EntranceShort poem about the homeland for children. Poems about the homeland
There is no better native land
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? -
He answered as he flew by:
- There is no better native land!
Moscow
There are cities covered in glory,
Their monuments are like orders.
There are cities that rightfully bear
Famous people are big names...
But among the many cities of the universe,
Similar and different from each other,
One is a city, forever imperishable,
With a unique fairy-tale fate.
Moscow! Six letters. Short name.
But in this short word they lay down
All the long human hopes,
All the best hopes of the whole earth.
In its history, the history of the people -
Builder, hero and fighter.
It is written: "Moscow!" It reads: "Freedom!"
This is how all honest hearts feel.
Her enemies hate her to death
Friends are ready to give their lives to her.
Workers see their dreams in it,
Your protection, Motherland and mother...
All cities, like people and nations,
They have their own destiny on earth.
But Honor and Truth, Conscience and Freedom
They live in Moscow, in its gray Kremlin!
(V. Lebedev-Kumach)
Pathfinder people
To know, experience and taste everything
Smell, taste and look:
We are such a restless people!
We are such a pathfinder people!
On a difficult, dangerous path:
Has the storm broken over you?
Is it impossible to find a road in the sands, -
Take heart!
Comrades hand
They will hold out at the decisive hour.
This is our custom!
Follow the animal's trail,
Explode unruly granite:
We are such a restless people!
We are such a pathfinder people!
And no matter what happens to you
On a difficult, dangerous path:
Did the boat crash on rocks?
Did a snowstorm catch up on the road, -
Take heart!
Comrades hand
They will hold out at the decisive hour.
Always and everywhere for each other -
This is our custom!
(N. Sakonskaya)
For peace, for children.
In any part of any country
The green noise of the native forest,
They all need school
The guys don't want war. 
They need peace, not war,
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There's a lot of space in this world
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphan's share
He will never wish!
(E. Trutneva)
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
They are burning above us,
Their light reaches everywhere!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
No!
(S. Mikhalkov)
Russia
Russia, you - great country,
And you have no other way.
We are proud of your cities.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And St. Petersburg preserves history.
(Iraida Andreevna Mordovina)
"I left my home..."
I left my home
Rus' left the blue one.
Three-star birch forest above the pond
The old mother feels sadness.
Golden frog moon
Spread out on the calm water.
Like apple blossom, gray hair
There was a spill in my father's beard.
I won't be back soon, not soon!
The blizzard will sing and ring for a long time. 
Guards blue Rus'
Old maple tree on one leg
And I know there is joy in it
To those who kiss the leaves of the rain,
Because that old maple
The head looks like me.
"Oh, Motherland!.."
Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woods, woods -
Everything 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 over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...
My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.
There is no better native land
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? - He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
(A. Zhigulin)
***
For peace, for children.
In any part of any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They need peace, not war,
The green noise of the native forest, 
They all need school
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There's a lot of space in this world
For those who are used to living by hard work.
Our people raised an imperious voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let every ear of corn 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 orphan's share 
He will never wish!
(E. Trutneva)
About the Motherland
What is called my homeland?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
That autumn birch tree over there?
Or spring drops?
Or maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a frosty winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without my mother's care, dear,
And without friends I don’t feel the same.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be side by side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
Motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
(Tatiana Bokova)
Where does the Motherland begin?
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the smiles and tears of mothers;
From the path the boys walked,
From home to school doors.
From birch trees that have stood for centuries
On a hill in my father's land,
With a desire to touch with your hands
My beloved land.
Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you won’t see the boundaries,
In the fields the horizon expands
With a flash of distant lightning.
And at night in its blue seas
A wave lulls the stars.
Russia has no end;
It is boundless, like a song.
So what are you? Homeland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems very familiar,
And you look - and your heart burns.
And it seems: you can take a running start
Take off without fear of heights,
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country.
(K. Ibryaev)
Russia is my Motherland!
Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I grew and grew before Your eyes.
