These cobwebs are us.
(D.B. Kedrin)
October
It's been raining since morning,
It's pouring like a bucket,
And like big flowers
Umbrellas open.
November
Hands get cold in November:
Cold, wind outside,
Late autumn brings
First snow and first ice.
(A. Berlova)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Autumn has come
The flowers have dried up,
And they look sad
Bare bushes.
Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows
It's just turning green
Winter in the fields. A cloud covers the sky,
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field,
The rain is drizzling.
The waters began to rustle
of the fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm regions.
(Alexey Pleshcheev)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Autumn gives miracles,
And what kind!
The forests are depleted
Gold hats.
They sit on a tree stump in a crowd
Red honey mushrooms,
And the spider is such a trickster! –
The network is pulling somewhere.
Rain and withered grass
In the sleepy most of the night
Incomprehensible words
They mumble until the morning.
(M. Geller)
***
A fox passed under a bush
And burned the leaves
Tail.
The fire climbed through the branches
And it burst into flames
Autumn forest.
(N. Krasilnikov)
in autumn 
In the crane sky
The wind carries clouds.
The willow whispers to the willow:
"Autumn. It's autumn again!”
Yellow shower of leaves,
The sun is below the pines.
Willow whispers to willow:
"Autumn. Autumn soon!"
Frost on the bush
He threw a white cry.
The oak whispers to the rowan tree:
"Autumn. Autumn soon!"
Spruce trees whisper to the fir trees
In the middle of the forest:
“It will soon sweep
And it will start snowing soon!”
(A. Efimtsev)
Harvest Festival
Autumn decorates the parks
Multi-colored foliage.
Autumn feeds with harvest
Birds, animals and you and me. And in the gardens and in the vegetable garden,
Both in the forest and by the water.
Prepared by nature
All kinds of fruits. The fields are being harvested -
People are collecting bread.
The mouse drags the grains into the hole,
To have lunch in the winter. Squirrels are dried, roots,
Bees store honey.
Grandma makes jam
He puts apples in the cellar. The harvest is good -
Collect gifts of nature!
In the cold, in the cold, in bad weather
The harvest will come in handy!
(Tatiana Bokova)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Autumn is coming
In our park
Gives autumn
Gifts for everyone:
Red beads –
Rowan,
Pink apron –
Aspen,
Yellow umbrella –
Poplars,
Autumn fruits
Gives it to us.
(I. Vinokurov)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
Slow down, autumn, don't rush
Unwind your rains,
Spread your fogs
on the choppy river surface.
Slow down, autumn, show me
Yellow leaves turn for me,
Let me make sure, don't rush,
How fresh your silence is
And how bottomless the sky is blue
Over the hot flames of the aspens...
(L. Tatyanicheva)
***
Leaf fall, leaf fall,
Yellow leaves are flying.
Yellow maple, yellow beech,
Yellow circle in the sky of the sun.
Yellow yard, yellow house.
The whole earth is yellow all around.
Yellowness, yellowness,
This means that autumn is not spring.
(V. Nirovich)
Leaf walker
Red rain falls from the sky,
The wind carries red leaves...
Leaf fall,
Change of season
Leaf walker on the river, leaf walker.
The sides of the river are freezing,
And there is nowhere to escape from the frost.
The river was covered with a fox fur coat,
But he's shaking
And can't get warm.
(V. Shulzhik)
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
The birdhouse is empty -
The birds have flown away
Leaves on the trees
I can't sit either.
All day today
They're all flying and flying...
Apparently, also to Africa
They want to fly away.
(I.P. Tokmakova) 
***
October has already arrived -
the grove is already shaking off
Latest sheets
from its naked branches;
The autumn chill has breathed in -
the road is freezing. The murmur is still running
behind the mill there is a stream,
But the pond was already frozen;
my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And they suffer in winter
from mad fun,
And wakes up the dogs barking
sleeping oak groves.
(A.S. Pushkin)
***
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Water causes fog and dampness.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.
The dug-up road sleeps.
Today she dreamed
Which is very, very little
All we have to do is wait for the gray winter... (Sergei Yesenin)
Golden autumn
Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Buried land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
The cold turns over the pages.
(Boris Pasternak)
Before the rain
The mournful wind drives
The clouds are flocking to the edge of heaven.
The broken spruce groans,
The dark forest whispers dully.
To a stream, pockmarked and motley,
A leaf flies after a leaf,
And a stream, dry and sharp;
It's getting cold.
Twilight falls over everything,
Hitting from all sides,
Spinning in the air screaming
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
(Nikolai Nekrasov)
The sky was already breathing in autumn...
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
She stripped herself naked with a sad noise.
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.
(A.S. Pushkin)
The swallows have disappeared...
The swallows have disappeared
And yesterday dawned
All the rooks were flying
Yes, like a network, they flashed
Over there over that mountain.
Everyone sleeps in the evening,
It's dark outside.
The dry leaf falls
At night the wind gets angry
Yes, he knocks on the window.
It would be better if there was snow and a blizzard
Glad to meet you with breasts!
