Belozerov Timofey Maksimovich

The Wind's Pantry (poems and fairy tales)

Title: Buy the book "The Pantry of the Wind (poems and fairy tales)": feed_id: 5296 pattern_id: 2266 book_

"WIND PANTRY"

Poems and fairy tales (for primary school age)

I am sure that you will read this book with pleasure, reader. Why? Because she is full of respect for you, leaving you the right to think, and finish, and generalize.

It is true because the poet is sincere.

It is simple, but it is apparent simplicity - there is a lot of work behind it.

Read this book! You'll be glad...

/Elena Blaginina/

The chilly blue of the night spilled onto the tit's feathers... From the hollow

the fox ran out, climbed into the dawn of the black grouse. The magpie lifted its tail over the nest like a frying pan handle. In the dark, at the bottom of the deep grass, they groaned

footprints. The busy aspen tree trembled, the goats came out, tugging at the reindeer moss... And the titmouse, proud and happy, Feels itself at the top.

Summer, summer, fabulous summer! Miracles make your head spin... Here, in rainbow-colored chain mail, islands emerge from the river! In scales, in the shimmer of shells, With an uncovered mane of talniks, From the courtyards of coastal villages Fishermen are silently taken captive... On sands covered with mud, To shallow waters sharp as swords, Then a school of goose will descend, Then, loudly, rooks will fall. Summer, summer...

With the song unsung, the hot grass is waiting for the rain. Together with the sun, in the haze of dawn, Islands emerge from the river!

FOREST TALE

I drowned in fragrant herbs... With my arms outstretched, in silence, Among the beetles, among the boogers I lie on the twilight bottom. Covered with honey pollen, Angrily rebuked by bees, Through the fading peas I lie, looking at the white light... At my feet A thorn bush rustles, shaking off the heat, And clouds of recent sadness Float, playing, above me... Then I will go out into the clearing, Bumblebee I’ll shake off the one who has fallen asleep, And if I become sad again, I’ll return And drown in the grass...

PATH

The path slid down the embankment And, at the traffic light behind you, Through forests, hillocks and hollows It winds through the grasses

broken string At the porch, at your threshold, Behind the fence in the field and in the steppe, You will hear the road singing, Just step on the path.

NAMELESS RIVER

On a small river I always have fun. Flowing

The water flows, sparkles like mica. It rings like a cold stream. In a ravine under the mountain, In the thick green grass She covered her head... Even if the river is small, But she has business: She brought coolness for the shepherd boy, She bathed the tit, On the wet bank She played a little with a daisy as she ran. And in a hot, distant field, throwing away a rusty leaf, the tractor driver drank from its crystal water. The rivulet makes little rings, trembles on the pebbles... She runs into the big river for the name!

The winds are bending the lungwort The ripe winter is bitter... The she-wolf was driven out into the field Together with a litter of wolf cubs. A wolf cub is cowardly in the heat, Clumsy as a crab, And the grasshoppers, sleepy, splash noisily from under their paws. Ahead are sheep trails, Sun, grass and forests, Behind is the iron tramp and human voices...

I lie on the lawn and look into the sky, In the herd of clouds I find a horse. In a black heap of clouds, In an angry wind, Together with a cloak, I take a lightning saber. And it’s already scary and I’m happy to rush into the red sunset on a dashing horse!

On the mountain there are birch and aspen trees, the foliage is colored by the rain. In the baking heat, in the sparkles of the cobwebs, vigorous firewood is drying. On the mountain, a hobbled horse slowly wanders through the clouds and its tail

Only the grass is a little flatter The sun hits the rosy cheeks.

The blue forest drowns in darkness, falls asleep until the morning. Tangled horses are dozing in the smoke of our fire, Brands are smoldering in the coals, Butterflies are going out in the fire. A barrel of potatoes from the ashes Directly into my hands.

SUMMER AFTERNOON

Silence in the garden and in the house, The calf sleeps by the fence. Sparrow fuss in the straw near the cellar. Behind the fence, the dusty canopy bends the breezes, the soft air, like lye, floats from the river...

THOSE WHO ARE SICK DEAR

Did you drag cones from the fire, dark, disheveled, angry? Have you seen golden rivers, Full of living silver? Have you heard the singing of the sand, the copper silence of the bell towers? To those who are forever dearly ill, Here is my bread, And here is my hand.

An old pine tree bent over the yellow scree of the cliff, its bare roots timidly leading in the wind. On them,

As soon as the dawn breaks and leads the elk to the water, As if in the arms of an old nanny, the warbler chirps in the nest.