I walk forward confidently and straight,
And I believe in God who 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 birch trees -
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,
Because 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 suddenly it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
I will fight like a bird in a tight cage,
And every Russian here will understand me!
Hello, my Motherland
In the morning the sun rises,
He's calling us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence too 
The birds sing along with me.
The herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry up, my friend, grow up!
I answer to herbs,
I answer the wind
I answer the sun:
- Hello, my Motherland!
(V. Orlov)
Our region
Now a birch tree, now a rowan tree,
Willow bush over the river.
Native land, forever beloved,
Where else can you find one like this?
From the seas to the high mountains,
In the middle of our native latitudes -
Everyone is running, the roads are running,
And they call forward.
The valleys are filled with sunshine,
And wherever you look -
Native land, forever beloved,
Everything is blooming like a spring garden.
Our childhood is golden!
You are getting brighter every day
Under a lucky star
We live in our native land!
(A. Alien)
What we call Motherland
What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom. 
What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.
What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
Vast country
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia,
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings,
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.
(V. Stepanov)
What is our Motherland!
An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.
The gardens stand thoughtfully. 
What an elegant homeland,
She herself is like a wonderful garden!
The river plays with riffles,
The fish in it are all made of silver,
What a rich homeland,
You can’t count her goodness!
A leisurely wave is flowing,
The vastness of the fields is pleasing to the eye.
What a happy homeland
And this happiness is all for us!
(V. Bokov)
Russia
Here the warm field is filled with rye,
Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.
Here are the golden-winged angels of God
They came down from the clouds along the rays of light.
And they watered the land with holy water,
And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.
And we have no homeland except Russia -
Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father’s house.
(P. Sinyavsky)
Native land
Cheerful forest, native fields, 
Rivers meander, flowering slope,
Hills and villages, free space
And the melodious ringing of bells.
With your smile, with your breath
I'm merging.
Immense, protected by Christ,
My native land,
My love.
(M. Pozharova)
Motherland
If they say the word “homeland”,
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden, 
Thick poplar at the gate,
A modest birch tree by the river
And a chamomile hillock...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
The first boats are in the puddles,
Where was the skating rink recently?
And a large neighboring factory
Loud, joyful whistle.
Or the steppe is red with poppies,
Virgin gold...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
(Z. Alexandrova)
***
Above our native land
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
“Take me with you!
So that over our native land
I shot through like an arrow,
I saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open air,
plains in lush color
and all the children in the world!”
(R. Bosilek) (up)
Go beyond the seas and oceans
Go beyond the seas and oceans,
You have to fly across the entire earth:
There are different countries in the world,
But you won’t find one like ours.
Our bright waters are deep,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories thunder without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blossoming...
(M. Isakovsky)
Home country
In the wide open space
Before dawn
Scarlet dawns have risen
Over my native country.
Every year it gets more beautiful
Dear countries...
Better than our Motherland
Not in the world, friends!
(A. Prokofiev)
Hello
Hello to you, my native land, 
With your dark forests,
With your great river,
And endless fields!
Hello to you, dear people,
Tireless hero of labor,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello to you, my native land!
(S. Drozhzhin)
baby crane
The warmth has gone from the fields,
and a flock of cranes
The leader leads to the green overseas land.
The wedge flies sadly,
And only one is cheerful,
One stupid little crane.
He rushes into the clouds
hurries the leader,
But the leader says to him sternly:
- At least that land is warmer,
And the homeland is dearer,
Miley - remember, little crane, this word.
Remember the sound of birches
and that steep slope,
Where your mother saw you flying;
Remember forever
Otherwise never
My friend, you won’t become a real crane.
We have snow,
We're in the middle of a blizzard
And you can’t hear bird voices at all.
And somewhere out there in the distance
The cranes are crowing,
They mutter about their snow-covered homeland.
(I. Shaferan)
Song of Glory
Hail, great one,
Multilingual 
Fraternal Russian
Family of peoples.
Stand surrounded
Armed
An ancient stronghold
Gray Kremlin!
Hello, darling,
Unshakable
Banner flowing
Light of reason!