As if in fright
Shouting out to the south
The cranes are flying.
You will go out - involuntarily
It’s hard - at least cry!
Look across the field
Tumbleweed
Bounces like a ball.
(A.A. Fet)
Leaf fall
The forest is like a painted tower,
Lilac, gold, crimson,
A cheerful, motley wall
Standing above a bright clearing.
Birch trees with yellow carving
Glisten in the blue azure,
Like towers, the fir trees are darkening,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there
through foliage
Clearances in the sky, like a window.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
Over the summer it dried out from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
Enters his motley mansion...
(Ivan Bunin)
Glorious Autumn
Glorious Autumn
Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
Ice is not strong
on the chilly river
As if
melting sugar lies;
Near the forest
like in a soft bed,
You can get some sleep -
peace and space!
Leaves fade
haven't had time yet
They lie yellow and fresh,
like a carpet. Glorious autumn!
Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature!
And the bumps
And moss swamps and stumps -
Everything is fine under the moonlight,
Everywhere I recognize my native Rus'...
I'm flying fast
on cast iron rails,
I think my thoughts...
(N.A. Nekrasov)
Short and beautiful autumn poems for children (kindergarten, junior schoolchildren)
The birdhouse is empty...
The birdhouse is empty,
The birds have flown away
Leaves on the trees
I can't sit either.
All day today
Everyone is flying, flying...
Apparently, also to Africa
They want to fly away.
I. Tokmakova
White snowstorms coming soon...
White snowstorms coming soon
The snow will be lifted from the ground.
They fly away, they fly away,
The cranes flew away.
Don't hear the cuckoos in the grove,
And the birdhouse was empty.
The stork flaps its wings -
It flies away, it flies away!
Leaf swaying patterned
In a blue puddle on the water.
A rook walks with a black rook
In the garden along the ridge.
They crumbled and turned yellow
Rare rays of the sun.
They fly away, they fly away,
The rooks also flew away.
E. Blaginina
We didn't notice the beetle.
We didn't notice the beetle.
And the winter frames were closed,
And he's alive
He's still alive
Buzzing in the window
Spreading my wings...
And I call my mother for help:
- There's a living beetle there!
Let's open the frame!
Agniya Barto
Autumn has come.
Autumn has come
It started to rain.
How sad it is
What the gardens look like.
The birds reached out
To warm regions.
Farewell is heard
The screech of a crane.
The sun doesn't spoil me
Us with your warmth.
Northern, frosty
It blows cold.
It's very sad
Sad at heart
Because it's summer
Can't return it anymore.
E. Arsenina
Someone painted yellow...
Someone painted yellow
Painted the forests
For some reason they became
Below the heavens
Burned brighter
Rowan tassels.
All the flowers have faded
Only fresh wormwood.
I asked my dad:
- What happened suddenly?
And dad answered:
- It's autumn, friend.
Vladimir Orlov
On the road, on the path.
On the road, on the path
The forest has lost its leaves.
Spider on a web
He got into my collar.
The nights have become darker
And you can’t hear the woodpecker’s knock.
More often the rain wets the branches,
There will be no sound of thunder.
In the morning already in a puddle
The first ice appeared.
And the snow lightly circles,
Know the frost on the way, it's coming.
L. Nelyubov
Autumn.
If you're not in the mood,
If the street is wet,
The rain blurs the tears
On asphalt and on glass,
If the children are out for a walk
Don't stick your nose out
This means - lost
Multi-colored umbrella Autumn.
Agniya Barto
Before winter.
The maples are flying faster and faster,
The low vault of heaven is getting darker,
You can see more and more how the crowns are emptying,
You can hear the forest growing numb...
And increasingly hides in the darkness
The sun has cooled towards the earth.
Igor Maznin
Poems about autumn Russian poets and classics / October 2015
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!…
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
A. Pushkin
Autumn (excerpt).
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
A. Pushkin
There is an initial autumn...
There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...
The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...
F. Tyutchev
Autumn.
Autumn has come
The flowers have dried up,
And they look sad
Bare bushes.
Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows
It's just turning green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field,
The rain is drizzling..
The waters began to rustle
of the fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm regions.
Alexey Pleshcheev
Boring picture...
Boring picture!
Endless clouds
The rain keeps pouring down
Puddles by the porch...
Stunted rowan
Gets wet under the window
Looks at the village
A gray spot.
Why are you visiting early?
Has autumn come to us?
The heart still asks
Light and warmth!..
Alexey Pleshcheev
Before the rain.
Before the rain
The clouds are flocking to the edge of heaven.
The broken spruce groans,
The dark forest whispers dully.
To a stream, pockmarked and motley,
A leaf flies after a leaf,
And a stream, dry and sharp;
It's getting cold.
Twilight falls over everything,
Hitting from all sides,
Spinning in the air screaming
A flock of jackdaws and crows...
N. Nekrasov
In autumn.
When the end-to-end web
Spreads threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,
We're not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer
We understand more clearly.
F. Tyutchev
Late autumn...
