Touching words about the war. The longest day of the year

The major brought the boy on a carriage.
Mother died. The son did not say goodbye to her.
For ten years in this and that world
These ten days will be credited to him.

He was taken from the fortress, from Brest.
The carriage was scratched by bullets.
It seemed to the father that the place was safer
From now on, there is no child in the world.

The father was wounded and the cannon was broken.
Tied to a shield so as not to fall,
Clutching a sleeping toy to your chest,
The gray-haired boy was sleeping on the gun carriage.

We went to meet him from Russia.
Waking up, he waved his hand to the troops ...
You say there are others
That I was there and it's time for me to go home ...

You know this grief by hearsay
And it broke our hearts.
Who has seen this boy?
He won't be able to come home.

I must see with the same eyes
With which I cried there, in the dust,
How will that boy come back with us
And kiss a handful of his land.

For everything that we cherished with you,
Called us to fight the military law.
Now my home is not where it used to be
And where he is taken from the boy.

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The grove under the mountain smoked,
And with it the sunset burned...
There were only three of us left.
Out of eighteen guys.
How many of them, good friends,
Lying left in the dark -
In an unfamiliar village
At an unnamed height.

Glowing, falling, rocket,
Like a burning star...
Who has ever seen this
He will never forget.
He won't forget, won't forget
Those furious attacks -
In an unfamiliar village
At an unnamed height.

Above us "Messers" circled,
And it was visible, as if in the daytime ..
But only stronger we were friends
Under cross fire.
And no matter how hard it is,
You were true to your dream -
In an unfamiliar village
At an unnamed height.

I often dream of all the guys
Friends of my war days
Our dugout in three rolls,
Pine burnt over it.
It's like I'm with them again
I stand on the fiery line -
In an unfamiliar village
At an unnamed height.

When you went to a deadly battle,
Faithful sons of the fatherland,
About a peaceful and happy life
You dreamed in the middle of the war.

You saved the world from fascism
You have covered us with hearts.
Bow to you low to the ground,
We are eternally indebted to you.

you heroically passed
With fights all four years,
You were able to defeat the enemy
And earn the love of the people.

Thank you fathers and grandfathers
Thank you brothers and sons
For your gift for Victory Day,
For the main holiday of the whole country!

Among snowdrifts and funnels
In a ruined village
It is worth, screwing up the eyes of a child -
The last citizen of the village.
Frightened white kitten
Fragment of the stove and pipe -
And that's all that survived
From the former life and hut.
There is a white-headed Petya
And cries like an old man without tears,
He lived for three years,
And what did I learn and endure?
With him, his hut was burned down,
They stole my mother from the yard,
And in a hastily dug grave
The dead sister lies.
Do not let go, fighter, rifles,
Until you take revenge on the enemy
For the blood shed in Popovka,
And for the child in the snow.

He took Berlin on board,
He lay down with his chest on the dugout.
Fuck the Reichstag lair
He hoisted the banner of the Fatherland.

He defended the capital in battles,
Broke the backbone of the iron Fritz.
He did not let the enemy cross the Volga
Remained faithful to honor, duty.

With one rifle in hand
He threw himself under the tank on an arc.
He went on the attack swearing
And slept in an embrace with a machine gun.

Tore the pin of a grenade with his teeth
And broke the blockade ring.
Reading news from home
He drank a hundred grams from the People's Commissar.

He wrote home to his relatives: "I'll be back!"
And stood tall for our Russia.
Lost friends, fraternizing with grief
And I didn't consider myself a hero.

He was a father and somebody's brother
But the unknown became a soldier.
Lies under the walls of the Kremlin.
May the earth rest in peace!

On this page, the author of the publication has selected poems about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945, which make one tearful. The bitterness of loss and separation, maternal tears, the joy of meeting and victories, revenge, rage, love for the motherland - the feelings that war gives rise to.

Our site is mainly for schoolchildren, but the more we selected insightful poems about the war, the clearer it became that even famous authors, for example, Konstantin Simonov, have poems about the war that are very difficult for children's psychology.

Let there be more joyful sunny days in our lives and fewer tears of mothers, children and fathers.

Robert Rozhdestvensky
BALLAD ABOUT A LITTLE MAN

On a mercilessly small earth
there lived a small man.
He had a small service.
And a very small portfolio.
He received a small salary...
And one day - on a fine morning -
knocked on his window
small, it seemed, war ...
They gave him a small machine gun.
They gave him small boots.
The helmet was issued small
and a small - in size - overcoat.
... And when he fell - ugly, wrong,
twisting his mouth in an attacking cry,
there was not enough marble on the whole earth,
to knock out the guy in full growth!

In May 1945

A. D. Dementiev

The news of the Victory spread instantly ...
Between smiles, joy and tears
Band of the Military Academy
Carried her through the noisy streets.

And we, the boys, rushed after him -
Barefoot army in tattered clothes.
The pipe floated in the sun like a halo,
Above the head of a gray-haired orchestra member.

The victorious march thundered through the alleys,
And the city died from excitement.
And even Kolya, the inveterate mischievous one,
I didn't bully anyone that morning.

We walked through the streets
relatives and the poor,
Like a train station
To meet fathers.
And the light slid over our pale faces.
And someone's mother sobbed loudly.

And Kolka, my friend,
Joyful and timid
Passers-by smiled with all his mouth,
Without knowing,
What tomorrow is a funeral
From the past war, he will come to his father.

He has been gone for a long time,
That blond-haired soldier...
The letter strayed for more than twenty years,
And yet it reached the addressee.
Washed away by the years like water
From the first letter to the last dot,
Rushed and bounced lines
Before the eyes of a gray-haired woman ...
And the silent memory led
On a thread torn and thin,
She was still a girl in the letter,
Another dream and a song was ...
He's ruined everything in his heart...
As if a quiet moan heard her -
The husband lit a cigarette and carefully went out
And the son immediately hurried somewhere ...
And here she is alone with the letter,
Even in the letter he jokes and laughs,
He is still alive, he is still at war,
There is still hope that he will return ...

