P. Voronko
Zhura-zhura-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew, circled
Wings, legs worked hard.
We asked the crane:
Where is the best land? - He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
motherland
M. Yu. Lermontov
I love my homeland, but with a strange love!
My mind won't defeat her.
Nor glory bought with blood
Nor full of proud trust peace,
No dark antiquity cherished legends
Do not stir in me a pleasurable dream.
But I love - for what, I do not know myself -
Her steppes are cold silence,
Her boundless forests sway,
The floods of her rivers are like seas;
On a country road I like to ride in a cart
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,
Meet around, sighing about an overnight stay,
The trembling lights of sad villages;
I love the smoke of the burnt stubble,
In the steppe, an overnight convoy
And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field
A couple of whitening birches.
With joy, unknown to many,
I see a complete threshing floor
Thatched hut,
Carved shuttered window;
And on a holiday, dewy evening,
Ready to watch until midnight
To the dance with stomping and whistling
To the sound of drunken men.
Goy you, Russia
Goy you, Russia, my dear,
Huts - in the robes of the image ...
See no end and end -
Only blue sucks eyes.
Like a wandering pilgrim,
I watch your fields.
And at the low outskirts
The poplars are languishing.
Smells like apple and honey
In the churches, your meek Savior.
And buzzes behind the bark
There is a cheerful dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the wrinkled stitch
To the freedom of the green lekh,
Meet me like earrings
A girlish laugh will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
"Throw you Russia, live in paradise!"
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my country."
Sergey Yesenin
1914
For peace, for children
Anywhere in any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They want peace, not war
The green noise of the native forest,
They all need a school
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There are many places in the world
For those who live accustomed to work.
Our people raised their powerful voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let each ear ripen in the field,
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Who sows bread in a peaceful field,
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphanage
Will never wish!
E. Trutneva
About Motherland
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
Oh Motherland!
Oh Motherland! In dim light
I catch with a quivering gaze
Your blueberries, copses - Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross above the bell tower,
And a low mound with a star...
My hurts and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone - and consolation
And my healing.
A. V. Zhigulin
motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, native apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
Tatyana Bokova
vast country
If long, long, long
In an airplane we fly
If long, long, long
We have to look at Russia.
We'll see then
Both forests and cities
ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains ...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra where spring rings.
And then we'll understand what
Our country is big
Immeasurable country.
Russia is my Motherland!
Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I have grown and grown before your eyes.
I go forward confidently and directly,
And I believe in God that lives in heaven!
I love the ringing of your church bells,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!
I love slender, tall birches -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist, I write my poems.
I could never part with you
For I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight
At any moment I want to be only with You!
And if it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
Like a bird in a tight cage I will beat,
And every Russian here will understand me!
E. Kislyakov
Motherland
We do not carry in treasured amulets on the chest,
We do not compose verses sobbingly about her,
She does not disturb our bitter dream,
Doesn't seem like a promised paradise.
We do not do it in our soul
The subject of buying and selling,
Sick, distressed, silent on her,
We don't even remember her.
Yes, for us it is dirt on galoshes,
Yes, for us it is a crunch on the teeth.
And we grind, and knead, and crumble
That unmixed dust.
But we lay down in it and become it,
That is why we call it so freely - ours.
Anna Akhmatova
native picture
Flocks of birds. Road tape.
Fallen wattle.
From the foggy sky
Sadly looks dim day
A row of birches, and the view is dull
Roadside pole.
As if under the yoke of heavy sorrow,
The hut rocked.
Half-light and half-darkness, -
And involuntarily rush into the distance,
And involuntarily crushes the soul
Endless sadness.
Konstantin Balmont
motherland
I will return to you, fields of my fathers,
Oak forests are peaceful, shelter sacred to the heart!
I will return to you, home icons!
Let others respect the laws of decency;
Let others honor the jealous judgment of the ignorant;
Free at last from vain hopes,
From restless dreams, from windy desires,
Having drunk untimely the whole cup of trials,
Not a ghost of happiness, but I need happiness.
Tired worker, I hasten to my native country
Fall asleep with the desired sleep under the roof of your dear.
O father's house! oh, always loved!
Native heaven! my silent voice
In pensive verses you sang in a foreign country,
You will give me peace and happiness.