Late autumn time
I love the Tsarskoye Selo garden,
When he is in the quiet half-darkness,
As if in a drowsiness, embraced
As if in a drowsiness, embraced
On the dim lake glass
In some kind of bliss of numbness
They will become rigid in this semi-darkness...
They will become rigid in this semi-darkness...
Catherine's Palaces
Dark shadows are falling
October early evenings -
October early evenings -
And under the stars from the darkness of the night,
Like a reflection of the glorious past,
A golden dome emerges...
F. Tyutchev
Autumn
Like a sad look, I love autumn.
On a foggy, quiet day I walk
I often go into the forest and sit there -
I look at the white sky
Yes, to the tops of dark pines.
I love, biting a sour leaf,
Lounging with a lazy smile,
Dream of doing whimsical
Yes, listen to the woodpeckers’ thin whistle.
The grass has all withered... cold,
A calm shine is spread over her...
And sadness quiet and free
I surrender with all my soul...
What won't I remember? Which
Will my dreams not visit me?
And the pines bend as if they were alive,
And they make such thoughtful noise...
And, like a flock of huge birds,
Suddenly the wind blows
And in tangled and dark branches
He makes some noise impatiently.
Sergey Yesenin
Autumn landscapes.
1. In the rain
My umbrella is torn like a bird,
And it breaks out, cracking.
It makes noise over the world and smokes
Damp rain hut.
And I stand in the weave
Cool elongated bodies,
It's like it's raining for a moment
He wanted to merge with me.
2. Autumn morning
Autumn morning
The last starling flies away.
They fall from the maples all day long
Silhouettes of crimson hearts.
What have you done to us, autumn!
The earth freezes in red gold.
The flame of sorrow whistles underfoot,
Moving heaps of leaves.
3. Last Cannes
All that shone and sang,
The forests disappeared into the autumn,
And slowly breathe on the body
The last warmth of heaven.
Fogs creep through the trees,
The fountains fell silent in the garden.
Some motionless eland
They burn in plain sight.
So, stretching out her wings, the eagle
Standing on the ledge of a rock,
And it moves in its beak
Fire emerging from the darkness.
N. Zabolotsky
September.
The rain is pouring big peas,
The wind breaks, and the distance is unclean.
The tousled poplar closes up
Silvery underside of the sheet.
But look: through the hole of the cloud,
Like through an arch of stone slabs,
In this kingdom of fog and darkness
The first ray breaks through and flies.
This means that the distance is not curtained forever
Clouds, and, therefore, not in vain,
Like a girl, flushed, a nut
It started shining at the end of September.
Now, painter, grab it
Brush by brush, and on the canvas
Golden like fire and garnet
Draw this girl for me.
Draw, like a tree, an unsteady
Young princess in a crown
With a restlessly sliding smile
On a tear-stained young face.
N. Zabolotsky
Indian summer.
Indian summer
Days of farewell warmth.
Warmed by the late sun,
In the crack the fly came to life.
In the crack the fly came to life.
After a chilly day?..
Gossamer light yarn
Wrapped around a branch.
Wrapped around a branch.
The sun is obscured by a cloud.
Silver cobwebs
There are two or three days left to live.
There are two or three days left to live.
Protect from winter darkness!
Have pity on us, Indian summer:
These cobwebs are us.
D. Kedrin
Forest in autumn.
Forest in autumn
Blue appeared.
Made a noise at the edges
Bright yellow foliage.
You can't hear the birds. Small cracks
Broken branch
And, flashing its tail, a squirrel
The light one makes a jump.
The spruce tree has become more noticeable in the forest -
Protects dense shade.
The last aspen boletus
He pulled his hat on one side.
A. Tvardovsky
Beautiful children's poems about autumn for children(primary schoolchildren and preschool children (kindergarten)), in which Russian writers and classical poets They describe in all their glory the delights of autumn. Kids will train their memory, and parents will get a good mood from reading lines of familiar poems.
Poems about autumn by Russian poets / October 2015
Great ones about poetry:
Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.
Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.
Humboldt V.
Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate 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. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. 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 me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.
Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"
I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this 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 the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding 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 more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.
Autumn has come...
Autumn has come
The flowers have dried up,
And they look sad
Bare bushes.
Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows
It's just turning green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field,
The rain is drizzling..
The waters began to rustle
of the fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm regions.
Autumn song
Summer has passed
Autumn has arrived.
In the fields and groves
Empty and sad.
The birds have flown away
The days have become shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
Autumn
I recognize you, sad times:
These short, pale days
Long nights, rainy, dark,
And destruction everywhere you look.
Faded leaves are falling from the tree,
In the field, the bushes were turning yellow;
Endless clouds float across the sky...
Autumn is boring!.. Yes, it's you!
I recognize you, sad times
A time of difficult and bitter worries:
A heart that once loved so passionately,
There is a deadening oppression of doubt;
They go out quietly one after another
Proud youth's holy dreams,
And gray hair shows through...
Old age is boring!.. Yes, it’s you!