REQUIEM(Robert Rozhdestvensky)
(Excerpt)

Remember!
Through the centuries
years later -
remember!
About those,
who won't come
never, -
remember!

Do not Cry!
In the throat
hold back your moans
bitter moans.
memory
fallen
be
worthy!
forever
worthy!

Bread and song
Dreams and poems
life
spacious
every second
every breath
be
worthy!

People!
As long as the heart
knocking -
remember!
What
at the price
happiness won,
please,
remember!

my song
sending in flight,
remember!
About those,
who has never
won't sing,
remember!

To your children
tell about them
so that
remember!
children
children
tell about them
so that too
remember!
At all times
immortal
Earth
remember!
To twinkling stars
driving ships,
about the dead
remember!

Meet
fluttering spring,
people of the earth.
Kill
war,
damn
war,
people of the earth!

Carry the dream
in a year
and life
fill!..
But about those
who won't come
never, -
I conjure -
remember!

Alexey Nedogonov "MATHER'S TEARS"

How the iron winds of Berlin blew,
How military thunderstorms boiled over Russia!
A Moscow woman saw off her son ...

Forty-one is a bloody sultry summer.
Forty-third - attacks in the snow and frost.
A long-awaited letter from the infirmary...
Mother's tears, Mother's tears!

Forty-fifth - a battle is going on behind the Vistula,
The Prussian land is being torn apart by Russian bomb carriers.
And in Russia, the candle of expectation does not go out ...
Mother's tears, Mother's tears!

The fifth snow swirled, swirled the road
Above the bones of the enemy at the Mozhaisk birch.
The gray-haired son returned to his native threshold ...
Mother's tears, Mother's tears!

Y. Drunina

I've seen melee so many times,
Once upon a time. And a thousand - in a dream.
Who says that war is not scary,
He knows nothing about the war.

YOU MUST!
Y. Drunina

turned pale,
Gritting your teeth to a crunch,
From native trench
One
You have to break away
And parapet
Slip under fire
Should.
You must.
Even though you're unlikely to come back
Though "Don't you dare!"
Repeats kombat.
Even tanks
(They're made of steel!)
Three steps from the trench
They are burning.
You must.
'Cause you can't pretend
In front of,
What you don't hear in the night
How almost hopeless
"Sister!"
Someone out there
Under fire, screaming...

Sergey Orlov
IT IS BURIED INTO THE EARTH BALL...

He was buried in the globe of the earth,
And he was just a soldier
In total, friends, a simple soldier,
Without titles and awards.
He is like a mausoleum earth-
For a million centuries
And the Milky Ways are dusty
Around him from the sides.
Clouds sleep on the red slopes,
Snowstorms are sweeping,
Heavy thunder rumbles
The winds are taking off.
The fight is long over...
By the hands of all friends
The guy is put in the globe of the earth,
It's like being in a mausoleum...

Before the attack
(S. Gudzenko)

When they go to their death, they sing,
And before that, you can cry.
After all, the most terrible hour in battle -
Waiting time for an attack.

Snow mines dug all around
And blackened from mine dust.
Gap - and the friend dies.
And so death passes by.

Now it's my turn.
I'm the only one being hunted.
Damn forty one year
And infantry frozen in the snow ...

Blockade
Nadezhda Radchenko

The black barrel of the blockade night.
Cold,
cold,
very cold.
Inserted instead of glass
cardboard box.
Instead of a neighbor's house -
funnel.
Late.
And for some reason, mom is still missing.
Barely alive went to work.
I really want to eat.
Scary.
Dark.
My brother died.
In the morning.
For a long time.
The water came out.
Don't go to the river.
Very tired.
There are no more forces.
The thread of life is stretched thinly.
And on the table
funeral for father.

Musa Jalil (1943)
BARBARISM

They drove the mothers with the children
And they forced to dig a hole, and they themselves
They stood, a bunch of savages,
And they laughed in hoarse voices.
Lined up at the edge of the abyss
Powerless women, thin guys.
Came drunk major and copper eyes
He cast over the doomed ... Muddy rain
Buzzed in the foliage of neighboring groves
And in the fields, dressed in mist,
And the clouds fell over the earth
Chasing each other with rage...
No, I won't forget this day
I will never forget, forever!
I saw rivers crying like children,
And mother earth wept in rage.
I saw with my own eyes,
Like the mournful sun, washed with tears,
Through the cloud went out to the fields,
Kissed the children for the last time
Last time.. .
Noisy autumn forest. It seemed like now
He went crazy. raged angrily
Its foliage. Darkness thickened around.
I heard: a powerful oak fell suddenly,
He fell, letting out a heavy sigh.
The children were suddenly frightened,
They clung to their mothers, clinging to the skirts.
And a sharp sound was heard from the shot,
Breaking the curse
What escaped from a woman alone.
Child, sick little boy,
He hid his head in the folds of the dress
Not yet an old woman. She is
I looked full of horror.
How not to lose her mind!
I understood everything, the little one understood everything.
- Hide, mommy, me! Do not die!
He cries and, like a leaf, cannot hold back the trembling.
Child, which is dearest to her,
Bending down, she raised her mother with both hands,
Pressed to the heart, against the muzzle straight ...
- I, mother, want to live. Don't, mom!
Let me go, let me go! What are you waiting for?
And the child wants to escape from the hands,
And the cry is terrible, and the voice is thin,
And it pierces the heart like a knife.
- Do not be afraid, my boy. Now you can take a breath.
Close your eyes but don't hide your head
So that the executioner does not bury you alive.
Be patient, son, be patient. Now it won't hurt.
And he closed his eyes. And reddened the blood
On the neck with a red ribbon wriggling.
Two lives fall to the ground, merging,
Two lives and one love!
Thunder boomed. The wind whistled through the clouds.
The earth wept in deaf anguish,
Oh, how many tears, hot and combustible!
My land, tell me what's wrong with you?
You often saw human grief,
You bloomed for us for millions of years,
But have you ever experienced
Such a shame and barbarism?
My country, enemies threaten you,
But raise the banner of great truth higher,
Wash his lands with bloody tears,
And let its rays pierce
Let them destroy mercilessly
Those barbarians, those savages,
That the blood of children is swallowed greedily,
The blood of our mothers.