Like a swimmer in the pier, tested by bad weather,
He listens with a smile, sitting over the abyss,
And the thunderous whistle of the storm and the rebellious roar of the waves,
So, the sky is not praying for honors and gold,
Calm homebody in my unknown hut,
Hiding from the crowd of discerning judges,
In the circle of your friends, in the circle of your family,
I will watch the storms of light from afar.
No, no, I will not cancel the sacred vow!
Let the intrepid hero fly to the tents;
Let the bloody battles lover young
He studies with excitement, destroying the golden clock,
Science to measure the trenches of battle -
Since childhood I have loved the sweetest works.
A diligent, peaceful plow that blows the reins,
More honorable than a sword; useful in a modest share,
I want to cultivate my father's field.
Oratay, who reached the old days over the plow,
In sweet cares, my mentor will be;
To me a decrepit father sons are industrious
Will help fatten hereditary fields.
And you, my old friend, my faithful well-wisher,
My zealous nurse, you, the first garden
On the father's fields, reconnoitered in the days of old!
You will lead me to your thick gardens,
Trees and flowers you will tell the names;
I myself, when from heaven a luxurious spring
Breathe in the resurrected nature,
With a heavy spade I will appear in the garden;
I will come with you to plant roots and flowers.
Oh, good deed! you will not be in vain:
The goddess of pasture is more grateful than fortune!
For them, an unknown age, for them the flute and strings;
They are available to everyone and me for easy work.
Juicy fruits will be richly rewarded.
From the ridges and the spade I hasten to the fields and the plow;
And where the brook through the velvet meadow
Rolls thoughtfully desert jets,
On a clear spring day, I myself, my friends,
I will plant a solitary forest near the shore,
And fresh linden and silvered poplar;
In their shade my young great-grandson will rest;
There friendship will once hide my ashes
And instead of marble put on the tomb
And my peaceful spade and my peaceful forearm.
Evgeny Baratynsky
There is a sweet country, there is a corner on the earth
There is a sweet country, there is a corner on the earth,
Wherever, wherever you are - in the midst of a violent camp,
In the gardens of Armidins, on a fast ship,
Wandering merrily on the plains of the ocean, -
We are always carried away by our thoughts;
Where, alien to base passions,
We assign a limit to worldly exploits,
Where the world hope to forget someday
And close the old eyelids
We wish you the last, eternal sleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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I remember a clear, clean pond;
Over the canopy of branched birches,
Among its peaceful waters, its three islands bloom;
Brightening cornfields between their wavy groves,
Behind him rises a mountain, before him in the bushes rustles
And the mill splashes. Village, wide meadow,
And there is a happy home ... the soul flies there,
There I would not have grown cold even in my old age!
There the heart is languid, the sick has found
The answer to everything that burned in him,
And again for love, for friendship blossomed
And happiness again enlightened.
Why the languid sigh and tears in the eyes?
She, with a painful blush on her cheeks,
She, who is not, flashed before me.
Rest, rest easy under the turf of the grave:
a living memory
We will not be separated from you!
We cry... but I'm sorry! The sadness of love is sweet.
Tradny tears of regret!
Not that cold, severe longing,
Dry sorrow of disbelief.
Evgeny Baratynsky
Russia
You are extraordinary even in a dream.
I won't touch your clothes.
And in secret - you will rest, Russia.
Russia is surrounded by rivers
And surrounded by wilds,
With swamps and cranes,
And with the cloudy gaze of a sorcerer,
Where are the diverse peoples
From edge to edge, from valley to valley
Conduct night dances
Under the glow of burning villages.
Where are the sorcerers with the soothsayers
Enchant cereals in the fields
And witches amuse themselves with devils
In road snow pillars.
Where the blizzard sweeps violently
Up to the roof - fragile housing,
And girl on an evil friend
Under the snow it sharpens more sharply.
Where are all the ways and all the crossroads
Exhausted with a living stick,
And a whirlwind whistling in the bare bars,
Sings the legends of old...
So - I learned in my slumber
Country native poverty,
And in the patches of her rags
Souls hide nakedness.
Path sad, night
I trampled to the graveyard,
And there, in the cemetery, spending the night,
I sang songs for a long time.
And he did not understand, did not measure,
To whom did I dedicate the songs,
What god did you passionately believe in?
What girl did you love?
I rocked a living soul,
Russia, you are in your expanses,
And now - she did not stain
original purity.
