The magic glass of Emma Moszkowska. An hour of poetry dedicated to the anniversary of the poetess

Biography

Even as a child, Emma Moshkovskaya began to sing. And she did it well. That is why immediately after school she entered the Gnessin School. After graduation, she worked as a soloist in the Philharmonic Society of Arkhangelsk for 3 years. However, after this time she still returned home. In Moscow, she decided to enter the opera and choral studio at the conservatory.

Emma didn’t even think about any literary career as a poet. Although even then she enjoyed writing poetry, short comic texts and epigrams, and drinking songs.

Creativity e Moshkovskaya. Presentation

Emma Moshkovskaya. Poems for children

Moshkovskaya

has occupied a special place in children's literature.
Her poems for children were original and original. Moshkovskaya
was indeed a Russian children's writer and poetess.
Reading poems for children by Moshkovskaya, it may seem that they were written not by an adult poetess, but by a small child. At the beginning of her creative career, Moshkovskaya
received the approval of Marshak.
Here is what Samuil Yakovlevich wrote about the aspiring author: “ Emma Moshkovskaya
is one of the most gifted young poets writing for children.
She has the main thing that a children’s poet needs: genuine, not feigned, gaiety, the ability to play with children without adjusting to them.” In 1962, Moshkovskaya
published her first collection of poems for children, Uncle Shar, which was followed by more than 20 collections of poems and fairy tales for children.

Soviet composers wrote songs Moshkovskaya's poems Until now, Moshkovskaya’s work has not been properly appreciated, although her books have begun to appear again, and many understand that she is a great and original poet. ;

Emma
Efraimovna Moshkovskaya (1926-1981)
Primary school teacher.

« Emma Moshkovskaya

- one of the most gifted young poets writing for children. She has the main thing that a children’s poet needs: genuine, not feigned, gaiety, the ability to play with children without adjusting to them.”

She graduated from the Gnessin Music and Pedagogical College (1954) in vocal class, worked in the Arkhangelsk Philharmonic (mezzo-soprano).

At the beginning of her creative career she received the approval of Samuil Marshak.

sing loudly about my foot, I sing about my shoe, I sing just like that!
Moshkovskaya

E. E has occupied a special place in children's literature. Her poems for children were original and unique. She really was a Russian children's writer and poetess. Reading her poems for children, it may seem that they were written not by an adult poetess, but by a small child.

These books are different,
but all are so cool!
Her poems subtly convey the child’s worldview and the nuances of childhood experiences.

Joy and jubilation

Multifaceted creativity

In addition to children's poems and fairy tales, Emma Moshkovskaya was a translator of children's books

Something is
hard for me , my head hurts . The shirt has lost weight , the sleeves are hanging ...
I woke up in the morning -

The sun dances in the wind

In 1967, Emma Moshkovskaya became a member of the Writers' Union. In addition to poetry, she wrote prose, fairy tales, and did translations. Her poems, which subtly convey the child’s worldview and shades of childhood experiences, have been republished several times and translated into different languages of the world.

Thanks to their musicality and rhythm, many of them became songs (“Deuce”, “Window”, “Tarators”).

Songs based on Moshkovskaya’s poems can still be heard performed by the “stars” of Russian pop and rock music (for example, Fyodor Chistyakov and

Sergei Mazaev).

Emma Moshkovskaya

Emma Moshkovskaya occupies a special place in children's literature. And although during her lifetime she was not fully blessed with the rays of fame, now her work is finally beginning to be recognized and many consider her a unique, original children's poetess.

Her first poems were published in 1961 in the magazines “Murzilka”, “Counselor” and “Pioneer”. After her first publications, Samuel Marshak noticed her: “Emma Moshkovskaya is one of the most gifted young poets writing for children. She has the main thing that a children’s poet needs: genuine, not feigned, gaiety, the ability to play with children without adjusting to them.” K. Chukovsky also had an equally high opinion of her work. The first collection of her poems was published in 1962. Five years later she was accepted into the Writers' Union. In total, she published more than 20 poetry collections, which also included fairy tales written by her.

Her poems are written in such childish language that it seems as if they were invented by a small child, and not an adult poetess.

I went into my resentment and said that I would not come out. I’ll never leave, I’ll live in it all the years! And in my offense I saw neither a flower nor a bush... And in my offense I offended both a puppy and a cat... I ate a pie in my offense And in my offense I lay down, And I slept in it for two hours, I open my eyes... And she is somewhere gone! But I didn’t want to look!