NO ONE IS FORGOTTEN
A. Shamarin

"No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten" -
Burning inscription on a block of granite.
The wind plays with faded leaves
And the wreaths fall asleep with cold snow.
But, like a fire, at the foot is a carnation.
Nobody is forgotten and nothing is forgotten.

"Boy from the village of Popovki"

S. Ya. Marshak

Among snowdrifts and funnels
In a ruined village
It is worth, screwing up the eyes of a child -
The last citizen of the village.

Frightened white kitten
Fragment of the stove and pipe -
And that's all that survived
From the former life and hut.

There is a white-headed Petya
And cries like an old man without tears,
He lived for three years,
And what did I learn and endure?

With him, his hut was burned down,
They stole my mother from the yard,
And in a hastily dug grave
The dead sister lies.

Do not let go, fighter, rifles,
Until you take revenge on the enemy
For the blood shed in Popovka,
And for the child in the snow.

"ENEMIES BURNED THE FAMILY HOUSE..."
Isakovsky M.

Enemies burned their home
Killed his whole family
Where should the soldier go now?
To whom to bear their sorrow
Went a soldier in deep sorrow
At the crossroads of two roads
Found a soldier in a wide field
Grass overgrown hillock
There is a soldier and like lumps
stuck in his throat
Said the soldier
Meet Praskovya
Hero of her husband
Prepare a meal for the guest
Lay a wide table in the hut
Your day is your holiday of return
I came to you to celebrate
Nobody answered the soldier
Nobody met him
And only a warm summer evening
I shook the grave grass
The soldier sighed and straightened his belt
He opened his travel bag
I put a bitter bottle
On the gray gravestone
Don't judge me Praskovya
That I came to you like this
I wanted to drink to health
And I must drink for peace
Friends of a girlfriend will meet again
But we will not converge forever
And the soldier drank from a copper mug
Wine with sadness in half
He drank a soldier servant of the people
And with pain in my heart I spoke
I went to you for four years
I conquered three powers
A drunken soldier a tear rolled down
Tears of unfulfilled hopes
And shone on his chest
Medal for the City of Budapest
Medal for the City of Budapest

Grandfather's story

Andrey Poroshin

Grandpa Zhenya told me yesterday:
The partisan detachment was surrounded.
They have eighteen grenades left,
One pistol and one machine gun.

More and more in the detachment of dead soldiers,
The Nazis are squeezing the ring tighter and tighter, -
They are behind the bushes, they are behind the stones.
And my grandfather shouted: "The Motherland is with us!"

And everyone ran towards the enemy,
And they began to throw grenades on the run.
Everyone fought bravely, forgetting about death, -
And so, they managed to make a breakthrough.

Through the forest through the swamp they left:
And then grandfather was awarded a medal.

On a stretcher, near the barn,
On the edge of a recaptured village
The nurse whispers, dying:
- Guys, I haven't lived yet...

And the fighters crowd around her
And they can't look her in the eyes.
Eighteen is eighteen
But death is inexorable for everyone ...

After many years in the eyes of a loved one,
that are fixed in his eyes,
Reflection of glow, waving of smoke
Suddenly see a war veteran.

He shudders and goes to the window,
Trying to smoke on the go.
Wait for him, wife, a little -
He is now in his forty-first year.

Where near the black barn,
On the edge of a recaptured village
The girl babbles as she dies:
- Guys, I haven't lived yet...

Y. Drunina

Eduard Asadov

stockings

They were shot at dawn
When there was darkness all around.
There were women and children
And this girl was.

First they told everyone to undress,
Then turn your back to the moat,
But suddenly a child's voice was heard.
Naive, quiet and lively:

“Can I take off my stockings too, uncle?” -
Not blaming, not threatening
Looked as if looking into the soul
A three year old girl's eyes.

"Stockings too!"
But for a moment the SS man is seized with confusion.
Hand by itself in an instant
Suddenly the machine lowers.

He seems to be bound by blue eyes,
I woke up in horror.
Not! He can't shoot her
But he gave his turn in a hurry.

A girl in stockings fell.
I couldn't take it off, I couldn't.
Soldier, soldier! What if daughter
Is yours right here?

And this little heart
Pierced by your bullet!
You are a Man, not just a German!
But you're a beast among people!

... Chagall SS man sullenly
To the dawn without looking up.
For the first time, this thought
It lit up in the poisoned brain.

And everywhere the look shone blue,
And everywhere was heard again
And will not be forgotten until now:
“Stockings, uncle, also take off?”

K. Simonov
"Kill him!" ("If your house is dear to you...")

If your home is dear to you,
Where were you brought up by Russians,
Under the timber ceiling
Where are you, swinging in the cradle, swam;
If the roads in the house
You walls, oven and corners,
Grandfather, great-grandfather and father
It has well-worn floors;

If you like a poor garden
With the color of May, with the buzzing of bees
And under the linden a hundred years ago
A table dug into the ground by grandfather;
If you don't want the floor
In your house the German trampled
So that he sat down at the grandfather's table
And the trees in the garden broke ...

If your mother is dear to you -
The breast that nursed you
Where there is no milk for a long time,
You can only snuggle your cheek;
If there is no strength to endure,
So that the German, standing up to her,
Beat wrinkled cheeks,
Braids wrapped around the hand;
To those same hands of hers,
What carried you to the cradle
We washed the bastard's underwear
And made a bed for him...