I doze - and behind the slumber is a mystery,
And Russia rests in secret.
She is extraordinary in dreams,
I won't touch her clothes.
Alexander Blok
Oh Motherland
Oh Motherland, oh new
With a golden roof of blood,
Trumpet, moo like a cow,
Roar telkom thunders.
I wander through the blue villages,
Such a grace
Desperate, cheerful
But I am all in you, mother.
In the school of revelry
I strengthened the flesh and mind.
From the birch rumble
Your noise is growing.
I love your vices
And drunkenness, and robbery,
And in the morning in the east
Lose yourself as a star.
And all of you, as I know
I want to crush and take
And I curse bitterly
Because you are my mother.
Sergey Yesenin
Is it my side, side
Is it my side, side,
Hot stripe.
Only the forest, yes salting,
Yes, the river scythe ...
The old church languishes
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And sick cuckoo
Does not fly from sad places.
For you, my side,
In the flood every year
With a pillow and knapsacks
Praying sweat pours.
Faces are dusty, tanned,
The eyelid gnawed out the distance,
And dug into a thin body
Save the meek sadness.
Sergey Yesenin
Russia cannot be understood with the mind
Russia cannot be understood with the mind,
Do not measure with a common yardstick:
She has a special become -
One can only believe in Russia.
Fedor Tyutchev
These poor villages
These poor villages
This meager nature
The land of native long-suffering,
The land of the Russian people!
They don't understand and they don't notice
The proud gaze of a foreigner,
What shines through and secretly shines
In your humble nakedness.
Dejected by the burden of the godmother,
All of you, dear land,
In a slavish form, the King of Heaven
Went out blessing.
Fedor Tyutchev
From the wilds fogs timidly
From the wilds fogs timidly
Native closed the village;
But the spring sun warmed
And the wind blew them away.
Know it's boring to wander for a long time
Over the expanse of lands and seas,
A cloud stretches for the homeland,
Just to cry over her.
Athanasius Fet
Motherland
They mock you
They, oh motherland, reproach
You with your simplicity
The wretched appearance of black huts ...
So son, calm and impudent,
Ashamed of his mother -
Tired, timid and sad
Among his urban friends,
Looks with a smile of compassion
To the one who wandered hundreds of miles
And for him, by the day of goodbye,
Saved the last penny.
Ivan Bunin
Russia
In the stony glow of the fire,
Under the ardent cry of world enmity,
In the smoke of untamed storms, -
Your appearance flies with an imperious spell:
Ruby and sapphire crown
Above the clouds pierced azure!
Russia! in the evil days of Batu
Who, who to the Mongol flood
Built a dam, didn't you?
Whose, in a tense will, you
For the pay of slavery, saved Europe
From Genghis Khan's heel?
But from the deaf depths of shame,
From the darkness of permanent humiliations,
Suddenly, with a bright cry of a fire, -
Isn't it you, with the scorching steel of your gaze,
Ascended to sovereignty of decrees
During the days of Peter's revolution?
And again, at the hour of world reckoning,
Breathing through cannon muzzles
Your fire sipped your chest, -
All ahead, country leader,
Above the darkness you threw a torch,
Illuminating the way for the people.
What do we have before this terrible force?
Where are you, who dares to contradict?
Where are you, who can know fear?
We just do what you decide
We are to be with you, we are to glorify
Your greatness is forever!
Valery Bryusov
Russia
Again, as in the golden years,
Three worn out harnesses fray,
And painted knitting needles
In loose ruts...
Russia, impoverished Russia,
I have your gray huts,
Your songs are windy for me, -
Like the first tears of love!
I can't pity you
And I carefully carry my cross ...
What kind of sorcerer do you want
Give me the rogue beauty!
Let him lure and deceive, -
You won't disappear, you won't die
And only care will cloud
Your beautiful features...
Well? One more concern -
With one tear the river is noisier
And you are still the same - forest, yes field,
Yes, patterned to the eyebrows ...
And the impossible is possible
The road is long and easy
When it shines in the distance of the road
Instant glance from under the scarf,
When ringing melancholy guarded
The deaf song of the coachman! ..
Alexander Blok
***
Winter evening
Nikolai Rubtsov
The wind is not the wind -
I'm leaving home!
In the barn is familiar
straw crunches,
And the light shines...