Moshkovskaya herself studied vocals as a child and subsequently after graduating from college. Gnesins worked in the Arkhangelsk Philharmonic. This left an imprint on her further work. The characters in the poems do not hide their feelings, they express them loudly and openly.

I sing loudly about my foot, I sing about my shoe, I sing just like that!

The children's world that Moshkovskaya depicts in her poems is full of genuine joy, endless happiness and, of course, miracles. Broken toys incredibly become whole again, broken vases and cups glue themselves together, and mom never gets angry. Her children's characters are active, resourceful and inventive. For example, in the poem “Once upon a time there lived a little man,” the hero finds 12 planks and wants to build a house out of them, but there is only enough material for a porch. But he does not despair, and the construction is completed in the most miraculous way. The roof becomes the sky, one of the walls becomes a “curly forest”. “It’s good that there weren’t enough boards, but anyone can come and visit, and the owner will be happy to see anyone.

Moszkowska's poems are full of life and energy. Each of them is a unique poetic discovery.

There is snow all around. But on the hill - no! The rooks saw it. Everyone shouts, Like a sailor from a ship: - Earth!

Gradually the heroes of her poems grow. New and new joys appear in their lives: first friends, first books, school... The baby is growing up, but in his soul he still, like Moshkovskaya herself, remains the same child. And with him remains a bunch of treasures that are more valuable than anything in the world of adults: more important than money, knowledge.

Adults have glasses, large briefcases, such huge weights - dumbbells, a receiver that is worn around the neck. There is no such beautiful piece of glass! They have everything - both a watch and a bracelet... But there is no such beautiful piece of glass!

Angina

Tsarap-Tsarapych climbed into the throat and sits, sits, sits. But the mighty Kap-Kap-Kapych is angry with Tsarapych. It came towards him from a cup, Like from a cannon in war!.. And Scratch It became hard. And it became easier for me!

Toys, candy

Don’t give it to me - All this, you take it all. I want a crocodile, So lively, Not very big, Better buy it... I would then tame Him. I would feed him and treat him. Let a crocodile live with me! I would put him in the bathtub, and there he would have water, and he would swim back and forth. He would splash! Swimming! And I would admire him...

Masha and porridge

This is a Good Girl. Her name is Masha! And this is her plate. And in this plate... No, not porridge, No, not porridge, And you guessed wrong! Masha sat down, ate the porridge - All of it, as much as they gave!

My wonderful nose

I do not know anything. And suddenly My nose Says that somewhere and someone’s something is about to burn! I don’t know anything, I’m sitting in the stuffiness, My nose says: “Let’s take a walk!” I beg you very much! You go with him and walk. He speaks to me. He says: “You know, it smells like spring already!”

What kinds of gifts are there?

As a gift you can blow the whistle. Gift Can be worn. There are delicious gifts. I like the chocolate: You can eat the gift, the golden piece of paper will remain. Gift May take off. Sit in a cage and sing. Gift Can crawl. Swim. Row with fins. But everyone probably wants a Gift That Walks! The one who wags his tail! And barks... Everyone wishes!

Whims

Let's collect all Oksanka's whims into a big sleigh, take us to a distant forest, further than the sea, further than the mountains! And we’ll leave them near the Christmas tree... Let the evil wolves eat them!

Greedy

The dog walked along the alley, He was chewing a large bun. The Puppy came up and asked for a piece. The Dog stood up and began to guess: Should I give or not? I told my fortune - I told my fortune - I didn’t give it. The cat-meow came up, The cat asked for a meow. The Dog stood up and began to guess: Should I give or not? I told my fortune - I told my fortune, I chewed - I chewed - I didn’t give it. The Frog jumped up, whispered in my ear, and asked the Frog for a humpback. The Dog sat down and began to guess: Should I give or not? I told my fortune - I told my fortune, I chewed - I chewed - I didn’t give it. The Chicken came up and the Chicken asked for a crust. The Dog stood up and began to guess: Should I give or not? I told my fortune - I told my fortune, I chewed - I chewed - I didn’t give it. The Duck came up, stood there for a minute, asked the Duck for a little bit, just try it! The Dog sat down and began to guess: Should I give or not? He told his fortune - he told his fortune, Chewed - he chewed And said: - I would give it! I myself have nothing more!

