Funny poems about cherries. The poem "cherry" Isakovsky Mikhail Vasilievich A cool short rhyme about cherries
The stars scattered across the sky.
Quiet New Year's Eve.
I'll wear a dress with sequins
Snowball promised to help me.
Snowflakes touch softly
All my branches, up to one.
And the wind will blow lightly
Diamond dust above me
Whisper to me:
- You're just wonderful!
But I remember you in the spring ...
In the flowers of snow-white is charming,
Only tenderness compares to you.
A bewitching cloud of white
Your branches will be covered.
Love expanding the limits
You beckon into your arms.
And youth...
Well, my dear cherry!
My dear, sweetheart!
You stand now, as if superfluous,
Do you remember when you were smart?
Like a soft white cloud
Thid dreams, and as before
You thin branches are not bold
I set the sun in hope.
And juice filled with berries
You generously fed me
And the burden of my thoughts and burdens
Always shared with me
Are you sad my dear? Autumn…
I'm afraid of her too, you know...
Look, there is the blue sky.
Dream, you can. Do you dream?
Don't be afraid, I'm by your side
We can, you...
One day you will wake up in amazement
Hear the birdsong in the meadow.
And the heart will tremble in admiration -
Around everything in white and pink snow!
What happened overnight suddenly with nature?
Why so much light and warmth?
Overcoming frost and bad weather,
Fluffy foam cherry blossomed!
It filled all the space
Throwing fountains of flowers into the air!
Throwing on fragrant attire,
Welcome the beautiful Spring!
Dressed up in white flowers
The young bride beckons.
And the heart stops under the branches ...
cherry lips ringing spring
purple sun rose
whispered into the evening watch
dressed in night copper
burst into white fire
talk to me talk
so that I can hear the pulse of the ether
and rivers of silver echo
and crimson alleys of autumn
and a winged rain harp
and meadows of gilded air
For the birds to fly to listen
and azure nestled on the heart
and in the eyes shone with light
Speak to me silently
flesh of fiery touches
honey-eared smile
mother-of-pearl thirst...
The cherries are ripe in our garden.
Feelings are blooming all around.
Juicy colors, bright ecstasy.
Women's caresses, tears from the eyes.
Here the wind wakes up a new leaf.
Don't forget my white handkerchief.
Life will remember your tenderness.
You are my miracle, the best comfort.
Branches are breaking, cherries cannot be counted.
We will never eat them together.
Delicious pulp let every year
Gives us sweet fruit for joy.
Such ripeness and aroma
Recklessly and like hot cakes,
Just because it doesn't taste better
Couples of people in love eat ...
You don't even need poetry.
There is cuteness in them, prettiness and pretense.
Men's eyes would be tender.
His soul would not become a crust of callousness.
And he keeps looking away.
On those who are younger, more naive.
That unreasonably cheerful, then angry,
Either sunny or gloomy, like a ruin.
Your birthday. Celebration in the house.
But the mood will not raise the mirror.
Yes, and wine is so tart.
Is it possible that children are copies of him ...
Poetry is not my destiny,
But I can't understand my feelings otherwise.
From your bitter words turned a little grayer,
A lump in my chest and my heart is crying.
You give yourself to him in a fleeting passion,
But you won't get affectionately "I love you" in return,
For pleasure, he will ask for monetary bribes,
And I loved without self-interest, but I no longer exist.
Probably so inscribed by fate,
What will you be my aching wound.
Unmerciful and cruel you are with me
And fill your soul with bitterness.
____________________________
Now let's see...
Poetry must be studied
And not all rhymes to read.
In the addition of lines, all the lightness of the word
And carefree life!
And I, like a true snake,
I want everyone to start thinking
Not over the stanza, but over that
That in the world of words we have no problems
We quote Socrates wisely,
And about Shakespeare without boredom
We can talk for hours!
But why can't we
In the Moment of Life?!
Apply everything that we love to express
And the expositions are read,
Which are respected for centuries,
We do not embody in a weekday?!
It's hard to be in...
Cherry - the berry is ripe,
Oh, how timely
Today we will go to the garden
And we will collect all the cherries.
For compote and jam
There will be food for the kids.
Teslenko A.
Cherries, cherries tease the eye,
Yes, they grow high.
You can't reach the cherries with your hands,
You won't get the ripe ones.