ON THE SHALLS

House with three windows, Pryaslo,

garden. The oxbow path is forded. There, Among the open spaces By the Iset River, A grey-haired net glows on stakes. The striped buoy dries on the sand, barefoot guys fawn towards the river. In a long fur coat, Fedot the Buccaneer, Listening to "Spidola", Repairs the Change...

TO A FRIEND READER

If I get tired of writing poetry for you, then I’ll go out as a shepherd to the Russian Glade.” I’ll go out in the morning with a horn, I’ll twist my hat, I’ll gird my white shirt with a strap. get excited, And the calves at the gate will sharpen their hoofs. ----"Russkaya Polyana is a village in the south of the Omsk region.

TOPOLEK PARACHUTTER

Goodbye, foliage, and peace, and comfort, and a reliable roof from thunderstorms! Sliding along the green pendant,

The parachute carried away the poplar seed. - May bad luck pass you by! There was a rustle in the hot foliage: - Rise into the blue so that you can fall to the ground, So that you can make noise for years in the blue!

I was skipping along, following the wave, and at the bottom I saw a colored pebble. In sunny freckles, in a red belt, He shone and sparkled on the river sand. You can’t take your eyes off such a find! What suddenly happened to the pebble on the way? In the hot wind the pebble went out and, flashing in the sun, from the steep

The rain waddles through the city, noisy and high, like a mile! Filled the traffic light with blue, washed away the onlookers

from the cast iron bridge. He scattered the traders in the bazaars with a shot from a fiery sling, on passers-by, young and old, and decorated their cloaks with beads. In the nooks and crannies of the gloomy park He pushed aside the gray poplars, And then under the rainbow arch He walked through the outskirts into the fields!

I arrived at the dacha, I live among the birches. If I want, I’m sitting fishing, If I want, I’m catching dragonflies. On the sunny edge, In the palms of a hammock, I sympathize with the cuckoo, I look at the clouds. Others need to learn lessons, And I am in a birch forest, Swinging in a hammock to the chatter of a magpie!

WIND PANTRY

Whatever has been brought into the old ravine! Kept in a ravine in the night twilight, Tight earrings are a gift from a birch tree, Willowherb flowers, cuckoo tears, Green and yellow beads of rain, A partridge feather on a milk mushroom’s hat. Here, as if at the bottom of a chest, early in the morning, canvases of fog are thrown by the wind, In the stream, on the blue chintz of the wave, The ancient Brooch of the Moon flickers...

A cloud lies on the sky, sighs and grumbles, and a small cloud knocks with its hooves. Through the puddle, Along the path, On the umbrella of the milk mushroom Knocks like a fawn, With the hooves of the Rain!

In a clearing, in the taiga low forest, Openly inaccessible to the axe, A mighty cedar, swaying in the sky, resinous needles whistles in the wind. In scars, cuts, in mossy cracks, Dressed in heavy armor of bark, Among birches and charred fir trees, Calling friends who are no longer there...

Wormwood huddles near fences, On the roofs of bathhouses and cellars, Blooms on the slopes of slopes, In ditches,

near the pillars. In the grass, crushed by her hooves, she stands, and just touch the magical, bitter smell with a bow and drop it into the palm of her hand.

ON RAFTS

The raft walks leisurely along the sparkling river. Villages, oxbow lakes, bays float in the distance. He passes the rifts and goes around the islands. - The raft is coming! - The guys shout and swim in a race. They climb onto the logs and look at the clouds. The raft rocks smoothly in the deep river. Steering wheel

A pine bark hangs like a drop of silver. Having taken off their shirts, the raftsmen rest by the fire, scoop up some water, and make an ear. The sun is shining brighter, hotter, the midday heat is on the raft. The wind carries the smell of resin needles across the water. Clouds are floating somewhere along a smooth river, jumping from logs,

The guys are playing tricks on the sand.

Drowning out the chirping of birds, given to the dawn, the crows divide their prey on a steep mountain. Shade your eyes from the sun. In broad daylight, A heap of night is swarming, A heap of crows.

The shores of the sandy belt In the thickets of gray willow grass. The oxbow covered with duckweed was forever abandoned by the river. Took away the elastic current, Steamboats,

rafts... The water, covered with laziness, sleeps, propping up grass and flowers.