If you have not forgotten your father,
What rocked you in his arms,
What a good soldier was
And disappeared in the Carpathian snows,
What died for the Volga, for the Don,
For the homeland of your destiny;
If you don't want him
Rolling over in his grave
So that a soldier's portrait in crosses
The fascist took it off and tore it to the floor
And mother's eyes
Stepped on his face...

If you are sorry that the old man,
Your old school teacher
Before school in a noose drooped
Proud old head
So that for everything that he brought up
And in your friends and in you,
The German broke his arm
And hang it on a pole.

If you don't want to give
The one with which I walked together,
The one that kisses for a long time
You did not dare - so loved her -
So that the Nazis keep her alive
They took it by force, holding it in a corner,
And they crucified her together,
Nude, on the floor;
To get these three dogs
In groans, in hatred, in blood
All that is holy you yourself
With all the power of male love ...

If you don't want to give
German with his black gun
The house where you lived, wife and mother,
All that we call homeland -
Know that no one will save her,
If you don't save her;
Know that no one will kill him,
If you don't kill him.

Until I killed him
You are silent about your love,
The land where you grew up, and the house where you lived,
Do not call your homeland.

If your brother killed a German,
Let the neighbor kill the German -
This is your brother and neighbor taking revenge,
And you have no excuse.
Do not sit behind someone else's back,
They don't take revenge from someone else's rifle.
If your brother killed a German, -
It's him, not you soldier.

So kill the German so that he,
You weren't lying on the ground
Not in your house to moan,
And in his dead stood.
So he wanted, his fault, -
Let his house burn, not yours,
And let not your wife
And let him be a widow.
Let not yours cry
And his mother who gave birth
Not yours, but his family
In vain let it wait.

So kill one!
So kill him now!
How many times will you see him
Kill him so many times!

K. Simonov
"Cities are burning along the path of these hordes ..."

Cities are burning along the path of these hordes.
Villages were destroyed, rye was trampled.
And everywhere, hastily and greedily, like a wolf,
These people do robbery and robbery.

But is it people? Nobody will believe
When meeting with a beast dressed in uniforms.
They do not eat like people - like animals,
They swallow raw pork.

They don't even have human habits.
Tell me if anyone can
Torture the old man on a rope dragging
To rape a mother in front of her children?

Bury civilians alive
For the fact that the appearance with you is not one.
Not! You're lying! Someone else's name has been given!
No one considers you human for a long time.

You honor war, and in this field
We know you for who you are:
Shoot the wounded, burn the infirmaries,
Yes schools bomb your honor warriors?

We got to know you in a short time,
And understand that you are leading to battle.
Cold, contented, stupid and cruel
But meek and miserable as the time comes.

And you, who stand before me without a belt,
Hitting his chest with his palm,
Throwing me a card of his son and wife,
Do you think I believe you? Not at all!!!

I see women with guys faces,
When you were shooting at them in the square.
Their blood on hastily torn buttonholes,
On your sweaty cold palms.

As long as you are with those who are heaven and earth
They want to take from us, freedom and honor,
As long as you are with them - you are the enemy,
And long live punishment and revenge.

You, gray from the ashes of the burned villages,
He hung the shadow of his wings over life.
Did you think we'd crawl on our knees?
Not horror - you awakened rage in us.

We will beat you harder hour by hour:
Bayonet and projectile, knife and club.
We will beat you, jam you with a land mine,
We will fill your mouth with Soviet soil!

And let until the last hour of reckoning,
Day of celebration, near day,
I do not live like many guys,
Who were no worse than me.

I always accept my duty like a soldier
And if death is chosen by our friends,
That's better than death for our native land
And you can't choose...

TWO LINES
A.Tvardovsky

From a shabby notebook
Two lines about a boy fighter
What was in the fortieth year
Killed in Finland on the ice.

Lying somehow clumsily
Childishly small body.
Frost pressed the overcoat to the ice,
The hat flew off.
It seemed that the boy was not lying,
And still running
Yes, the ice held the floor ...

In the midst of a great war cruel,
From what - I will not apply my mind,
I feel sorry for that distant fate,
As if dead, alone
Like I'm lying
Frozen, small, dead
In that war, not famous,
Forgotten, small, lying.

Mother's ballad

Olga Kievskaya

Forty-one - the year of loss and fear
Glow bloody flames ...
Two guys in torn shirts
They took him out in the morning to be shot.

The first was older, dark blond,
Everything is with him: both the strength, and become,
And behind him the second - a beardless boy,
Too young to die.

Well, behind, barely keeping up,
The old mother minced
Begging for the mercy of the German.
“Nine,” he repeated importantly, “shoot!”

"Not! - she asked, - sorry,
Cancel the execution of my children
And instead of me, kill me,
But let your sons live!"

And the officer answered her solemnly:
“Okay, mother, save one.
And we will shoot the other son.
Who do you like better? Choose!

As in this deadly whirl
Is she able to save someone?
If the firstborn is saved from death,
The latter is doomed to death.

Mother sobbed, wailed,
Looking into the faces of sons
As if she really chose
Who is dearer, who is dearer to her?

Looking back and forth moved ...
Oh, you don't wish on the enemy
Such flour! She baptized her sons.
And she confessed to Fritz: “I can’t!”

Well, he stood, impenetrable,
Enjoying the smell of flowers
"Remember, one - we kill,
And you kill the other one."

Senior, smiling guiltily,
He pressed the youngest to his chest:
"Brother, save yourself, well, I'll stay, -
I lived, and you did not start.

The younger one responded: “No, brother,
You save yourself. What is there to choose?
You have a wife and kids.
I haven't lived - don't start.

Here the German politely said: “Bitte, -
Moved away the crying mother
Stepped away in a businesslike manner
And he waved his glove - shoot!"

Gasped two shots, and the birds
Scattered fractionally into the sky.
Mother unclenched her wet eyelashes,
He looks at the children with all his eyes.

And they, embracing, as before,
They sleep with a leaden sound sleep, -
Two bloods, her two hopes,
Two wings gone for scrap.