And more -
no sound!
Not a twinkle!
In the darkness of a blizzard
Flying over bumps...
Oh, Russia, Russia!
Why don't I call?
What made you sad?
What did you doze off?
Let's wish
Good night everybody!
Let's go for a walk!
Let's have a laugh!
And we'll arrange a holiday
And let's open the cards...
Eh! Trumpets are fresh.
But the same fools.
***
"My quiet homeland! .."
Nikolai Rubtsov
Quiet my home!
Willows, river, nightingales...
My mother is buried here
In my childhood.
Where is the graveyard? You did not see?
I can't find it myself.-
The villagers answered quietly:
- It's on the other side.
Silently answered the inhabitants,
The convoy passed quietly.
Church dome
Overgrown with bright grass.
Where I swam for fish
Hay is rowed into the hayloft:
Between river bends
People dug a canal.
Tina is now a swamp
Where he loves to swim...
Quiet my home
I didn't forget anything.
New fence in front of the school
The same green space.
Like a happy crow
I'm sitting on the fence again!
My wooden school! ..
The time will come to leave
The river behind me is foggy
Will run and run.
With every hut and cloud,
With thunder ready to fall
I feel the most burning
The deadliest bond.
***
Star of the fields
Nikolai Rubtsov
Star of the fields, frozen in the mist
Stopping, he looks into the hole.
It's already twelve o'clock,
And sleep enveloped my homeland...
Field star! In moments of upheaval
I remembered how quiet it was behind the hill
She burns over the autumn gold,
She burns over the winter silver...
The star of the fields burns without fading,
For all the anxious inhabitants of the earth,
Touching with its friendly beam
All the cities that have risen in the distance.
But only here, in the icy haze,
She rises brighter and fuller,
And I'm happy as long as the world is white
Burning, burning star of my fields...
***
MOTHERLAND
Konstantin Simonov
Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading the cities,
Covered with a network of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.
But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment it is necessary to remember at once
All that we have left in the distance,
You remember not a big country,
What did you travel and find out
Do you remember your homeland - such,
How did you see her as a child?
A piece of land, crouched against three birches,
A long road behind the woods
A river with a creaky ferry,
Sandy shore with low willows.
This is where we were lucky to be born
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is good,
To see in it signs of the whole earth.
Yes, you can survive in the heat, in a thunderstorm, in frost,
Yes, you can be hungry and cold
Go to death ... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.
There the skies and waters are clear!
V. Zhukovsky
There the skies and waters are clear!
There the songs of the birds are sweet!
O motherland! all your days are beautiful!
Wherever I am, but everything is with you
Soul.
Do you remember how under the mountain,
Silvered with dew,
The ray was whitening at times in the evening
And silence flew into the forest
From heaven?
Do you remember our calm pond,
And the shadow from the willows at midday sultry,
And above the water from the herd, the rumble is discordant,
And in the bosom of the waters, as through glass,
Village?
There, at dawn, the bird sang;
The distance lit up and brightened;
There, there my soul flew:
It seemed to the heart and eyes -
Everything is there!..
Immeasurable country.
If long, long, long
we fly on an airplane,
If long, long, long
We have to look at Russia.
We'll see then
Both forests and cities
ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains ...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra where spring rings.
And then we'll understand what
Our country is big
Immeasurable country.
G. Ladonshchikov Our
motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor!
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
Burning above us
Everywhere their light reaches!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
Not!
(S. Mikhalkov)
There is no better homeland
Zhura-zhura-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew, circled
Wings, legs worked hard.
We asked the crane:
Where is the best land? -
He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
(P. Voronko)
Motherland
hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you ever go out
To the fork in the road.
And I realized that it
expanse of fields -
Particle of the great
My fatherland.
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Hey
Hello, my native land,
With your dark forests
With your great river
And boundless fields!
Hello, dear people,
Hero of labor tireless,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello, my native land!
(S. Drozhzhin)
native country
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear edges...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
(A. Prokofiev)
Ride across the seas-oceans
Ride across the seas, oceans,
It is necessary to fly over the whole earth:
There are different countries in the world
But one like ours is not to be found.
Deep are our bright waters,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories rumble without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blooming ...
(M. Isakovsky)
Above native land
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
"Take me with you!
So that over native land
I shot like an arrow
I saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open
plains in riotous color
and all the children in the world!
