About October for preschool children
October is the pre-winter period, the first harsh month of autumn. Reigns cold wind, it rains frequently. Last harvest of fruits and mushrooms. The days are getting shorter, the nights are longer and darker.
Crimson and gold foliage - signs late autumn. The forest is already visible through, the peaks are thinning. The sun and cold burn, the wind tears off the leaves. By folk calendar October is called MUDDY - it doesn’t like wheels or runners.
Signs of October
In October, before lunch - autumn, after lunch - winter.
In October, winter is removed from the white nest, she is going to visit a peasant: “Let me stay in Rus', visit villages and eat pies.”
In October, it's raining and snowing at the same hour.
In October, say goodbye to the sun, get closer to the stove.
Thunder in October foreshadows a snowless, short and mild winter.
October - GRUDENB - there are piles of dirt on the roads.
October - Golden autumn, leaf blower, wedding party.
October is the month of bad weather - the beginning of family happiness.
October is a month of full pantries: bark, hollows, nests.
October is the pre-winter period, the winter season, the threshold of winter, the month of approaching powder, the threshold of winter.
If in October birds fly lower to the ground, it means early and cold winter. Birds fly high - for a warm winter.
Late leaf fall means a difficult year.
If there are a lot of birds and they fly quickly, bad weather is imminent. Sparrows fly in flocks from place to place - in front of a strong wind.
Oak and aspen have the latest leaf fall.
The stars are bright - to cold weather, dim - to rain or snow. The tit squeaks - it announces winter.
The clouds are low - expect cold.
Proverbs and sayings of October
In the autumn storm there are seven weather conditions in the yard - it sows, howls, stirs, twists, roars, pours and sweeps from below.
Spring is red and hungry, autumn is rainy and nourishing.
An October day is quickly melting - you can’t tie it to the fence.
Don’t boast when you’re driving into the field, but rather boast when you’re lucky from the field.
Autumn time - a bird from the yard.
In the spring the rain grows, and in the fall it rots.
Riddles for children about October
The face of nature is becoming increasingly gloomy: the vegetable gardens have turned black,
The bear fell into hibernation. What month did he come to us?
(October.)
The fields are empty, the ground is wet, the rain is falling - when does this happen?
(Late autumn.)
Gray cloth stretches out the window.
(Twilight.)
I feel sorry for the cold poor thing - to all the winds and breezes
He gave away the last shirt in shreds.
(Autumn forest.)
It falls from a branch into a river and does not sink, but floats.
Who deftly jumps through the fir trees and flies up into the oak trees?
Who hides nuts in a hollow and dries mushrooms for the winter?
Not a lamb or a cat, wears a fur coat all year round.
A gray fur coat is for summer, a different color for winter.
He looks like a shepherd. Every tooth is a sharp knife!
He runs, baring his mouth, ready to attack the sheep.
Flames flashed quickly behind the trees and bushes,
It flashed, ran, there was no smoke, no fire.
The animal waddles through raspberries and honey.
He loves sweets very much. And when autumn comes,
He climbs into the hole until spring, where he sleeps and dreams.
(Bear.)
Poems about October for children
October the Dirty
There are golden ripples on the waters,
The leaves are flying, flying.
Chilly winds in October
Everything fits into the sleeves.
He is his own king and prince,
But it smelled like rain,
And he kneads the dirt, and he kneads the dirt,
And he wears boots.
I sit down at the table to have a snack
And I’ll go knead the dirt too.
M. Sukhorukova
October
In October, in October there is frequent rain in the yard.
The grass in the meadows is yellow, the grasshopper has fallen silent.
Firewood for the stoves has been prepared for the winter.
S. Marshak
Autumn
Autumn. Our entire poor garden is crumbling.
Yellowed leaves are flying in the wind.
They only show off in the distance, there, at the bottom of the valleys,
Brushes of bright red withering rowan trees.
A. Tolstoy
Autumn
Behind spring - the beauty of nature
Summer red will pass -
And fog and bad weather
Late autumn brings.
A. Pushkin
October
There's a maple leaf on the branch,
Nowadays he is just like new.
All ruddy and golden.
Where are you going, leaf, wait!
Autumn leaves are yellow and red
We say goodbye to the forest until the new spring!
A. Pleshcheev
How offensive
Autumn with a long thin brush
Recolors leaves.
Red, yellow, gold,
How beautiful you are, colored leaf!
And the wind has thick cheeks
Fooled, fooled, fooled
And the trees are wet
Blown, blew, blew.
Red, yellow, gold,
The entire colored sheet flew around.
How offensive, how offensive:
There are no leaves - Only branches are visible.
I. Mikhailova
Leaf fall
Leaf fall, leaf fall,
Yellow leaves are flying.
Yellow maple, yellow beech,
Yellow circle in the sky of the sun.
Yellow yard, yellow house.
The whole earth is yellow all around.