Famous acrobat

The wind inflated the shirt - The wind put on the shirt. And then in his new clothes He swung on a rope. He swayed, He tumbled, He spun, He tried! He never failed! Who hasn't guessed it yet? The most important, the most glorious, the most funny is performing... The famous acrobat is performing for the guys!

I offended my mother

I offended my mother, Now we will never, ever leave the house together, We will not go anywhere with her.

She won’t wave at the window, I won’t wave either, She won’t tell anything, I won’t tell either...

I’ll take the bag by the shoulders, I’ll find a piece of bread, I’ll find a stronger stick, I’ll leave, I’ll go into the taiga!

I will follow the trail, I will look for ore, I will go across the stormy river to build bridges!

And I will be the main boss, And I will be with a beard, And I will always be sad and so silent...

And then there will be a winter evening, And then many years will pass, And then Mom will take a ticket on the jet plane.

And on my birthday that plane will arrive. And mom will come out from there, And mom will forgive me!

Sour poems

The sour sun has risen, Looks - the sky has turned sour, A sour cloud hangs in the sour sky... And unhappy sour passers-by are in a hurry And they eat terribly sour ice cream... Even sugar is sour! All the jam has turned sour! Because the mood was sour.

Is it possible to cry at night?

Is it possible to cry at night, When the owls laugh? Is it possible to cry in the morning? Cry in the morning - Laughing at the chickens.

And there is no need to cry during the day. It's better to have a drink during the day!

And don’t do it before bed, otherwise we won’t fall asleep...

Elephant

A huge elephant was tied with a rope. They chained me to a thick pole. They ordered the huge elephant with words: “Don’t leave!” - they said He left... Why?

I tied an elephant to a thin reed. For a thin thread - for kind words: - Dear elephant! Nice elephant! You wait, don't go! And the elephant, He doesn't leave. He can't leave!..

Legs and lessons

How are you behaving? Where are you taking me? What are you up to, legs? Why did you turn off the road...

We kicked off our slippers... We ran across the grass...

Stop, legs! Feet, march to class!

First deuce

And I have a briefcase in my hand with a huge two in my diary,

and everyone walks lightly...

And everyone is walking here and there, either just like that or on business, and near house number two there is bus number two, and from afar the ship for some reason gave two whistles...

And the legs are barely dragging, and the legs are barely dragging, and the head is drooping, like the head of the number two...

And someone sings a song and walks merrily, someone sells candy, and someone buys...

And I have a briefcase in my hand with a huge deuce in the diary with a heavy deuce in the diary, and everyone is walking lightly...

Multiplication table

Tell us, What's six six?

Wait a minute, let me sit down! I won’t figure it out right away! I'll sit and then I'll tell you.

And what is five five? It would be a shame not to know!

Well, how can I not know this, I just don’t want to say! I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to And I won’t say anything!

What is seven seven? - I'm completely tired of you! I'll decide this for you tomorrow, I'm busy now, I'm in a hurry.

What is three times three? Tell me, but don’t lie!

I'm very sick! I'm in the heat! In the heat I might lie...

What is two and two? - My head is tired of you... Well, get rid of me, I beg you! I'll go ask my mom...

Moshkovskaya Emma Efraimovna April 15, 1926

She received the profession of an opera singer, but all her life she wrote poetry for children.

Emma Efraimovna Moshkovskaya Russian children's writer and poetess was born in Moscow on April 15, 1926. In 1954 she graduated from the Gnessin Music and Pedagogical College, majoring in vocals (mezzo-soprano). She worked at the Arkhangelsk Philharmonic, then at the opera and choral studio at the Moscow Conservatory.

In 1961, Moshkovskaya’s first poems were published in the magazines “Murzilka”, “Pioneer”, “Counselor”. Her poems immediately received positive reviews from S. Ya. Marshak and K. I. Chukovsky. In 1962, Emma Efraimovna released her first collection of poems for children, Uncle Shar. It was followed by more than 20 collections of poems and fairy tales for preschool and primary school age. In 1967, Emma Moshkovskaya became a member of the Writers' Union.

In addition to poetry, she wrote prose, fairy tales, and did translations. The poems have been translated into different languages of the world. Many of them became songs (“Deuce”, “Window”, “Tarators”). Songs based on Moshkovskaya’s poems can still be heard performed by the “stars” of Russian pop and rock music (for example, Fyodor Chistyakov and Sergei Mazaev).