Glorious for grandfathers,
Brave grandchildren
Friendly Russian
Family of peoples.
Strengthen yourself with victories,
Expand yourself in sciences,
Eternally incorruptible
Glory to the earth!
(N. Aseev) (up)
Russia, Russia, Russia
There is no more beautiful land in the world,
There is no homeland in the brighter world!
Russia, Russia, Russia, –
What could be dearer to the heart?
Who was your equal in strength?
Anyone suffered defeats!
Russia, Russia, Russia, –
We are with you in sorrow and happiness!
Russia! How blue bird,
We protect and honor you,
And if they violate the border,
We will protect you with our breasts!
And if we were suddenly asked:
“Why is the country dear to you?”
– Yes, because Russia is for all of us,
Like my own mother, alone!
(V. Gudimov)
The best in the world
Russian region, my land,
Dear spaces!
We have rivers and fields, 
Seas, forests and mountains.
We have both north and south.
Gardens bloom in the south.
In the north there is snow all around -
It's cold and blizzardy there.
In Moscow they go to bed now,
The moon looks out the window.
Far East at the same hour
Rising to meet the sun.
Russian region, how great you are!
From border to border
And a fast train straight ahead
It won't finish in a week.
The 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 happy to hear news
About our peaceful life.
How happy we live
In your native Fatherland!
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 power!
(N. Zabila, translated from Ukrainian by Z. Alexandrova)
Russia
Russia, you are a great power,
Your spaces are infinitely large.
You have crowned yourself with glory for all ages. 
And you have no other way.
The lake captivity crowns your forests.
A cascade of ridges in the mountains hides dreams.
The river flow cures thirst,
And the native steppe will give birth to bread.
We are proud of your cities.
From Brest to Vladivostok the path is open.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And St. Petersburg preserves history.
In your land of wealth there is an inexhaustible stream,
The path to your treasures lies for us.
How little we still know about you.
There is so much we have to study.
Russian house
Russia is like a huge apartment.
There are four windows and four doors: 
North, west, south, east.
A heavenly ceiling hangs above her.
Luxurious carpet lays in the apartment
Floors in Taimyr and Anadyr.
And the sun burns at a billion kilowatts,
Because our house is a bit dark in places.
And, as befits every apartment,
There is a Pantry of Siberia in it:
Various berries are stored there,
And fish, and meat, and coal, and gas.
And next to the Kurilka - Kuril ridge -
There are hot water taps,
Springs are bubbling at Klyuchevskaya Hill
(Go and turn on the hot water!)
There are also three cool baths in the apartment:
Northern, Quiet and atlantic oceans.
And a powerful stove of the Kuzbass system,
What warms us in the cold winter.
And here is a refrigerator with the name "Arctic",
The automation works great in it.
And to the right of the ancient Kremlin clock
There are seven more time zones to go.
The Russian House has everything for a comfortable life,
But there is no order in the huge apartment:
A fire breaks out here, a pipe leaks there.
Then the neighbors knock loudly from the corner.
The walls are cracking, the paint is falling,
About two hundred years ago Alaska fell away,*
The roof went down, the horizon disappeared...
Again rebuilding and again repairs. 
The builders themselves do not know what they are building:
First they will build it, and then they will tear it down.
Everyone wants it to be built right away
Hut-Chum-Yarangu-Palace-Skyscraper!
We are all neighbors and residents in our house:
Ordinary residents, building managers, builders.
And what will we build now in Rus'?..
Ask your mom and dad about this.
(A. Usachev)
(* 200 years ago Empress Catherine II
sold Alaska to America for 7 million rubles.) (up)
Country of white birch trees
In the country of white birch trees
Heaven's Light, childhood's purity.
Birches with chintz round dance
Snow is carried into the green noise.
Birch trees sun in the palms
Easily swirl the rustling leaves.
Always, in any bad weather,
Worried, their soul shines.
The soul of Russia through motherhood
And full of subtle charm.
Nature* gives everything with cinema*.