(R. Bosilek)
motherland
If they say the word "homeland",
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
By the river there is a shy birch
And chamomile...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
In the puddles the first boats
Where there was a skating rink recently,
And a big neighboring factory
A loud, joyful horn.
Or the steppe is red from poppies,
Golden whole...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
(Z. Aleksandrova)
native land
Cheerful forest, native fields,
Winding rivers, flowering slope,
Hills and villages, free space
And bell ringing.
With your smile, with your breath
I merge.
Boundless, guarded by Christ,
My native land
My love.
(M. Pozharova)
Motherland
Has its own native land
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
(P. Sinyavsky)
Russia
Here the warm field is filled with rye,
Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.
Here golden-winged angels of God
Beams of light descended from the clouds.
And the earth was watered with holy water,
And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.
And we have no Motherland, except for Russia -
Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father's house.
(P. Sinyavsky)
What do we call motherland
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
(V. Stepanov)
Key words
Learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were first read:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
Leaves become sunny.
Illuminate with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
(L. Olifirova)
hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you ever go out
To the fork in the road.
And I realized that it
expanse of fields -
Particle of the great
My fatherland. (G. Ladonshchikov)
Our Motherland!
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor! (G. Ladonshchikov)
What do we call motherland?
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin. (V. Stepanov)
motherland
Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading the cities,
Covered with a network of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.
Already in your hand
All that we have left in the distance,
What did you travel and find out
Do you remember your homeland - such,
Which one did you see when you were a child?
A long road behind the woods
Sandy shore with low willows.
To see in it signs of the whole earth.
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.
(K. Simonov, 1941)
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland
A melody full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
Longing for birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
Motherland, only Motherland.
Motherland, dear Motherland.
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
And the best songs are yours and mine -
About the motherland, only about the motherland ...
And my thoughts, and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland. (R. Gamzatov)
Where does the Motherland begin?
Where does the Motherland begin?
With smiles and tears of mothers;
From home to school doors.
From birch trees standing for centuries
On the hill in the father's land,
Desire to touch with hands
my beloved land.
Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you will not see the borders,
In the fields the horizon moves apart
With a flash of distant lightning.
And at night in her blue seas
A wave cradles the stars.
There is no edge-end in Russia;
Boundless, like a song, she is.
So what are you. Motherland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems to be very familiar
And look - and the heart burns.
And it seems: you can run
Fly up without fear of heights
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country. (K. Ibryaev)
Russia
Russia, you are a great power,
And there is no other way for you.
We are proud of your cities.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And Petersburg keeps history.
How little we know about you.
How much we have to learn.
motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
(T. Bokova)
motherland
spring,
cheerful,
eternal,
good,
Plowed by a tractor
Happiness sown -
All in front of her
From south to north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)
Hello my motherland
In the morning the sun rises
Calls us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence
The birds sing to me.
Herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry, my friend, grow up!
I answer the herbs
I answer the wind
I answer the sun
- Hello, my Motherland!
(V. Orlov)
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hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you ever go out
To the fork in the road.
And I realized that it
expanse of fields -
Particle of the great
My fatherland.(G. Ladonshchikov)
Our Motherland!
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor! (G. Ladonshchikov)
What do we call motherland?
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin. (V. Stepanov)
motherland
Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading the cities,
Covered with a network of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.
But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment it is necessary to remember at once
All that we have left in the distance,
You remember not a big country,
What did you travel and find out
Do you remember your homeland - such,
Which one did you see when you were a child?
A piece of land, crouched against three birches,
A long road behind the woods
A river with a creaky ferry.
Sandy shore with low willows.
This is where we were lucky to be born
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is good.
To see in it signs of the whole earth.
Yes. You can survive in the heat, in a thunderstorm, in frost,
Yes, you can be hungry and cold
Go to death ... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.
(K. Simonov, 1941)
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland
What is this song of weeping birches about,
A melody full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
What is beyond the cold granite borders
Longing for birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
In moments of sadness, in times of adversity
Who will take care of us and who will save us?
Motherland, only Motherland.
Whom in the bitter cold we need to warm
And in hard days we should regret?
Motherland, dear Motherland.
When we leave for interstellar flight
What is our earthly heart singing about?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
We live in the name of kindness and love,
And the best songs are yours and mine -
About the motherland, only about the motherland ...