“There are some songbirds that don’t care about anything. It's cold, and she's chirping. Rain, nasty weather, but she tweets. Put her in a cage and she will chirp carefreely there too. What and how she tweets is indifferent. The main thing is to tweet, tweet and tweet. From the outside, Emma Moshkovskaya might have seemed like such a songbird. Moreover, she was a singer by profession. And her poems seemed to flow onto the paper word by word, line by line by themselves. Emma wrote a lot and, at first glance, easily. In fact, her life was not sweet, and you couldn’t call her a carefree songbird. It’s just that all of Moshkovskaya’s poems, even the not entirely successful ones, have always been real poetry that you breathe in like air.” Leonid Yakhnin

A bulldog walks, Two pairs of legs, His nose is flattened, His tail is chopped off, They put big medals on his neck.

The bulldog is walking, The bulldog is walking, The owner is holding the leash. The hostess is young, she is wearing a summer Panama hat.

The wind blew her panama hat away! Behind the Panama It is necessary straight, Award-winning bulldog From the Panama Pulls to the side, Pulls to the side, Pulls to the side, Tears out the leash!.. Panama, Panama, Rolled straight into the puddle. Panama, Panama, What will our mother say?.. The bulldog is coming, The bulldog is coming The bulldog is ringing with medals. The bulldog is so ugly, so clumsy! Medals, Medals, His medals shine, Medals, Medals, Why were they given?..

(04/15/1926 – ?.?.1981) was born in Moscow. My father’s brothers are the famous polar pilot Yakov Moshkovsky, the founder of Russian pharmacology Mikhail Mashkovsky. As the poetess herself recalled, the family was very friendly and hardworking. The girl was surrounded by an atmosphere of love, cordiality, and mutual understanding. Emma Moshkovskaya began to show extraordinary vocal abilities from an early age, so after graduating from school she chose the Gnessin State Musical Pedagogical College. After graduating from college, she worked for three years as an assigned soloist of the Arkhangelsk Philharmonic. Returning home, Emma Moshkovskaya entered the opera and choral studio at the Moscow Conservatory. She didn’t even think about a literary career, although she was seriously interested in poetry and wrote poetry. Often these were friendly epigrams, comic texts for drinking songs of familiar bards. In 1960, Emma Moshkovskaya decided to send several of her poems to the editors of the children's magazine “Murzilka”. To her surprise, they were not only published, but even received high praise from Marshak and Chukovsky, who predicted a great future for the aspiring author. In addition to “Murzilka,” Emma Moshkovskaya collaborated with the magazines “Pioneer” and “Counselor,” and 1962 became a turning point for her - the poetess released her first collection of poems for children, “Uncle Shar.” She quickly became a very popular author - publishing houses published two or three of her books per year. In addition to poetry, Emma Moshkovskaya tried her hand as a prose writer, playwright, and translator. Having become a member of the Writers' Union, she decided to end her musical career, devoting herself entirely to literature. In the 70s, Emma Moshkovskaya replenished her creative treasury with several scripts for animated films, as well as two gramophone records with recordings of poetry. Her new books continued to be a big hit with young readers. To be fair, it must be said that the poetess’s style of versification - deliberately childish, almost colloquial - often aroused criticism from her colleagues: once the Krokodil magazine even published a rather poisonous parody of Viktor Zavadsky’s poem “Cows Chew.” In addition, Emma Moshkovskaya began to increasingly feel a complete breakdown due to growing health problems. In the last years of her life, she practically did not compose anything new - she completed and edited poems she had once begun, which later became the basis for the posthumous collections “Good News” and “Grandfather Tree”. Over the past years, interest in the poetess’s work has not weakened at all: her books are actively being republished, her poems, fairy tales, stories continue to be translated into different languages of the world, and songs based on poems by Emma Moshkovskaya, written by Soviet composers, are still performed by the “stars” of Russian pop music. and rock music. The secret of this enduring success was formulated many years ago by Samuel Marshak: “She has the main thing that a children’s poet needs: genuine, not feigned, cheerfulness, the ability to play with children without adjusting to them.” It’s only a pity that the “adult” lyrical works that Emma Moshkovskaya

wrote throughout her short, but such a vibrant life.