Birch bark prophesies from birch trees.
In winter there are candle birch trees
And in the thin veins, the pulse beats.
In the spring, running down the notches,
Light juice opens the way.
Here the red summer begins to sing,
And the greenery rustles like silk,
Mother Russia, cherishes,
In the vastness Joy slowly.
Jamrina
Patriots of Russia
We are patriots of Russia,
Here is our Motherland,
It is our pride and strength,
Our great army.
This is where our grandfathers fought
Not sparing your life,
To the foreigner's foot
Didn't defile you.
So that in the regions where Yesenin
The Russian expanse sang,
Russians' native land
The dirty boot did not trample.
Our holy homeland,
Our great Rus',
Giving my heart to you,
I swear eternal fidelity
I. Butrimova
Small Motherland
Dear region! I haven't been here for a long time.
And again the mother starts the kneading pot,
And again the familiar smell of bread
I endlessly want to inhale.
A hut with simple decoration,
Where there is no crystal and no carpets,
This constancy is dear to me,
Cleanliness of unpainted floors.
Smoke swirls above the chimney,
You can hear the mooing of cows,
Buddy's bark is heard from the booth,
Dogs from other yards echo.
At dawn I will go out into the open field,
I stand silently by the river.
The sweetest pain squeezes my heart:
Bonds of childhood! How strong you are!
I stirred up my soul again,
Intoxicated by enchanting beauty
They were not prestigious villagers,
Where is the grass with crystal dew?
Homeland, which is called small,
Filled to the brim with longing,
It echoes with a quiet pain in the heart,
Although I have been a city resident for a long time.
And again here I reproach myself,
I will swear that I will return soon.
Homeland from edge to edge,
You are forever dear to me, Rus'!
Cornflower Rus'
Oh, my cornflower blue Rus',
Dearest to my heart, a new song.
You are decorated with a ripe ear
Rus' is cheerful, reckless.
Not married to Gentiles:
If you don't like it, you won't tolerate it.
The enemies will not capture you.
Russian songs are dear to the heart.
How much did you have to suffer in Rus'?
In a big war, fight and survive.
Ruined, raised again
The work of your sons, your daughters love.
Oh, my Rus', suffering Rus'.
Maybe we can stop living and grieving?
Forget your sad songs,
After all, your Russian children are with you.
I'm called a Russian
I don't need the shine of diamonds
Pearls, brocade gold,
Let the rhinestones jingle in your pocket,
There would be bread and cabbage soup in the oven.
Our dear Rus' is dearer than all others!
The sound of birches and poplars
And clothes made of matting,
A salvo of Peter's ships.
Russian young ladies' outfits,
Prowess of the strong boys,
Village rituals
And water from the springs.
Kindness from Russian fairy tales,
The power of the "three heroes"
Running of the “furry Savraskas”
And horror stories of ghouls.
I'm proud of the victorious glory
And soldiers and sailors,
The main thing for victory was -
Beat and drive your enemies.
We won! We defended it!
Rus' and the world are proud of that!
They walked all over the earth with battles
Our Russian sons.
Everything in Russian history
Close to my heart
I live in it under the blue sky,
I'm called Russian!
A. Zarubenko
This is all called Russia
A road runs through the fields,
Catching up with the edge of heaven.
Like a teacher: old, strict
The autumn forest grumbled.
Yellow and red cape
He won't wear it at all.
The wind cuts the leaves with a razor
And he breaks it, just like that.
There is a chapel on the edge
The wooden one is standing.
Nearby there are several huts:
Old Believers ancient monastery.
Who said it was a backwater?
Who said it's old?
This is all called Russia.
And we have only one!
Rus
With gilded eyes
Rus' looks guilty.
Great, holy Rus'
I pray for her all my life.
Here with the crimson dawn
The wind slept in the rye,
It's intoxicating and chilly in the summer
I hurried to meet the sun.
Early in the morning I will go out into the field:
Dew falls on the grass,
Smells like grassy expanse,
I live by this smell!