- Oh, cherries-cherries,
You poured juice
Why are you growing
On a bitch high?
- If only they grew lower,
We wouldn't be late
If only they grew closer
We would have been eaten a long time ago!
Marshak S.
Cherries are always delicious
We love despite the years.
You can add it to the compote,
Or make jam out of it.
So many useful features
We love cherries, whatever.
We always recognize her color
We pick it up again in the palm of our hand.
Cherry red catkins
hung on the branches,
and, as in a mirror, in the windows
looks. I have fun
I shout to her: - Well, girlfriend!
Give me a couple in my ear
I wear as much as I want
and then I'll eat them!
I'm standing under a tree
chewing ripe cherries,
now cherry juice
running down the tummy -
I am gaining vitamins
I'm under the cherry for future use!
Konaeva O.
Picking cherries in summer
For compote and jam
On a winter and frosty day
This will be a meal...
Pies, dumplings
Mom will cook
Cherry from summer
Feed the whole family.
Krupinskikh I.
Cherry, berry, sweet girl
Shines in a white dress;
Our beauty, our refrain,
Goddaughter of young May!
The blue sky leans towards you
To kiss you on the cheek!
The sky even likes our cherry -
All in white flowers!
The cherry was redundant
Left on a plate
Why? Yes, because
Cherry is a worm's house!
I'll take another cherry
And clean the bones
And then I'll make jam
This is such a pleasure!
Shalimova O.
The juicy cherries are ripe
They are in our garden - do not count,
We ate so many yesterday!
And today we will eat!
Our stomach does not rest!
Mouth smeared with juice! ..
Well, if there is no strength,
Mom will make compote!
Grudanov E.
We pick cherries from the branches,
And we collect a bucket.
Mom rather we will give it,
Together we will definitely cook compote with her.
Cherries are delicious, we know it
We love eating them all together.
We spit out the bones, stick them in a pot,
We will grow a new tree in it.
Bush handsome, the most magnificent,
They call the dandy - cherry.
Pantry of juicy berries,
There will be jam for everyone for a year!
Sibirtsev V.
The face of the cheat is tanned,
Twisted with a chintz scarf,
And dark brown eyes
They glow with a sparkling light.
Berries turn red in the sun
And casting, and shining, -
And they also seem beautiful
What a swarthy child.
And, the heart feels, in this similarity -
A hint of her earthly path...
— Buy cherries! And cheat
Laughing at me in the eyes!
Ledov K.
How about a cherry baby
They all know firsthand.
They love this berry
Both girls and boys.
You will begin to collect cherries,
Fill the box with cherries
And the palms will be too
Cherry color remind.
Bogdarin A.
I am a cherry! And I! And I!
We live like a friendly family
On mother's branches
Sisters and neighbors.
Duet and trio and quartet
We are on petioles - like a bouquet
And beads - on the branches,
Sisters and neighbors.
We rain and the sun only for the future -
Everything is brighter, brighter round side.
Working hard, we grow on the branches,
Sisters and neighbors.
A nimble sparrow hurries to us,
And you taste it soon -
We tried so hard, kids
For all to ripen on the branches.
Kvitash O.
I tear cherries on a cherry
For him,
For Misha.
Three in a bucket
Ten in the mouth ...
It should be the other way around
Yes with you
I can't cope
And I eat in a bucket.
What a punishment!
I would have known in advance
Wouldn't take a cherry
Plush Bear.
Glushnev G.
And we are cherries sisters
Although small in stature
But in compote or in jam
We are such a delight!
Come on, try, come on closer-
Delicious, you will lick your fingers!
Kozitsyn A.
On a clear afternoon, at the end of summer,
An old man was walking along a road in the field;
Dug a young cherry somewhere
And, satisfied, carried her home.
He looked with cheerful eyes
To the fields, to the far boundary
And I thought: “Let me remember
I'll plant cherries by the road.
Let the big one grow
Let it go both in breadth and height
And, decorating our road,
Bathed in bloom every year.
Travelers will lie down in her shadow,
Rest in the cool, in silence,
And, having tasted juicy, ripe berries,
Maybe they will remember me.
But they don’t remember - what a shame -
I don't care about this at all:
Do not want - do not remember, do not -
I’ll plant cherries anyway!”
Isakovsky M.
Red beads on a branch
Like bright candy.
They burn so tempting
Attract birds to the garden.