Under the scorching sun and in the snow dust
And my thoughts, and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland. (R. Gamzatov)
Where does the Motherland begin?
Where does the Motherland begin?
With smiles and tears of mothers;
From the path, the guys passed,
From home to school doors.
From birch trees standing for centuries
On the hill in the father's land,
Desire to touch with hands
my beloved land.
Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you will not see the borders,
In the fields the horizon moves apart
With a flash of distant lightning.
And at night in her blue seas
A wave cradles the stars.
There is no edge-end in Russia;
Boundless, like a song, she is.
So what are you. Motherland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems to be very familiar
And look - and the heart burns.
And it seems: you can run
Fly up without fear of heights
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country. (K. Ibryaev)
Russia
Russia, you are a great power,
Your expanses are infinitely great.
For all ages you have crowned yourself with glory.
And there is no other way for you.
Lake captivity crowns your forests.
The cascade of ridges in the mountains conceals dreams.
River flow heals thirst
And the native steppe will give birth to bread.
We are proud of your cities.
From Brest to Vladivostok, the road is open.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And Petersburg keeps history.
In the land of your wealth, the flow is inexhaustible,
The path lies to your treasures.
How little we know about you.
How much we have to learn.
motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, native apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
(T. Bokova)
motherland
spring,
cheerful,
eternal,
good,
Plowed by a tractor
Sowed with happiness -
All in front of her
From south to north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)
Hello my motherland
In the morning the sun rises
Calls us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence
The birds sing to me.
Herbs whisper to me on the way:
- You quickly, my friend, grow up!
I answer the herbs
I answer the wind
I answer the sun
- Hello, my Motherland!
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor!
Kremlin stars
Burning above us
Everywhere their light reaches!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
Not!
Zhura-zhura-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew, circled
Wings, legs worked hard.
We asked the crane:
Where is the best land? -
He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you ever go out
To the fork in the road.
And I realized that it
expanse of fields -
Particle of the great
My fatherland.
Hello, my native land,
With your dark forests
With your great river
And boundless fields!
Hello, dear people,
Hero of labor tireless,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello, my native land!
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear edges...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
Ride across the seas, oceans,
It is necessary to fly over the whole earth:
There are different countries in the world
But one like ours is not to be found.
Deep are our bright waters,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories rumble without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blooming ...
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
"Take me with you!
So that over native land
I shot like an arrow
saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open
plains in riotous color
and all the children in the world!
If they say the word "homeland",
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
By the river there is a shy birch
And chamomile...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
In the puddles the first boats
Where there was a skating rink recently,
And a big neighboring factory
A loud, joyful horn.
Or the steppe is red from poppies,
Golden whole...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
"Motherland" is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends,
Dear city, native apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
Spring, cheerful,
Eternal, kind
Plowed by a tractor
Happiness sown -
All in front of her
From south to north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor!
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
There is no better homeland
Zhura-zhura-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew, circled
Wings, legs worked hard.
We asked the crane:
- Where is the best land? -
He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
Goy you, my dear Russia,
Huts - in the robes of the image ...
See no end and edge -
Only blue sucks eyes.
Like a wandering pilgrim,
I watch your fields.
And at the low outskirts
Poplars wither loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches your meek Savior,
And buzzes behind the hillside
There is a cheerful dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the wrinkled stitch
To the freedom of the green lekh,
Meet me like earrings
A girlish laugh will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
"Throw you Russia, live in paradise!",
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my country."
We live in a huge and beautiful country. It's called Russia. Our great country has become the homeland for many peoples and nationalities. Just imagine how immense it is: in the north it is snowing, frosts are crackling, people walk in fur coats, reservoirs are ice-bound, and in the south at the same time flowers bloom, butterflies fly, you can swim in the sea and sunbathe in the sun. In the west, children are just waking up to go to kindergarten or school, while in the east, the children have already come home.
This is what our Motherland is like. It was about her that we prepared a selection of poems and divided by age: for preschool children 3-4, 4-5, 6-7 years old and elementary school children 1-2-3-4 and 5-6 grades. There are short poems and more voluminous ones, for learning, for the competition of readers, modern and Russian poets.
The guys have a good homeland ...