Oh, my dear Rus',
Sky with a rainbow-arc,
You are from edge to edge
Became dear to my heart!
E. Tolchina
Vast country
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia.
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings.
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.
T. Bokova
Your homeland
There are sacred boundaries on earth,
But there are no border soldiers on them.
Wheat runs across those borders.
Apple trees stand on them in an embrace.
You will pass them and not even notice them,
That you have come to another land.
You will meet good friends along the way
From kishlaks, villages, from distant villages...
N. Dorizo
Boundless Rus'... The land is birch.
The horizon is endless,
My side, dear blood,
You are my longing, sadness and sadness,
Insulted, moderately proud.
There is no such beauty anywhere in the world
I admire you, my Motherland,
The dense orchards smell of cherries,
Apricots and currants.
I'll drink spring water
I'll go out into the field where the grass is not cut
And I’ll inhale the scent of residuum,
In warm summers, slightly powdered.
You raised your sons,
How many of them are amazing geniuses...
I comprehended you with all my soul
Until the moment, without a doubt.
Without lying, I will say from my heart: -
You are wonderful with spring dreams,
I cherish you everywhere
Boundless Rus'.. Birch land...
V. Zadorozhny
My great Rus'
Russian field,
The smell of wormwood
Feather grass whispers
Beyond the river in the valley.
Poppy is fading
Purple spots.
The hill shelters
Colored sunsets.
Mother Rus',
You are my immense
You are nobody, never
Incomprehensible.
How great are yours
Rivers and mountains
And endless
Native spaces.
The sun of you
Warms differently.
Time flows in Rus',
The horses are galloping.
The willows are bowing
Oriole is crying.
The rye is spiking,
Everything is so, not otherwise.
There's a church somewhere
It stands on a hill.
The cuckoo crows
In the forest on the outskirts.
The sky is thundering
Rolling thunder
This doesn't happen anywhere
Only at home.
S. Kotsenko
Russian birches
Dear land of Russian birches,
White-trunked, young,
Light green in spring,
And in the fall, gold.
All of Russia is decorated
Up to northern latitudes.
Even storms don’t break them,
And the frost does not take them.
In distant countries, in foreign lands,
Every Russian person
Remembers birches,
He will never forget them.
In elegant white dresses,
Like brides down the aisle,
All of Russia was married
With your golden ring.
And in birch chintz,
As Yesenin said,
It’s not in vain that all of Russia
I. Butrimova
My little homeland
Quiet street in the middle of the village,
The house is wooden, there are poplars nearby.
Two lilac bushes
Cherry tree under the window.
I spent my childhood here
With mother, father.
Went fishing
I went mushroom picking
By the night fire
Komarov fed...
I often remember
I'm sweet places
Carefree childhood
Your mother, your father.
Two lilac bushes
Cherry under the window
And friends and comrades
In that native village...
Everything that is dear to the heart -
I keep it in my memory.
Little Motherland
I remember and love.
E. Arsenina
Under the sound of wheels
Russia, Russia... Open spaces without edge.
And the clouds and the rain that started pouring in in the morning.
In the gaps the flaming disk burns out,
Like a flame on the coals of a big fire.
There is a blackened outline of a distant forest.
Here there is a fringe of nearby green bushes.
Green reaches above the horizon
And houses plunging into the night...
Everything here - from the church to the peg - is cute:
The glades and rivers are mirror-like surfaces.
Dear, you rewarded me forever
The desire to give my soul for all this.
I breathe Russia - and I can’t live any other way.
Accept my crumbs, dear Rus'.
I will give all of myself - and I will become richer,
Because I will unite with you.
O. Altovskaya
The feather grass is sleeping. Plain dear,
And the leaden freshness of wormwood.
No other homeland
It will not pour my warmth into my chest.
Know that we all have such a fate,
And, perhaps, ask everyone -
Rejoicing, raging and suffering,
Life is good in Rus'.
The light of the moon, mysterious and long,
The willows are crying, the poplars are whispering.
But no one listens to the crane's cry
He will not stop loving his father's fields.