Poems by Emma Moshkovskaya for children (texts)

“Sore throat”, “Height”, “Greedy”, “The hard way”, “Spring arithmetic”, “Golden web”, “What kind of gifts are there”, “It’s time for winter...”, “Everyone put on fur coats”, “I offended my mother”, “We said goodbye”, “Good evening”, “The famous acrobat”, “My wonderful nose”, “The train is rushing”, “The chicken was walking to Kud-Kudaki”, “I went into my offense”, “Two steps "", "Sour poems", "Night poems", "Nose, wash your face!", "I sing", "Talking cat", "Give me a crocodile!"

Children's poems

Only in the 60s did she send several of her poems to the magazine “Murzilka” for the editors’ judgment. Not only were they published, but her work also received excellent ratings from such masters as Chukovsky and Marshak. All this predicted an excellent career for the future children's poetess.

In addition to “Murzilka,” Emma Moshkovskaya also sent her poems to such magazines as “Counselor” and “Pioneer.” And by 1962, she released her own first collection, which collected the best children's poems. This book was called "Uncle Shar".

Emma Moshkovskaya gained popularity incredibly quickly. The biography confirms this. After all, after the first collection, she began to publish 2-3 books a year. And all of them were incredibly in demand from publishing houses.

Cartoons

Moshkovskaya’s literary career was not limited to poetry for children. In the 70s, she began writing scripts for cartoons. At the same time, she recorded several records with her children's poems, which enjoyed unprecedented popularity among Soviet children.

All the poetess’s poems were written as if by a child. This style often caused a storm of indignation and criticism from colleagues. Someone even wrote parodies of her works. But Emma Moshkovskaya did not pay close attention to this. After all, the main thing is children's love.

In the last years of her life, the poetess felt very bad. That's why I didn't write anything. She only corrected and completed the poems she had already begun. They formed the basis of Emma’s posthumous collections:

"Grandfather Tree";
"Good news."

Poems about children and childhood

"Childhood"

The hotter the day, the sweeter it is in the forest To breathe in the dry, resinous aroma, And it was fun for me in the morning to wander through these sunny chambers!

There is glitter everywhere, bright light everywhere, The sand is like silk... I cling to the gnarled pine tree And I feel: I am only ten years old, And the trunk is a giant, heavy, majestic.

The bark is rough, wrinkled, red, but so warm, so warmed by the sun! And it seems that it is not pine that smells, but the heat and dryness of sunlight.

***

Childhood

Childhood does not leave us, Childhood is always with us, Those who leave childhood live as old people from childhood. Childhood does not leave us, Childhood always lives in us, It’s just vanity and vanity that takes life away from childhood.

***

How quickly children grow up...

How quickly children grow up! How long have you been carrying it in your arms? But the years have flown by like the wind, I’m already looking up at my son!..

Stubborn; in choosing decisions, does He hear me?.. Hardly... You are my adult, it’s more difficult with you than with a six-month-old baby!..

And the daughter is a sweetheart, little one, having tinted her lips and eyelashes, secretly meets with the boy, and silently writes and writes in “personal”...

Oh, kids! The heart trembles, painfully, anxiously, often. You can’t save it, like in early childhood, You can’t turn it around when it’s dangerous,

You can’t protect yourself from evil and pain, You can’t regret it when you get hurt... Just pray in my will: God grant that everything works out for you!..

***

Happiness

The day begins with happiness, Happiness rose before everyone else! Happiness smiles at mom, turning her smile into laughter.

Happiness splashed across the floor, Barefoot and without pants, My happiness is bare-bottomed, It is thoughtless,

Shabutnoe and unspiritual, Here it breaks, there it crushes, Above the lip there is a kefir mustache... Here it is running towards me!

***

Golden childhood

How I want to return to childhood, Where there are a lot of urgent matters, Where I am a princess in the kingdom, And, it seems, ordinary chalk is in my hands - almost priceless, I drew dreams for them - A beautiful house and an excellent garden, Where fragrant flowers are everywhere... I, in Drowning them, Bathed in fleeting happiness... Thank you, dear mother, For my golden childhood!

***

I. Surikov “Childhood”

This is my village, This is my home; Here I am sledding along a steep mountain;

The sled turned over, and I turned on its side - bang! I'm rolling head over heels downhill into a snowdrift.