Only very sour taste
Such beautiful beads.
Birds do not like cherries,
They don't want to get sour.
And I love cherries
I'll boil them with sugar.
Very tasty jam
Take a treat!
Lavrova T.
One, two, three, four, five,
Let's pick cherries
Let's pick up a bucket
Plump, with a hillock.
burgundy cherries,
We will be healthy!
Let's collect from a bush,
Eat, son and daughter!
Dulepin Yu.
Here is a cherry in a bowl
round, ruddy,
Nothing extra in it
All delicious and glorious
Waiting for her to come visit
Mishenka boy,
Feed him soon
wants a cherry.
Look, I'm on a cherry!
Above dad, above Mishka,
Above the cat, above Svetka,
I'm sitting on the top branch!
So many ripe berries around!
It only hurts a-a-a-give ...
Starchevskaya M.
Cherry blossoms elegant
In our little garden
Seeing a cherry makes me happy
Snow white in bloom!
You grow, grow big
Aiming for the sky,
Our cherry native
Our pride and beauty!
The earth is covered with white -
Cherry petals.
And on the branch - two rooks ...
Take a walk, or something, went out?
They don't scream, they don't shout
They look surprised.
How is this to be understood?
They just sigh sleepily.
Why is the earth white
Warm spring?
The blizzard did not chalk in the morning,
The rain did not come with grits ...
Just a cherry blossom
The petals have fallen.
The rooks were distracted in the morning.
In other words, they missed it.
Kapitonova S.
Both jam and compote
from ripe cherries
Red juice smeared his mouth -
All questions are redundant.
cherry blossom jam
Cherry jam I waited all summer
Cherry and delicious fruit blossomed garden.
I am insanely happy with flowering and cherry.
Sitting on a cherry branch, overeating
But I still decided to leave my mother.
And my mother cooked compote and jam,
Cherry jam, cherry jam.
Cherry jam - overeating in winter,
For breakfast, for dinner - one delight.
Like Carlson jam I scoop with a spoon -
And I don't know more happiness in the world.
Fink I.
On the tree near Grishenka
Hanging two ripe cherries.
Hanging and arguing which one of them
juicier and tastier.
"I would try Grishenka,"
One said cherry.
"Me, so sweet
And it would be more fun! "
“No, Grishenka will like me!”
The second cherry argues.
"He will immediately devour me
And grow up fast."
So argued two cherries,
Until Grishenka ate them,
And my mother exclaimed:
Well, Grisha! In gives!”.
On a clear afternoon, at the end of summer,
An old man was walking along a road in the field;
Dug a young cherry somewhere
And, satisfied, carried her home.
He looked with cheerful eyes
To the fields, to the far boundary
And I thought: “Let me remember
I'll plant cherries by the road.
Let the big one grow
Let it go both in breadth and height
And, decorating our road,
Bathed in bloom every year.
Travelers will lie down in her shadow,
Rest in the cool, in silence,
And, having tasted juicy, ripe berries,
Maybe they will remember me.
But they don’t remember - what a shame, -
I don't care about this at all:
Do not want - do not remember, do not -
I’ll plant cherries anyway!”
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Great about verses:
Poetry is like painting: one work will captivate you more if you look at it closely, and another if you move further away.
Little cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creak of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.
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Of all the arts, poetry is most tempted to replace its own idiosyncratic beauty with stolen glitter.
Humboldt W.
Poems succeed if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is commonly believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish Poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion near a fence, Like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not in verses alone: it is spilled everywhere, it is around us. Take a look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life breathe 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. Not our own - our thoughts make the poet sing inside us. Telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He is a wizard. Understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful verses flow, there is no place for vainglory.
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I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in Russian. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. Because of the feeling, art certainly peeps out. 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 yourself?
- Monstrous! Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! the visitor asked pleadingly.
I promise and I swear! - solemnly said Ivan ...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "The Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from the rest only in that they write them with words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched out on the points of a few words. These words shine like stars, because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
The poets of antiquity, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. It is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times, a whole Universe is certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for someone who inadvertently wakes dormant lines.
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To one of my clumsy hippos-poems, I attached such a 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 critics. They are but miserable drinkers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let the verses seem to him an absurd lowing, a chaotic jumble of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from tedious reason, a glorious song that sounds 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 but pure poetry that has rejected the word.