Yellowness, yellowness,
This means that autumn is not spring.
B. Virovich
Forest in autumn
You can't hear the birds. Small cracks
Broken branch
And, flashing its tail, a squirrel
The light one makes the jump.
The spruce tree has become more noticeable in the forest,
Protects dense shade.
The last aspen boletus
He pulled his hat on one side.
A. Tvardovsky
Leaf fall
The leaves have fallen off the maple tree,
The maple tree is shaking from the cold.
On the path by the balcony
The golden carpet lies.
E. Avdienko
About the cold
The cold is entering the courtyards -
Wanders around looking for a hole.
Where the cold creeps in,
Everything immediately freezes.
We won't let out the heat
Behind the window glass.
Let's cope with the cold...
Cotton wool, brush and glue -
Here are our weapons!
E. Uspensky
Before departure
The maple leaves have fallen off,
The gardens are empty,
Puddles spilled in the beams,
The birds gathered in flocks.
The starling says to his neighbor:
We're flying into this environment
We're flying far south,
We don't want to freeze here.
You little sparrow in winter
Take care of my birdhouse.
Well, squawk, fly,
Be careful on your journey.
Don't lag behind your friends
Don't forget your native land!
I'll be glad if it's summer again
Will you be my neighbor?
G. Ladonshchikov
Mom and daughter
At the edge of the forest
At the old mother's Christmas tree
Brown cones,
Thorny needles.
And her daughter,
Her little Christmas trees,
Green cones
And soft needles.
V. Lisichkin
Before departure
Shovels are not useful -
There is no work in the garden
And thinned out early
Oaks this year.
Birdhouses are empty
There are no more starlings in them,
The birdhouses are empty,
They stick out among the branches.
And everyone understands
That the warm days are over,
But one day in the fall
A starling is flying into our garden.
Starling! Look, here he is!
It's time for him to go south
And he before departure
He returned home suddenly.
A bird flew to us
Say goodbye.
A. Barto
Packed up and flew
Packed up and flew
Ducks on a long journey,
Under the roots of an old spruce
A bear is making a den.
The hare dressed in white fur,
The bunny felt warm.
The squirrel carries it for a month
Store mushrooms in the hollow in reserve.
Wolves prowl in the dark night
For prey in the forests.
Between the bushes to the sleepy grouse
A fox sneaks in.
The nutcracker hides for the winter
The old moss nuts cleverly.
Wood grouse pinch the needles.
They came to us for the winter
Northerners are bullfinches.
E. Golovin
Belkin's pantry
Why are there mushrooms on the Christmas tree?
Do they hang astride branches?
Not in a basket, not on a shelf,
Not in the moss, not under a leaf -
At the trunk and among the branches
They are put on the knots.
Who arranged everything so cleverly?
Who cleaned the dirt off the mushrooms?
This is the squirrel's pantry.
It's Belkin's summer gathering!
Here she is jumping along the branches,
Flashed over the bush
Like a lively red ball
With lush fur and tail.
Great ones about poetry:
Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.
Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.
Humboldt V.
Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without knowing shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind each poetic work of those times, a whole Universe was certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.
Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"
I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry, who rejected the word.
Open the calendar
January begins.
In January, in January
There is a lot of snow in the yard.
Snow - on the roof, on the porch.
The sun is in the blue sky.
The stoves are heated in our house.
Into the sky smoke is coming pillar.
FEBRUARY
The winds blow in February
The pipes howl loudly.
Like a snake rushes along the ground
Light drifting snow.
Rising, they rush into the distance
Aircraft flights.
It celebrates February
The birth of the army.
MARCH
The loose snow darkens in March.
The ice on the window is melting.
Bunny runs around the desk
And on the map
On the wall.
APRIL
April, April!
Drops are ringing in the yard.
Streams run through the fields,
There are puddles on the roads.
The ants will come out soon
After the winter cold.
A bear sneaks through
Through the dead wood.
The birds began to sing songs,
And the snowdrop blossomed.
MAY
The lily of the valley bloomed in May
On the holiday itself - on the first day.
Seeing off May with flowers,
The lilac is blooming.
JUNE
June has arrived.
"June! June!"
Birds are chirping in the garden...
Just blow on a dandelion
And it will all fly apart.
JULY
Haymaking is in July
Somewhere thunder grumbles sometimes.
And ready to leave the hive
Young bee swarm.
AUGUST
We collect in August
Fruit harvest.
Lots of joy for people
After all the work.
The sun over the spacious
Nivami is worth it.
And sunflower grains
Black
Stuffed.
SEPTEMBER
Clear morning in September
The villages thresh bread,
Birds fly across the seas
And the school opened.
OCTOBER
In October, in October
Frequent rain outside.
The grass in the meadows is dead,
The grasshopper fell silent.
Firewood has been prepared
For the winter for stoves.
NOVEMBER
November seventh day
Red calendar day.
Look out your window:
Everything on the street is red.