And my boy friends, standing above me, laugh merrily at my misfortune.

My whole face and hands are covered with snow... I'm in grief in the snowdrift, but the guys are laughing!..

Throw the old fur coat off your shoulders; You will climb onto the stove to see your gray-haired grandmother...

And I’ll start asking my grandmother for fairy tales; And my grandmother will start telling me a fairy tale:

How Ivan Tsarevich caught the Heat Bird; How the Gray Wolf got him a bride.

I listen to a fairy tale, and my heart dies; And the evil wind sings angrily in the chimney.

I will snuggle up to the old lady... The speech quietly murmurs, And a sweet dream closes my eyes tightly.

And in my dreams I dream of Wonderful lands. And Ivan Tsarevich - It’s like me.

Here in front of me is a wonderful garden blooming; There is a big tree growing in that garden.

A golden cage hangs on a branch; In this cage the bird is burning like heat...

So I crept up to her and grabbed her by the cage! And I wanted to run away from the garden with the bird.

But it was not there! There was a noise, a ringing; The guards came running into the garden from all sides.

They twisted my hands and lead me... And, trembling with fear, I wake up...

You flowed merrily, Children's years! You were not overshadowed by grief and trouble.

***

Memories of childhood

Carefree activities Sped off, passed... Cozy embraces Criss-cross a warm shawl... Frosty "cakes" "Pancakes" made of snow crust, And an obscene squeal Over the edge of the slide... Jumping through the May puddles, The ringing bicycle. The world is spinning like a carousel And the legs are all covered in green... A net made of gauze haze, Glasses for the “secret”, Heat, fishing, glow, Night, the smell of summer... Herbariums, collections, Autumn colds, And secrets - “myths of Greece”... And there is no grief... as long as...

***

Childhood

Dear child's birth Welcomes my belated verse. May the blessings of all the angels of heaven and earth be with him! May he be worthy of his father, like his mother, beautiful and loved; May his spirit be calm and firm in right, like God’s cherub. Let him not know until his time, Neither the torment of love, nor the glory of greedy thoughts; Let him look without reproach at the false brilliance and false noise of the world; Let him not look for reasons for other people's passions and joys, and he will emerge from the secular mud with a white soul and unharmed in heart!

Mikhail Lermontov, 1839

***

Sweet dreams

In a soft white crib, the soul smiles and sighs sweetly, sweetly in the warm body of a baby.

The black fan of eyelashes does not want to brush away sleep. And in my closed eyes I dream of Mom, the sun and my breasts.

Under the random rays of the dying dawn, the lips quietly purred and blew bubbles.

And in response, laughing toothlessly, the soul slowly reaches out of the sheets towards the spring of murmuring lips.

And she sucks, as if she were a pacifier, the ray of a finger. And he smacks his lips loudly. There is silence above the crib.

And the baby's contented laughter In a dream, he drinks from the breast. You, my soul, laugh, If you get bored, cry a little

***

"The lights went out in the house"

The lights went out in the house, and everything became quiet in it; In their cribs the children fell asleep in a sweet sleep. From the distant heavens the moon looks meekly at them; The whole room is illuminated by Her radiance. The branches of birches and poplars look from the garden and whisper: “We protect the quiet sleep of children; Let the little ones have joyful dreams all night, wonderful visions from a fairyland. When the silent night is replaced by day, their dreams will be interrupted by the song of the Merry bird... Flowers, like dear brothers, will send them their greetings, nodding their heads, shining with dew..."

(Alexey Pleshcheev)

***

Take care of your children

Take care of your children, don’t scold them for their pranks. The evil of your bad days Never take it out on them.

Don't be seriously angry with them, Even if they have done something wrong, Nothing is more valuable than the tears that have rolled off the eyelashes of your loved ones.

If fatigue knocks you off your feet, You can’t cope with it, Well, your son will come up to you, Or your daughter will stretch out her arms.

Hug them tightly, Do you value this happiness with children's affection? a short moment, hurry up to be happy.

After all, they will melt like snow in the spring, These golden days will flash by and your children will leave their native hearth as they grow up.

Leafing through the album With photographs of childhood, Remember with sadness the past About those days when we were together.

How will you want to come back again at this time, so that you can sing a song to them little ones, touch their cheeks with tender lips.

And while there is children's laughter in the house, There is nowhere to escape from toys, You are the happiest in the world, Please take care of your childhood!