Mother silently turns to stone in her heart:
Sons no longer live, no longer bloom ...
“Fool-womb,” the German teaches, -
I could at least save one."

And she, cradling them quietly,
She wiped the blood from her son's lips...
Here is such a - deadly great -
Maybe Mother has love.

Poems about war to tears video

It’s already too late - mine went to bed, and I’m looking for poems about the war for extracurricular reading to a first grader. Online. And I was confused - somehow I can’t tell him about dying children, about the dead, about death - everything is described so vividly ... Such feelings are everywhere - will children understand? “Sometimes it seems to me that the soldiers, Who didn’t come from the bloody fields, Didn’t die in this land once, But turned into white cranes. Until now, from those distant times, They fly and give us voices. Isn’t that why so often and sadly We're shutting up...

It was rumored that the partisans were playing pranks. Even in our village they tortured a girl, and then they shot her in a ravine outside the village. In the early morning, when the sun had not yet risen, the messengers began to drive out to the square (village patch) every single person: old men, women, children. Fear, tears. Everyone was driven out, the soldiers surrounded the crowd. There was a black car with a loudspeaker parked in the square. The Germans were crowding around. A voice sounded like a command: “There was a pest among you who cut the communication wire. This is a war crime. If the culprit does not confess, does not come out here now, every single one of you will be put to death, and the tree ...

I ask: where are the others? As it turned out, they got stuck in a swamp. We reported everything to the commander, he thanked us. So, not sparing myself, I went through the whole war, ending it in Germany, in the city of Parchim. For all the time I was wounded twice, but I was lucky to return home. With tears in his eyes, great-grandfather spoke about the events of that difficult time, about how comrades died before his eyes. I, too, always cried when he told how they froze, starved, gave their lives for their homeland. But, despite all the difficulties and horror of the war, they managed to survive and defeat the enemy. For courage and courage, my great-grandfather was awarded medals and orders....

By tomorrow, the child needs to find and learn any good poem about the war - they have a competition or something. Throw a link or name, please - I'll find it. Thank you.

Discussion

You can pick up from "Vasily Terkin".
Lermontov Borodino
Bulat Okudzhava Song of the 10th airborne battalion

Late, of course, but maybe someone will come in handy? I love this poem very much.

Yulia Drunina. Zinka

1. We lay down at the broken spruce,
Waiting for the light to start.
Warmer under the overcoat
On cold, damp ground.

You know, Julia, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
At home, in the apple outback,
Mom, my mom lives.

You have friends, love.
I only have one.

Spring is brewing outside.

It seems old: every bush
A restless daughter is waiting
You know, Julia, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.

We barely warmed up
Suddenly the order: "Come forward!"
Again next to me in a damp overcoat
The light-haired soldier is coming.

2. Every day it got worse.
We went without rallies and substitutions.
Surrounded by Orsha
Our battered battalion.

Zinka led us on the attack.
We made our way through the black rye,
Through funnels and gullies,
Through the frontiers of death.

We did not expect posthumous glory,
We wanted to live with glory.
Why in bloody bandages
The light-haired soldier lies

Her body with her overcoat
I hid, clenching my teeth.
Belarusian huts sang
About Ryazan deaf gardens.

3. You know, Zinka, I am against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
At home, in the apple outback
Mom, your mom lives.

I have friends, love
She had you alone.
It smells of kneading and smoke in the hut,
Spring is brewing outside.

And an old woman in a flowery dress
I lit a candle at the icon
I don't know how to write to her
So that she does not wait for you.

***
I've seen melee so many times,
Once upon a time. And a thousand in a dream.
Who says that war is not scary,
He knows nothing about the war.
1943

We need a verse about the war (for a 13-year-old child). Nothing comes to mind. And not looking for. Maybe someone will remind the thread? ... Thank you.

Discussion

Sergey Orlov

He was buried in the globe of the earth,
And he was just a soldier
In total, friends, a simple soldier,
Without titles and awards.
He is like a mausoleum earth -
For a million centuries
And the Milky Ways are dusty
Around him from the sides.
Clouds sleep on the red slopes,
Snowstorms are sweeping,
Heavy thunder rumbles
The winds are taking off.
The battle is long over...
By the hands of all friends
The guy is put in the globe of the earth,
It's like being in a mausoleum...
1944
**
Here is a man - he is crippled,
Scarred face. But you look
And look frightened at the meeting
Don't take it off his face.

He went to victory, out of breath,
I did not think about myself on the way,
To make it look like this:
Take a look - and do not take your eyes off!
1946
****
AT THE BURNED TANK

Armor-piercing projectile
Broken windshield,
long gun
Staring with unblinking eyes
In the blue of the boundless sky...

Feel for a moment
How the fire blazed
How the cartridges burst and shells,
Like hands without skin
The commander was looking for a latch,
How the mechanic fell, hugging the levers
And a radio operator from "DT"
Dotted through the gloomy forest
drew,
even dead
Machine gun hook squeezing.

Once died at the stake
Jan Hus and Giordano Bruno,
blasphemous truth
They claimed their death...

Open the hatch and look into this tower
Where it's empty, black...
Here are my weather
For the great truth
They died in the fire!
1947

****
When that will be, I don't know.
In the land of white-legged birches
Victory on the ninth of May
People will celebrate without tears.

Raise the old marches
army pipes of the country,
And the marshal will go to the army,
not seen this war.

And I don't even think
What kind of fireworks will hit there,
What tales will they tell
And what songs they will sing.

But we know for sure
We had a chance to know,
What was the ninth of May
In the spring of forty-five.

04/15/2004 07:20:29 PM, anon

R. Rozhdestvensky "210 steps", there is an amazing piece about the war.

Advise what to learn .. I just "Wait for me" came to mind ..

Discussion

PAPE TO THE FRONT

I was even a little surprised

How old were you in a dream!

We didn't see each other for two days.

And then he kissed me.

Mom is crying and laughing

I squeal and hang on to you.

You and I started to fight

Of course, I won the fight.