And now, when the new light
And my life was touched by fate,
I still remain a poet
Golden log hut.
At night, huddled against the headboard,
I see him as a strong enemy
How someone else's youth splashes with newness
To my glades and meadows.
But still, pressed by that newness,
I can sing with feeling:
Give me in my beloved homeland,
Loving everything, die in peace!
S. Yesenin
The hewn horns began to sing,
The plains and bushes are running.
Again chapels on the road
And funeral crosses.
Again I'm sick with warm sadness
From the oat breeze.
And on the limestone bell towers
The hand involuntarily crosses itself.
O Rus', raspberry field
And the blue that fell into the river,
I love you to the point of joy and pain
Your lake melancholy.
Cold sorrow cannot be measured,
You're on a foggy shore.
But not to love you, not to believe -
I can't learn.
And I won't give up these chains
And I won’t part with a long sleep,
When the native steppes ring
Prayer feather grass.
S. Yesenin
Russia did not begin with a sword
Russia did not begin with a sword,
It began with a scythe and a plow.
Not because the blood is not hot,
But because the Russian shoulder
Never in my life has anger touched...
And the battles rang with arrows
They only interrupted her constant work.
No wonder the horse of the mighty Ilya
The saddle was the master of the arable land.
In hands cheerful only from labor,
Out of good nature, sometimes not immediately
Retribution was rising. It's true.
But there was never a thirst for blood.
And if the hordes prevailed,
Forgive me, Russia, for the troubles of my sons.
Whenever there were no strife between the princes,
How could the hordes be punched in the face!
But only meanness rejoiced in vain.
Jokes with a hero are short-lived:
Yes, you can deceive a hero,
But to win - now that’s a piece of cake!
It would be just as funny
Like, say, fighting the sun and the moon.
Lake Peipus is the guarantee for this,
Nepryadva and Borodino rivers.
And if the darkness of the Teutons or Batu
We found the end in my homeland,
That is today's proud Russia
A hundred times more beautiful and stronger!
And in a fight with the fiercest war
She even managed to overcome hell.
The guarantee of this is the hero cities
In the fireworks on a festive night!
And my country is forever so strong,
That she never humiliated anyone.
After all, kindness is stronger than war,
How selflessness is more effective than a sting.
The dawn rises, bright and hot.
And it will be so forever and indestructibly.
Russia did not begin with a sword,
And that’s why she’s invincible!
E. Asadov
Motherland
Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.
But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance
You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.
A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaking carriage,
Sandy shore with low willow trees.
This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable,
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.
Yes, you can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.
K. Simonov
My Russia
My godless Russia,
My sacred country!
Its plains are snowy,
Its gypsies are nomadic, -
Oh, isn’t joy given to them?
Her gusts of fire,
Her dreams are advanced
Its writers are alive,
Those who have reached the bottom!
Her thieves are saints,
Her flights are blue
And our sun and moon!
And these unearthly lands,
And these riots are daring,
And all of them, all of their depth!
And her nightingales,
And the nights are fiery and icy,
And ancient intoxicating mash,
And goblets full of wine!
And the triplets are wildly steppe,
And these knitting needles are painted,
And these harnesses are golden,
And winged fasteners,
Their necks are swan steep!
And our women are beaten,
And their sundresses are colored,
And the girls' voices are deep,
Such Russians, dear ones,
And young as spring
And spilling like a wave,
And songs, bursting songs,
How our chests are full,
And all of her, and all of her -
My creeping Russia,
My winged country!
I. Severyanin
About the homeland
They mock you
They, O Motherland, reproach
You with your simplicity,
Poor looking black huts...
So son, calm and impudent,
Ashamed of his mother -
Tired, timid and sad
Among his city friends,
Looks with a smile of compassion
To the one who wandered hundreds of miles
And for him, on the date of the date,
She saved her last penny.
The crescent moon under a long cloud
The midnight light is shining.
Above the silent valley -
Dark church silhouette.
The crescent moon melts behind a cloud, -
As it floats, it goes out.