(author Svetlana Karpuk)

***

Strawberry fields...

Strawberry fields... Ghostly distances of childhood. The bottom of the trampled sandals was warmed by the warm earth.

Strawberry fields... Life was vast, clouds flew past like the sails of a ship.

Strawberry fields... The sun's glare dances across your face, and there are so many strawberries that your eyes burn...

Strawberry fields... I realized that there are no such flowers abroad, and the birds speak differently.

Strawberry fields... The aroma that has reached the heart... I’ll open the door to childhood and turn my gaze there.

Strawberry fields... I'll come for a conversation, fall into the bed of space. But you can't start from scratch...

Strawberry fields... I haven’t disturbed your peace, but dreams and ghosts tell me to cleanse my soul.

Strawberry fields! I take myself at my word! There are blood stains on my shirt - I shot myself here.

(Alexander Kozheikin)

***

Fairytale dreams

***

The world of childhood

The world of childhood is the best world, Naive, kind and happy, The child wants to be big, Strives to live in the adult world.

I know, I was like that, I was, I was, I was once, But I stepped into another world, From there there is no return.

Everything is wrong there, life is cruel, There is a lot of falsehood and depravity, I want to go back to my childhood world, I would be glad to forget about everything.

And plunge headlong Naively into a childhood dream, Which is no longer with me, Which I will not find.

Oh, childhood world, when did you disappear? And how did I grow, tell me? How easy everything was once, When that world was with me!

***

What is happiness

What is happiness? This simple question has probably been asked by more than one philosopher. But in reality, happiness is simple.

It starts with half a meter of height. These are vests, booties and a bib, a brand new described mother's sundress.

Torn tights, broken knees, These are the walls painted in the corridor. Happiness is soft warm palms, candy wrappers behind the sofa, crumbs on the sofa.

This is a whole heap of broken toys, This is the constant rumble of rattles. Happiness is barefoot heels on the floor. A thermometer under the arm, tears and injections.

Abrasions and wounds, bruises on the forehead, This is permanent: What? but why? Happiness is a sled, a snowman and a slide. A small candle on a huge cake.

This is the endless “Read me a story”, This is the daily Piggy and Stepashka. This is a warm nose from under the blanket, a hare on the pillow, blue pajamas.

Splashes all over the bathroom, foam on the floor. Puppet theater, matinee in the garden. What is happiness? There is no simpler answer. Everyone has it - These are our children.

***

I have three of them. I don’t have much. I eat in the kitchen, standing up, so that no one touches.

I can get dressed by a burning match; Nurse a cat like a baby out of habit.

I know how to build a Tower and a car. I know how to arrange a name day for the Dolls.

I know how to make a train from a bedspread. A hundred years smarter. In three years I became smarter.

I read: “Ma-ma” I console… “Mamaaaaaa”! I answer: “Mom?” And I shake: “Ma-a-ma.”

We build our happiness in a small apartment. I have three of them. I want four...

***

Comes from childhood

Let children be born in the world, Let them rise like flowers. Our moment on the planet would be gray, If childhood did not color the path.

We, of course, come from childhood, But childhood comes from us... So rocking the inheritance in a stroller, We will be happy here and now.

Anyone who hasn’t tried it won’t know what it’s like to rock a baby. And inhaling his native smell, it’s sweet and sweet to hold him close to you.

Let fatigue. Sleepless nights are given to us, parents, from above. Because there is a son... or a daughter, Because children need us!

***

Voiced child

In a house where a sonorous child is running, every object is surprisingly delicate: a mirror, a cup, a glass. And there are not enough eardrums in the house where the brave child runs, the captain of the distant seas. The small sword flies out of its scabbard, the enemy advances, and the rider is alarmed. “Hurray” bursts from my chest. The game is too crowded - step aside and have some green stuff ready in case, You never know what's ahead. In the house where the ringing miracle is running, Clothes are torn and dishes are breaking, Everything is topsy-turvy, topsy-turvy. But there is never a moment to want to shake off these shackles and not worry about anyone.

***

Tell me where did I come from?

Tell me where did I come from? I asked everyone a question. And grandfather answered me: “The stork brought you to us.”

And my grandmother told me: “They found you in the cabbage.” And my uncle joked: “They brought you from the station in a basket.”

I know this is not true, Mom gave birth to me, I just don’t know the answer, Where did my mother get me?