And then he brought those two fragments,

What I recently found at the gate,

And he said to you: “And soon the tree!

Will you come to us for the New Year?

I said yes immediately and woke up

How this happened, I don't understand.

He looked into the darkness in surprise.

It's so dark, you can't see anything

That we suddenly broke up with you ...

Dad! You will return unharmed!

Will the war ever end?

Dear, my dear darling,

I congratulate you, of course.

And I wish not to get sick at all,

I wish you - I wish

Hurry up to defeat the Nazis!

So that they do not destroy our land,

To live as before,

So that they don't bother me anymore

Hug you, love you.

So that over all such a huge world

Day and night there was a cheerful light ...

Bow to the fighters and commanders,

Say hi to them for me.

Wish them all the luck

Let them attack the Germans as one... ...

I'm writing to you and I almost cry, It's so... for joy...

Your son.

Samuil Marshak - Not and not

Smolensky told me
Boy:
- In our village school
There was a lesson.

We passed particles
"Not" and "neither".
And in the village there were Fritz
During these days.

Selected our schools
And at home.
Our school has become naked
Like a prison.

From the gate of the neighbor's hut
Angular
A German was looking out the window at us
Hourly.

And the teacher said: "The phrase
Let me,
To meet in it immediately
"Neither" and "not."

We looked at the soldier
At the gate
And they said: "From retribution
Not a single damned fascist
WILL NOT leave!"

They told us at school to prepare a poem about the war, but nothing comes to my mind at all. Can anyone help, huh?

For 3rd grade. Please advise. I really want one that would take everyone by the soul ....

Discussion

Thank you girls so much
All very good poetry
But my own chose this one (LEARN THE EXTRACT)

Leningrad poem. O. Bergolts.
Oh yes - otherwise they could not
neither those fighters, nor those drivers,
when the trucks were driving
across the lake to the hungry city.
The cold, steady light of the moon
the snows are shining brightly
and from the glass height
clearly visible to the enemy
columns below.
And the sky howls, howls.
and the air whistles, and gnashes,
breaking under bombs, ice,
and the lake splashes into funnels.
But enemy bombing is worse
more painful and angrier -
forty degrees cold,
dominating the earth.
It seemed that the sun would not rise,
forever night in frozen stars,
forever lunar snow and ice,
and blue whistling air.
It seemed like the end of the earth...
But through the cooled planet
cars went to Leningrad:
he is still alive. He's around somewhere.
To Leningrad! To Leningrad!
There's bread left for two days,
there mothers under dark skies
crowd at the bakeries stand,
and tremble, and are silent, and wait,
listen anxiously:
By dawn, they said, they would bring ...
Citizens, you can fight ... -
And it was like this: all the way
rear car settled.
The chauffeur jumped the chauffeur on the ice.
Well, it is - the motor is stuck.
Repair for five minutes, a trifle.
Breakdown is not a threat
yes, do not unbend your hands in any way:
they were frozen on the steering wheel.
Slightly razognesh - again reduce.
Stand? What about bread? Wait for others?
And bread - two tons? He will save.
sixteen thousand Leningraders -
And now - in the gasoline of his hand
moistened, set fire to them from the motor,
and the repair went fast.
in the burning hands of the driver.
Forward! How the blisters ache
frozen palms to mittens
But he will deliver the bread,
will drive to the bakery before dawn.
sixteen thousand mothers
rations will be received at dawn
one hundred twenty five blockade grams
with fire and blood in half.
Oh, we knew in December -
not for nothing called the "sacred gift"
ordinary bread, and grave sin -
at least throw a crumb to the ground:
with such human suffering,
so much brotherly love
sanctified for us from now on,
our daily bread, Leningrad.

My son is 9 years old, at school they said that poetry should be modern. Found these:

Front wounds hurt and ache,
Which marked the war ..
We are with you, dear veterans!
Our whole country bows to you!

And the country where the new borders
And the one that lives in our hearts...
And we flip through the pages of memory
And remember this pain and fear,

What the war brought to all our families...
And you, destroying the monster - the enemy,
Save your country from destruction...
The price of Victory... How dear you are!

You paid for the Victory with blood.
We will always remember this!
And we instilled in our children the memory
About the people who saved our cities.

Front-line wounds hurt and ache ...
Alas, it’s getting harder to walk with your feet ...
We are with you, dear veterans!
We bow down to you again!

At school, my son (1st grade) was asked to learn a verse about the war for a competition dedicated to the 60th anniversary of the Victory. I can’t find anything suitable - short and understandable 7 = summer: (Maybe you can advise?

Discussion

Yes, I understand, they themselves toiled recently. I agree with Masha that it is very difficult for a 7-year-old to sincerely read such verses. In our class, a boy who read the verse "Letter to his son" won this competition. I didn’t hear it myself, but my parents, who were not in the competition, were impressed. I don’t remember the author, if you want, I’ll call the boy’s parent and ask. I myself was looking for a verse for my daughter Yandex. The ones that I VERY liked myself, do not fit a 7-year-old child in any way :(.

Friends come to grandfather
Come on Victory Day.
I like to listen for a long time
Their songs and conversations.

I don't ask them to repeat
frank stories,
After all, to repeat
lose again
military comrades,
who are still looking for
military awards,
One is a sergeant, the other is a major,
And more - ordinary.
I know it's hard every year
Tell first
About how the army forward
Walked with loss.
About what kind of shooting is there,
Like bullets in the heart...
- Fate, - they sigh, -
Fate!
Do you remember how it was in July?

Friends come to grandfather
Celebrate victory.
Fewer of them...
But I believe
They will come, they will come...
Vladimir Stepanov

Sorry for the off topic, I'll delete it. Tell me, please, poems about the war or the Victory - for my daughter, 1st grade. I want something special, not very well-known, beautiful, sincere. Like Galich "Heart, be quiet, in a snowy night" - so that no one would probably read it, but only mine)) Recently there was a poetry contest about spring at school - what mine learned, another person learned 3. My very upset that it turned out " like from an incubator. Tell me, please, something special about the war. Thank you) *** Subject...