Short poems about the Motherland for children 3-4 years of preschool age
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
Burning above us
Everywhere their light reaches!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
Not!
S. Mikhalkov
Motherland
Has its own native land
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
P. Sinyavsky
native
I found out that I have
There is a huge relative:
And the path, And the forest,
In the field - everyone
Spikelet,
rivers,
The sky above me
It's all mine, dear!
native light
Over the river native corner,
And in the window there is a native light.
Take care of it, don't turn it off
From him brighter in Russia.
What is Motherland?
What is Motherland?
These are the clouds
garden with vegetable garden,
Field and river...
How big is my land
How wide are the spaces!
Lakes, rivers and fields
Forests, and steppe, and mountains.
Spread my country
From north to south:
When spring is in one side,
In the other - snow and blizzard
There are many wonderful countries on Earth, people live everywhere, but Russia is the only, extraordinary country, because it is our Motherland.
Our Motherland is Russia!
Poems about the Motherland for children 4-5 years old, preschool age
Love to motherland
Will not replace the native land
No miracles!
Only here everything is so loved -
Rivers, mountains and forests.
Here from the sweet threshold
The country begins.
There are many other countries on the map,
Only one Motherland!
Olesya Emelyanova
Our Motherland is Russia!
Our Motherland is Russia!
This is where we were born
There is no more beautiful land for us
And there is no love in the world!
This is your home, your family,
Your friends live here!
I owe the Motherland, like a mother,
You protect and protect!
Olesya Emelyanova
vast country
If long, long, long
In an airplane we fly
If long, long, long
We look at Russia
We'll see then
Both forests and cities
ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains ...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra where spring rings
And then we'll understand what
Our country is big
Immeasurable country.
Vladimir Stepanov
Key words
Learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were first read:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
Leaves become sunny.
Illuminate with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
L. Olifirova
Our Motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests;
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles was once taken
And strengthened by labor!
native country
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear lands...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
Our fatherland, our motherland - mother Russia. We call Russia Fatherland because our fathers and grandfathers lived in it from time immemorial.
Konstantin Ushinsky
Above native land
Children's poems about the Motherland for preschoolers 6-7 years old for the competition of readers
Hello my homeland!
In the morning the sun rises
Calls us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence
The birds sing to me.
Herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry, my friend, grow up!
I answer the herbs
I answer the wind
I answer the sun
- Hello, my Motherland!
Vladimir Orlov
Our Motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles was once taken
And strengthened by labor!
Georgy Ladonshchikov
motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, native apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
T. Bokova
Protect native nature
Great is our Fatherland
And its scope is wide.
We have meadows and thickets,
Rivers and mountains.
And live here with us
Herons, swans, siskins,
Woodpeckers, orioles, shrike
Turtles and snakes
Tigers, wolves and bears,
Elks, bison, wild boars ... -
Our old neighbors.
We must save them!
Olesya Emelyanova
Ride across the seas-oceans
Ride across the seas, oceans,
It is necessary to fly over the whole earth:
There are different countries in the world
But one like ours is not to be found.
Deep are our bright waters,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories rumble without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blooming ...
M. Isakovsky
Above native land
Airplanes are flying
Over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
"Take me with you!
So that over native land
I shot like an arrow
I saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
And swell on the Black Sea,
And boats in the open
Plains in riotous color
And all the children in the world!
R. Bosilek
What do we call motherland
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
V. Stepanov
There are many in the world, and besides Russia, all sorts of good states and lands, but a person has one own mother - he has one and his homeland.
Konstantin Ushinsky
There is no better Motherland than ours in the world, friends!
Poems about the Motherland for elementary school children grades 1-2-3-4
What is our country?
An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.
Gardens, thinking, stand.
What a beautiful motherland
She herself is like a marvelous garden!
The river plays with rifts,
In it the fish is all made of silver,
What a rich motherland
Do not count her goodness!
The wave runs slowly
The expanse of fields caresses the eye.
What a happy motherland
And this happiness is everything for us!
Viktor Bokov
My home area
I go out to the balcony
I see a park and a stadium
cinema, library,
Church, clinic, pharmacy,
music school,
Offices are mirrored.
Also an ice palace.
And the mall is brand new
And my high school
Where I study with imagination.
I go out to the balcony -
Hello,
My home area!