My sister grumbled at me: “You’ve turned everyone’s heads.” And I started over: “Where did I live before my mother?”

No adult could explain this secret to me. Only my mother answered simply: “YOU LIVED IN MY HEART, SON!”

***

Soul of a child

The soul of a child is pure in holiness, Alive and joyful from the love of attention, It is light, naive and simple, And with inspiration it seeks understanding.

The soul of a child lives with loved ones - Learning harmony and brotherhood in the family, She learns the path of Fate, Which will one day lead her to happiness.

The soul of a child is light as feathers, She is beautiful and strives for God. You strengthen his vulnerable spirit, And show him the path to Truth.

***

Life's new birth

The obscurity and doubts of these nine anxious months are behind us! Here comes a new birth to life - A charming girl sleeps peacefully in her arms: Mom and Dad’s darling The most beautiful creation! Our daughter is sweet, beloved! Miracle! Perfection of the Universe! Warm, sweet, trembling little lump Requires attention and patience, Requires care on a sleepless night, Swaddling, affection and feeding... Sometimes she screams and swears! So serious, he frowns with displeasure. But in her sleep she smiles quietly and squints at the light, like a kitten! Let her grow up healthy, joyful - Our still tiny daughter. Could anything be more beautiful than this beloved lump?

***

Mom of three boys

How cool it is to be a mother of three boys! (And this is clear to anyone without words) And instead of congratulating you, let me tell you a little about it.

Being a mother of girls, of course, is not the same: There are dolls, dishes, a hospital, lotto, There are fluffy dresses and braids to the toes, God gave you three boys.

Your house is decorated not by vases of roses, but by the cyborg killer that your son brought, Finding it in a puddle near his family’s house, Cleaned it, washed it: and now it’s like new.

No, it's not trash, and don't you dare clean it up! Do you want to destroy a military base? Do you want to demolish an airplane hangar? Come to your senses, woman! This is a nightmare!

You will lead the tin soldiers into battle, Be brave and daring, not a step back! So, go in from the flank and hit with artillery. (If you don’t know what it is, ask your sons).

With them you will learn all the brands of cars, and all types of their tires will become larger. They will still grow up and enlighten you on how the starter, cardan and jack work.

Without them, you might not have learned anything. Why do you need a jigsaw? Really kiss? Why do we need a vice? Maybe squeeze someone? Bearings - what are they? Something with spikes?

SO MUCH THINGS THAT COULD PASS BY!!! BUT HERE IS HAPPINESS - THREE GUYS, THREE SONS!

***

Children

Children are happiness, children are joy,

Children are a fresh breeze in life. They cannot be earned, this is not a reward, God gives them to adults by grace.

Children, oddly enough, are also a challenge. Children, like trees, do not grow on their own. They need care, affection, understanding. Children are time, children are work.

Children are a miracle, a message of kindness, Rays of sunrise, droplets of love. Children are every girl's desire (Even careerists, deep down).

Children mean getting up frequently at night, Children mean nipples, colic, potties. Children are disputes in matters of education, Mom's prayers, Dad's posts.

Children are affection, sincerity and friendship. They argue for fun, but they love so seriously. With him we don’t need to be cunning, we don’t need to hide - Children’s eyes can see right through us.

Children mean dad is often not at home, Children mean mother is at home all day. Children are often a narrow circle of acquaintances. Their own plans move into the shadows.

Children are like life starting all over again: First smiles, first steps, First successes, first failures. Children are experience, children are us!!!

***

A little happiness

Little happiness sleeps quietly on the pillow. He clings to the toy, sniffles with his nose... Under the duvet, a light, warm sleep. Well, I’ll stay nearby - I’ll keep the peace. With your sweet little hand you grabbed me. And captivated forever with a radiant smile! These tiny feet - I will kiss them forever! Joy, unearthly happiness... What else should we call you?

***

Childhood Shore

Everyone has a “Childhood Shore” in their life, where there is a sea of fairy tales and magical dreams. You can’t look at this beauty enough... I really want to come back again and again...

There, where light-winged dreams fly to look for islands in the fog, Where there are barely noticeable flickers of fish, Where underwater grass is hidden...

Where, swimming in the splashes of the rainbow sun, Floats, goes into the blue distance Such a familiar white-white sail... And parting with it... is a little... sad...