Flies from the bell tower,
Freezing, sleepy ringing.
Crescent moon in the clouds
He looks with quiet sadness,
Under the branches of the weeping willows
The water is dimly golden.
And in the river, among the deep
Predawn silence
Freezes alone
The golden twin of the moon.
In the forest, in the mountain, a spring, alive and sonorous,
An old cabbage roll above the spring
With a blackened popular print icon,
And in the spring there is birch bark.
I do not love, O Rus', your timid
Thousands of years of slavish poverty.
But this cross, but this white ladle...
Humble, dear features!
Russia
The moon is bicorne.
The feather grass shines.
White road.
Dust is flying.
Flying, flock
Night owls -
Sobbing in the distance
Empty nights.
The poles are getting dark
Dry aspens;
The firmament goes numb...
I'm standing alone.
There's a sleepy goblin here
Shakes to dust.
Here - on horseback, on foot
Rushes in dreams.
Care is gnawing;
The path is lost.
Nothing can
Bring him back.
Swamps of rust:
Bushes, lights,
Dense grasses,
Empty stumps!
Motherland
Our immortal happiness
It has been called Russia for centuries.
We have never seen a more beautiful edge,
but they were in many places.
But wherever the path runs,
We dreamed of Russian land.
Exile, where is your sting,
foreign land, where is your strength?
We know such prayers
that the heart is easy at night;
and proud muses of Russia
accompany us invisibly.
Thanks to the dense noise
forests on native plains,
behind them the inspired thought,
for every song about them.
Our home is in a random foreign land,
where the exile's sleep is peaceful,
like the wind, like the sea, like a secret,
Always surrounded by Russia.
V. Nabokov
You are my land, my dear land!
Horse racing in the wild,
In the sky the cry of flocks of eagles,
Wolf's voice in the field!
Goy, my homeland!
Goy you, dense forest!
The midnight nightingale's whistle,
Wind, steppe and clouds!
A. Tolstoy
Our love for the Motherland
With time everything will change -
The bitterness of loss and deception.
Spreads low over the lake
White fog like a shroud.
The forest plunges into twilight
Embraced by blue flames.
The moon is born in the sky,
Distant stars are shining.
Nightingale trills are heard
In the manes of green birches.
The Russians gave epics -
A treasure trove of legends and dreams.
All in pearls or a beggar, -
I'm not going to judge...
You are a snow-white cherry
You bloom in your heart, my Rus'.
Your fields are golden,
With the smell of meadow honey.
The cleanest are the cleanest
In the sparkles of diamond snow.
Let foreigners not believe it...
They know who has Russian blood,
What will never change
Love for our Motherland.
N. Tsvetkova
Pages 1 2 3
Sometimes a few words are enough to convey the full depth of the moment. This is what distinguishes short poems about the homeland. The authors, in just a few sentences, convey the whole storm of emotions caused by patriotism. Well, if we take the practical aspect of the issue, then sometimes a child may need short poems about the Motherland. And there is nothing reprehensible in this.
Motherland!(G. Ladonshchikov)
Hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
Native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland.
Kremlin stars (S. Mikhalkov)
Kremlin stars
They are burning above us,
Their light reaches everywhere!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
No!
Motherland(P. Sinyavsky)
I have my own motherland
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
It smells like something familiar and ancient (Yulia Drunina)
It smells like something familiar and ancient
From the vastness of my land.
Villages float in the snowy sea,
Like distant ships.
Walking along a narrow path,
I repeat - once again! -
"It's good that with the Russian soul
And she was born on Russian soil!"
What is our Motherland! (V. Bokov)
An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.
The gardens stand thoughtfully.
What an elegant homeland,
She herself is like a wonderful garden!
The river plays with riffles,
There's fish in it all made of silver
What a rich homeland,
You can’t count her goodness!
A leisurely wave is flowing,
The vastness of the fields is pleasing to the eye.
What a happy homeland
And this happiness is all for us!
I'll look in the field(Yesenin)
I'll look into the field, I'll look into the sky -
There is paradise in the fields and in the sky.