Andrey Smetanin
About Motherland
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
motherland
Spring, cheerful,
Eternal, kind
Plowed by a tractor
Happiness sown -
All in front of her
From south to north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian…
V. Semernin
Where does the Motherland begin?
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the picture in your primer
With good and faithful comrades,
Living in a neighboring yard.
Or maybe it starts
From the song that our mother sang to us.
Since in any trials
No one can take away from us.
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the treasured bench at the gate.
From the very birch that is in the field,
Leaning under the wind, it grows.
Or maybe it starts
From the spring singing of the starling
And from this country road,
To which there is no end in sight.
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the windows burning in the distance,
From my father's old Budyonovka,
That somewhere in the closet we found.
Or maybe it starts
From the sound of wagon wheels
And from the oath that in youth
You brought her in your heart.
Where does the motherland begin?
M. Matusovsky
native country
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear lands...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
A. Prokofiev
The place where we were born, a city, a village, a village - is called a small homeland. Wherever life takes us, in whatever distant cities of our country we live, we will always remember with a warm feeling our small homeland, the city where we were born, where our childhood passed.
I love you, my dear land!
Russia
Here the warm field is filled with rye,
Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.
Here golden-winged angels of God
Beams of light descended from the clouds.
And the earth was watered with holy water,
And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.
And we have no Motherland, except for Russia -
Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father's house.
P. Sinyavsky
Blows something native and ancient
Blows something native and ancient
From the vastness of my land.
Villages float in the snowy sea,
Like distant ships.
Walking along the narrow path,
I repeat again! -
“It’s good that with a Russian soul
And she was born on Russian soil!
Julia Drunina
Give Russian
Don't expect me to cry
If they don't buy me a Coke.
Let them not wait for me to balk,
If I have breakfast at school
A sandwich will be given instead
Foreign cookies.
Confiture overseas
Worse than our jam!
Put a bowl of porridge -
I will become more beautiful and stronger!
Bread and salt taste better than ours
Foreign kissels!
Let RUSSIAN taste!
Give RUSSIAN to wear!
Better millet to dine
What to ask for overseas!
Anatoly Vlasov
The best in the world
Russian region, my land,
Native spaces!
We have rivers and fields,
Seas, forests and mountains.
We have a north and a south.
Gardens bloom in the south.
In the north of snow around -
It's cold and blizzard there.
In Moscow they go to bed now
The moon looks out the window.
Far East at the same time
Rise to greet the sun.
Russian region, how great you are!
From border to border
And a fast train straight ahead
Doesn't fit in a week.
Words are heard on the radio -
The long journey is not difficult for them.
Your familiar voice, Moscow,
Heard by people everywhere.
And we are always glad to hear the news
About our peaceful life.
How happy we live
In your own homeland!
The nations are like one family,
Although their language is different.
All are daughters and sons
Your beautiful country.
And everyone has one homeland.
Hello and glory to you
invincible country,
Russian state!
Natalia Zabila (translated from Ukrainian by Z. Aleksandrova)
motherland
The painted dawn has dawned,
I'm leaving the neighborhood.
Good morning, dear side -
My dear Motherland.
Artels moved together in the field,
Labor boils from village to village.
Axes rang through the forests,
The silence behind the mounds has gone.
The ships are under loading
At the moorings of awakened rivers,
And about the Volga, the Russian beauty,
A man sings with inspiration.
Songs flow like an invisible stream
To the stars of happiness - to the gray Kremlin.
I love you, my dear land,
Invariably, in Russian, I love!
N. Suslennikov
Oh Motherland!
Oh Motherland! In dim light
I catch with a quivering gaze
Your blueberries, copses -
Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross above the bell tower,
And a low mound with a star...
My hurts and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone - and consolation
And my healing.
A.V. Zhigulin
My little country
Quiet street in the middle of the village
The house is wooden, next to poplars.
Two lilac bushes
Cherry under the window.
Here I spent my childhood
With mother, father.
went fishing,
went for mushrooms,
By the fire at night
Mosquitoes fed...
I often remember
I am cute places
Childhood is carefree
Your mother, father.
Two lilac bushes
Cherries under the window
And friends and comrades
In that native village...
All that is dear to the heart -
I keep in memory.
Little Motherland
I remember and love.
E. Arsenina
What is Russia? A little girl will tell about this very beautifully and sincerely. Watch this video with your kids.