Discussion

Eremin Igor Alekseevich

Return from the war

I thought that father would come as a hero
With a radiance rejoicing awards,
And that solemn mood
With what at least immediately to the parade.

So childhood amuses with an idea,
And reality - like snow on your head -
Entered the gate with a skinny bag
A semi-familiar person.

Its so no way
I did not wait after the farewell,
There was a hand in a sling
And there is only one order.

And the sparkle in his sad eyes
Only shaded the traces of ordeals,
And the smell of hospitals was thick,
Stuck in clothes, medicines.

And what at that moment: love, or pity
Or both of these feelings at once -
I felt? .. But somehow shrank
Soul that tears out of the eyes.

Son, well, well, - and he is ready
Father is about to shed a tear
Attracted to him with a healthy hand:
-Don't cry, - he said, - the war is over!

And handed the bag, distracting
From bitter feelings ... Like, look here:
God knows what a handbag
But there is something inside her.

I took a gift for a gift,
And each is a flask or on a belt,
Ile electric flashlight -
A living delight gave birth in me.

And so he, to know, was conspicuous,
What, looking from the side,
Father himself smiled,
Rejuvenated, as before the war.

As if someone parted the curtains,
And a ray of sunshine fell on him.
And shone on the gymnast
The victorious brilliance of the order.

Then, indeed, as in a parade,
We walked with him along the village street,
And so much in every oncoming look
I saw light and heat!

Neighbors came up to my father
Like, alive! Good! - But others
As in the forty-first carried out,
That would be news from them.

And hugged while talking
As if my brother
And congratulated - who with a victory,
Who with his return ...

You, who have seen a lot of grief,
Lead us to new heights
And not anywhere
And to the sun, to May and to the dream.

Wherever you are, open to everyone -
Not only on parade days,
Not nameless, not forgotten
Soldiers of the Soviet Motherland.

Great, wise, like a messiah,
Entering the new age with us...
And all of Russia is behind you
And I am a free man! (Valery Kravtsov)

04/06/2015 02:15:13 PM, Poetry

Girls, help me choose a verse for the reading competition for Victory Day. To take for the soul! The reader is 6 years old .... *** The topic was moved from the conference "SP: gatherings"

Discussion

It's good for a child, I think.

Sleeping baby, hugging a toy -
Long-eared puppy.
In a soft cloud - a pillow
Dreams descended.

Don't wake him up, don't
Let the moment of happiness last.
About the war and the blockade
He learns not from books...

The child is sleeping. Above the Neva
White birds are circling:
On the way far behind you
They collect cranes...

Asadov. Letter from the front
LETTER FROM THE FRONT
Mum! I am writing these lines to you
I send you filial greetings,
I remember you, so dear,
So good - there are no words!

You read the letter, and you see the boy,
A little lazy and always out of time
Running in the morning with a briefcase under his arm,
Whistling carelessly, on the first lesson.

You were sad if I used to be a physicist,
The diary "decorated" with a severe deuce,
I was proud when I was under the arches of the hall
He read his poems to the children with fervor.

We were careless, we were stupid
We did not appreciate everything that we had,
But they understood, maybe only here, in the war:
Friends, books, Moscow disputes -
Everything is a fairy tale, everything is in a haze, like snowy mountains...
So be it, we will return - we will appreciate it doubly!

Now a break. Coming together at the edge,
The guns froze like a herd of elephants,
And somewhere peacefully in the thick of forests,
As in childhood, I hear the voice of the cuckoo ...

For life, for you, for your native land
I'm walking towards the leaden wind.
And let there be kilometers between us now -
You are here, you are with me, my dear!

In the cold night, under the unkind sky,
Bending down, sing me a quiet song
And with me to distant victories
You walk invisibly along the soldier's road.

And no matter what war threatens me along the way,
You know I won't give up as long as I breathe!
I know that you blessed me
And in the morning, without flinching, I'm leaving for battle!

Throw, please, good poems about the war. So that it is not long, it was easy to learn and take for the soul. And not according to the school program. Nothing really comes to my mind. And I'm not a fan of poetry either.

Discussion

I was killed near Rzhev,
In the nameless swamp
I am the fifth company. On the left.
On a hard hit.
The front burned like an element,
Like a scar on the heart.
I'm dead and don't know
Is our Rzhev finally.

What about the lyrics? You can tell it like a poem. I always did this myself at school, if the poems were not assigned according to the program. It was a success :) I like this one (Authors Y. Antonov and G. Pozhenyan):

red poppies

Silence on the Fedyuninsky hills,
Dreams over the Malakhov Hill.
As if there was no war, but the war
Buried at the bottom of silence.

And, it would seem, everything came out of time -
For thirty years the water has changed in the sea.
And how do you get out, how do you step over the threshold -
And you can't get away from poppies.

Poppies, poppies, red poppies,
Bitter memory of the Earth,
Do you dream of attacks
Those who did not come from these hills?

Poplars bloom over Sapun Mountain,
Cranes are flying over Sapun Mountain,
And swim from end to end through the fields
Poppies, poppies - the conscience of the Earth.

And, it would seem, well, what kind of passion is that?
For thirty years they have been burning in the grass.
Oh, how I want to fall into those grasses,
Lie down on the ground in red poppies.

And also this:

For that guy

I'll get up before dawn today
I will walk across a wide field.
Something happened to my memory
All that was not with me - I remember.
Raindrops beat on sunken cheeks,
For the universe, twenty years is not enough,
I didn't even know the guy
Promised: "I'll be back, mom!"
And the steppe grass smells of bitterness,
Young winds are green.
We wake up - and rumbles over midnight
Either a thunderstorm, or an echo of the past war.
Promises to be a long spring,
The arable land is waiting for selected grain ...
And I live on good earth
For myself and for that guy.
I'm hunched over from such gravity,
But it is impossible to live otherwise, if
Everything calls me his voice,
Everything sounds in me his song.