Drowning again in heaps of bread
My unplowed land.
Again in the ungrazed groves
Inexorable herds,
And flows from the green mountains
Gold-jet water.
Oh, I believe - to know for the torment
Over the Lost Man
Someone's gentle hands
Spills milk.
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia.
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
You are beautiful, fields of your native land,
Your bad weather is even more beautiful;
Winter in it is similar to the first winter
As with the first people, her peoples!..
The fog here covers the vaults of the sky!
And the steppe spread out like a purple veil,
And she is so fresh, and so close to the soul,
As if created only for freedom...
Kremlin stars
They are burning above us,
Their light reaches everywhere!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
No!
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? –
He answered as he flew by:
- 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 once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland.
Hello to you, my native land,
With your dark forests,
With your great river,
And endless fields!
Hello to you, dear people,
Tireless hero of labor,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello to you, my native land!
In the wide open space
Before dawn
Scarlet dawns have risen
Over my native country.
Every year it gets more beautiful
Dear countries...
Better than our Motherland
Not in the world, friends!
Go beyond the seas and oceans,
You have to fly across the entire earth:
There are different countries in the world,
But you won’t find one like ours.
Our bright waters are deep,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories thunder without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blossoming...
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
“Take me with you!
So that over our native land
I shot through like an arrow,
I saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open air,
plains in lush color
and all the children in the world!”
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? –
He answered as he flew by:
- 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 once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland.
Song swallows
Above my window
They sculpt, sculpt a nest...
I know it will be there soon
The chicks will appear
They will start shouting
They will have parents
Wear midges.
The little ones will fly out
In summer from the nest,
They'll fly over the world
But they always
They will know and remember
What's in our native land
The nest will greet them
Above my window.
Homeland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
Flocks of birds. Road tape.
A fallen fence.
From the foggy sky
The dim day looks sad,
A row of birches, and the view is sad
Roadside pillar.
As if under the weight of heavy sorrow,
The hut swayed.
Half-light and half-dark, -
And you involuntarily rush into the distance,
And involuntarily crushes the soul
Endless sadness.
You are extraordinary even in your dreams.
I won't touch your clothes.
I doze - and behind the doze there is a secret,
And in secret - you will rest, Rus'.
You can't understand Russia with your mind
You can't understand Russia with your mind,
The general arshin cannot be measured:
She will become special -
You can only believe in Russia.
F. Tyutchev
My dear homeland
My dear homeland -
You are dear to me like a mother.
I'm ready to shout to you
That I can give my life for you!
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
They are burning above us,
Their light reaches everywhere!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
No!
S. Mikhalkov
My motherland…
My homeland is my fatherland:
Native arable lands and meadows.
Mighty forests and rivers,
And this is where my family lives!
Hills, copses...
Hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
Native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland.
G. Ladonshchikov
I love my fatherland
I love my homeland
I am truly ready to serve her.
And I will not give it to my enemies,
Walk on your native land!
Motherland
Have your own native land
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
P. Sinyavsky
Oh, my mother, Russia...
Oh, my mother, Russia, Rus',
Your golden-domed throne is unshakable,
I love you, I'm proud of you,
Long-suffering and powerful.
Russia, Russia, great power,
Great power, bottomless Rus',
I am in love with Russia, with all my heart, with all my heart
And I will stay with her forever, I swear!
Alexander Cherny
There is no better native land!
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
Where is the best land?
He answered as he flew by:
There is no better native land!
P. Voronko
Go beyond the seas and oceans
Go beyond the seas and oceans,
You have to fly across the entire earth:
There are different countries in the world,
But you won’t find one like ours.
Our bright waters are deep,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories thunder without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blossoming...
M. Isakovsky
Native land
Cheerful forest, native fields,
Rivers meander, flowering slope,
Hills and villages, free space
And the melodious ringing of bells.
With your smile, with your breath
I'm merging.
Immense, protected by Christ,
My native land,
My love.
M. Pozharova