Flags flutter at the gates,
Blazing with flames.
See, the music is on
Where the trams were.
All the people - both young and old
Celebrates freedom.
And my red ball flies
Straight to the sky!
DECEMBER
In December, in December
All trees are in silver.
Our river, like in a fairy tale,
The frost paved the way overnight,
Updated skates, sleds,
I brought a Christmas tree from the forest.
The tree cried at first
From home warmth.
In the morning I stopped crying,
She breathed and came to life.
Its needles tremble a little,
The lights lit up on the branches.
Like a ladder, like a Christmas tree
The lights shoot up.
Firecrackers sparkle with gold.
I lit a star with silver
Reached the top
The bravest light.
A year has passed like yesterday.
Above Moscow at this hour
The clock of the Kremlin tower is striking
Fireworks - twelve times.
Great ones about poetry:
Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.
Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.
Humboldt V.
Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without knowing shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.
Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"
I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.
Poems about October evoke special feelings in me. Even poems about October for children. Why? I'll explain now.
Many people rightly do not like October. The warm sun is no longer shining, and the slush on the streets cannot freeze, turning the puddles into a cheerful skating rink. It would seem - what is there to love? Yes, it's a birthday! My birthday is just in mid-October. And that’s why I graciously forgive the month of October, and I love poems about October. Therefore, I selected for you the best poems about October that I could find. Let's start, according to good tradition, with Marshak's poems.
S. Marshak
OCTOBER
In October, in October
Frequent rain outside.
The grass in the meadows is dead,
The grasshopper fell silent.
Firewood has been prepared
For the winter for stoves.
I. Ustinova
- What kind of fox? - you asked sleepily. —
Just ran outside the window?
A small, red, agile imp,
The garden has been turned upside down!
After yesterday's leaf fall,
the janitor cleaned everything there?!
Who is on the paths of our garden
caused a collapse again?!
Who, mom, rustles and rummages through the leaves,
hiding your fluffy tail from everyone?
-It's October, my dear kitten,
Our autumn is the middle child.
G. Sorenkova
OCTOBER
It's raining in October
Puddles on the road.
The yellow leaves are swirling
Autumn anxiety.
The crimson forest beyond the river
Disappeared in a white haze
And a veil of fog,
Like covering himself with a cloak.
Clouds in the sky in the morning
They fly in flocks.
Days calendar sheets
They count it as October.
I. Demyanov
October is coming
October is approaching.
But the forest day is bright.
And autumn smiles
Blue skies,
Silent lakes
That they spread their blue,
And pink dawns
In the birch land!
Here are moss-gray laces
On an old boulder
And the yellow leaf is spinning,
The other one is already on the stump!..
And nearby, under the vines,
Under their thick canopy,
The boletus climbed up -
And the hat is askew.
But everything in the forest is sadder:
I couldn't find a flower
How the pendulum swings
Aspen leaf.
The trees have long shadows...
And the rays are colder.
And there are cranes in the sky
Murmuring streams!
O. Alenkina
The hedgehog will soon go into hibernation,
The grove will shed its outfit,
In the meantime, along all the paths
The bright leaves are swirling.
October smiles,
And my nose is already tickling
On a school morning,
Early in the morning
The smallest
Freezing.
G. Novitskaya
OCTOBER
Foliage covers the entire ground,
The black fields are turning red.
And in the gray clouds the day is boring,
And the poplars surrendered to the wind.
And suddenly, out of nowhere,
Among the autumn chaos
Bunny is a snow-white miracle
Brings a shred of winter to the fields.
N. Vargus
It's October and autumn,
The leaves have all fallen from the maple trees,
Falling, they flew away, whispering everything
-we are tired…
Only in the spring we know for sure
We will return with a flock of birds.
But October, the days are shorter,
Cold weather is just around the corner
All stronger wind, however,
We walk and autumn is with us,
In boots, in scarves with umbrellas,
And umbrellas are colored leaves,
And rowan berries of a red brush
Decorated nature
Gloomy day and bad weather.
Mid October.
The nights have become long.
Flew overseas
Flocks of cranes.
It's raining outside,
The snow flutters
Autumn is coming to rest.
She doesn't give in.
Suddenly, oh joy, a ray of sunshine
He made his way to us. Holiday!
The whole sky is thousands of clouds...
You, October, are a prankster.
M. Sadovsky
OCTOBER
The leaves have fallen
The birds have disappeared
Everything that bloomed
Hidden in disgrace.
The holes are busy
Disputes froze
The fences were frosty this morning...
What's so sweet about this time?
In the heart that squeezes us October?!
And, of course, what would it be like without our Alexander, Sergeevich? No way and nowhere! Therefore, we conclude this selection of poems about October with the immortal lines of Pushkin.
A.S. Pushkin
AUTUMN
(excerpt from the poem “Eugene Onegin”)
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream is still murmuring behind the mill,