Please advise some original and not worn out to the holes poem about the war for a junior schoolchild and so that a tear is squeezed out. Three stanzas is enough, I think. On March 8, he taught "Moms love to eat jam", on Victory Day "He was buried in the globe of the earth." I want to show off this time too. :-)

Discussion

At that moment (Yu. Bondarev)

When was the last time we discharged
barrels of all our formidable batteries,
the world froze, gasping:
"We still won!"
At that moment, he was rather puzzled
than amazed:
great riddle
revealed our warrior!
Where's the answer?
And he, tired to death, dropped the roll.
I sat down with my back to the Reichstag,
took out a pouch
and, feeding those who came,
terry, as if at home, at the porch,
said softly:
"So we won!"
And he didn't add another word.
And the one who clearly heard this phrase,
about nothing and after many years
never asked us again -
she gave him all the answers.

Sergey Vikulov

Oh, I also remembered. But, probably, for a younger student it will not be very clear. Slutsky:

In memory of the poet
Mikhail Kulchitsky

Let's go after the fight
Let's wave our fists
Not only beer-raki
We ate and lapped
No, there were deadlines
Fights were being prepared
Prepared to be prophets
My comrades.

Now it's all strange
It all sounds stupid.
In five neighboring countries
Our bodies are buried.
And the marble of lieutenants -
plywood monument -
The wedding of those talents
Unraveling those legends.

For our destinies (personal),
For our glory (common),
For that excellent line
What we were groping for
For not spoiling
We are neither a song nor a verse,
Let's drink dead
For the health of the living!

Surely they were looking for and participating. Girl, 11-12 years old, any theme. You need good things for the soul. Thanks:)

Cools in a state-owned cup of coffee, Unfinished by her since early morning. And over the cup, it is difficult to hold back sighs...

Girls help out! My son (2nd grade) was asked to learn a poem about World War II for tomorrow. I just can’t find him something that is not very long, but not short either - 3-4 quatrains. There are no books at home now - they are all put away in boxes (moved), I rummage in the internet and in my head, but so far to no avail. Help me please! Thank you!

Discussion

Thank you all very much!
The son got together and learned Mikhalkov. Tomorrow rents (today did not have time to ask.)

Two sweatshirts,
On footcloths - gray bikes,
To keep your feet warm
On the snow and on the ground.

To keep the body clean
After a long journey
Two bars of plain soap -
You won't find better soap!

strawberry jam
Your preparation -
We boiled it
As if they knew for whom!

Everything you need to shave
If you have a razor.
There would be time and water -
You will always be shaved.

Threads, scissors, needle -
If you break something
Sit somewhere under the tree
And calmly sew everything.

Sharp penknife -
Cut sausage and lard! -
Bank of porridge with pork -
Open it up and eat!

Everything is tied, sewn,
The lid is nailed to the box -
The case is drawing to a close.
The parcel is sent
Very important package
pioneer package
To an unknown fighter!

With this poem, my son performed in the 2nd grade at a reading competition :)
It's longer in its entirety, but it's a little more complicated, but this part sounded really good:

To the 60th anniversary of the Victory (author Andrey Kalinin)

Exchanged the sixth ten
Victory in that terrible war.
And there are very few left
Who saw this not in a dream.

Those who have passed through the heat and cold,
Fire and smoke, through death and pain,
Who went with his chest to the embrasure,
Covering the whole Motherland with yourself.

Who lived in besieged Leningrad,
Who shed blood for Stalingrad,
Who approached in the fire on Kursk
Victory holiday parade.

I decided to turn to the collective mind. Asking for help finding a poem. And it seems to be not a problem to find, the problem is to choose. We need a poem that will sound good in the performance of a 9-year-old child. The fact is that we are not lucky with this competition. 3rd year we will participate. Every year there is a new theme. Every year we select wonderful poems, and they seem to be rare, but in the class we have a girl who studies in a theater studio. And, by "happy" chance, two years is our choice ...

Discussion

S. Vikulov "Victory Parade", V. Popkov "Sunflowers". My daughter read at the age of 8 and 10. Both times she received a Laureate. Good luck!!!

02/16/2012 10:48:28 PM, Nata-Shat

We taught the son of an artilleryman "Major Deev had a comrade, Major Petrov ... My son was just 9 years old.

Mom, take me to childhood, Where we hold hands again... Where, behind the wall, in the neighborhood, Faith and love lived... Where the curly sky In curls from the clouds... The world was not deceptive there... There was no evil and enemies... Mom, I I forgot there Dreams dear to my heart... I loved justice, The sky, people, and flowers... Mom, I miss so much In the hour of inevitable longing The heart that understands everything, And the warmth from the hand... In childhood, everything was quickly resolved... Mom ran to cry... I in a moment she smiled ... Time rushed by, like a gallop ... Now it has become ...

Marina Vdovik, poems about the Motherland. Trotter user blog on 7ya.ru

Oh, I found the words: [link-1] The unity of space... The unity of time... What does the New Generation think about this? Where we live? What are we striving for? What is Motherland? Why are we afraid of her now? What does homeland mean to you? Is it mom and dad? Is it a yard and a currant? Is this a humped bridge? Motherland is the meaning that gives an understanding of one's place in the world and in one's own mind. Your place in time Goals in life Goals in motion And forever - the impossibility of oblivion. Here it is - our Motherland Russia, the Soviet Union ...

Reliable and safe pest control products.

Discussion

Thank you for the article! True, I already brought out cockroaches a week ago. Now, when the light is turned on, the clatter of hooves is not heard :) At the same time, somehow unexpectedly for me quickly. In total, I bought 5 Kombat traps and placed them around the house. The cockroaches fled in horror apparently: D

Two-tails seem to eat cockroaches. So it seems that now we will have to endure them instead of redheads and mustaches :)

31.08.2008 18:04:46