STEPPE FOWL

Floats, Losing strength in the grass, The dust raised by the flock. In the steppe, a forgotten grave is preserved by a weathered feather grass. In his shattered outfit, lashed by rain in a thunderstorm, the feather grass carries a dry long tear to the empty fence.

RIVER CARRIER

Loaded to the brim with goodness, the steam creaks and tilts. Collective farms send from cellars in tight canvas bags, supplies of onions and mushrooms, potatoes

for canteens. Bricks are floating to the construction site, Bunches of pine shingles, And rolls of bread and rosy bagels are riding nearby. As soon as the ferry unloads, the casing creaks again, the plows sparkle with silver, And he, having heard the first thunder, Hastens to remove the mooring lines... The river space threatens with a wave, But for him, the ferry, this road has long been familiar and familiar.

ON THE SHORE

On the shore, In the forest expanse, Rowan crimson lights. Rook noise on the slope, fences running towards the river. There are birch beads on the buoys, there is peace in the coastal thickets, and at the slope there is a fair-haired boy, waving his hand from the boat.

Neither buoys nor stretches can be seen, Nature is again in the fog-mourning... The river mourns, like an affectionate mother, For all the steamships wrecked in the storm. The deck is deserted and dark, the horns are buzzing alarmingly and sadly... And now - dawn!

The canvas of fog swayed,

moved,

floated! The fog has gone into the carefree taiga, The bright blue sky is rejoicing... And on the damp sandy shore A strand of the Tired Surf is turning white.

DANDELION

Why did Dandelion feel cool in the forest? Because last night he went bald

in the wind!

MORNING ON THE RIVER

It's good here early in the morning! In the predawn silence, the cranes bow to the loads, slightly swaying on the wave. Birds are circling over the water, horns are waking up. It smells like fish and wheat, it smells like forest from the river.

Marusenka washed her white feet and crunched the cold water loudly. Touch-me-not beetles scattered away, Flax over the cliff

shook his beard. Marusenka washed her white feet and touched the sleepy thyme with her finger. Near the cart, on a quiet road, Marusenka's mother and father were waiting.

I'm driving, I'm driving from the mowing, The autumn night is dark. The wheels are rolling in the hay, My arms and back are aching. Riding, lying on a cart, Horse

at the bottom. So the cabbage came from the heated oven. White Rays Spun Lane was illuminated.

SEPTEMBER

The coolness of September flows through the scarlet feathers of the bullfinch. In the dry forest the slumber of the pines, Peace emanates from the fields... Our autumn goes south, holding on to the thread of the Cranes.

The forest admires the chamomile, like a ballerina, from afar. A light hair will be draped over its petals. The wind blows the leaves along the path, the grass withers. Autumn is coming. Only a chamomile on an elastic leg spins, dances and blooms!

RIVER STAR

Friends, I lit the buoy on an autumn evening. The light flashed brightly and threw away the darkness. That night he stood guard on the wide river and winked at the steamboat from behind the red glass. Like a star

It burns cheerfully and clearly, It says to the Steamer: - It’s dangerous to walk here! The rain will drizzle, the wind will beat at the window. Only I and the sun can extinguish the buoy!

Owls are hooting in the ravine, The forest space is quiet... What is the fire talking to the hunter in the night about? The wood is tearing up and coughing in the black draft. The fire hums like a bowstring in a robber's hand. The cedar tree shoots sparks, And in the roar of the fire, Then suddenly a child’s cry will be heard, Then a horse’s neighing. Then the deep sigh of a gray-haired old man will sound... Like gunpowder, the moss flashes on the branches of the dry forest. Bearded stumps are turning white Behind the willow branches... A fire With a hunter in the night Talking about life.

The road is open again to the autumn rains and winds. In the backwoods,

on the sloping shallows, the sandpiper is sad in the evenings. And, leaving the noise of the mooring, the autumn river rushes to hear the quiet and sad farewell voice of Kulik.

RAINY EVENING

There is a bad weather gray board at the door: Neither look out nor go out the gate... In the damp garden there is green melancholy, And in the rooms there is drowsiness and yawning. I wander around the house like a brownie, chasing flies, licking jam in the cupboard; I'm trying to compose a poem, slightly "hanging my proud head." I sit, staring at the hole in the floor, But the rhyme is like a magpie on a stake... And again I wander around like a groovy one; Like my shadow, my yawn is with me. There is still the same heavy rain at the door. Neither look out nor go out of the gate!

The railings are shaking. The wind breathes heat. Concrete bulls covered in dust and sweat. And day and night, like a factory conveyor belt, the bridge rumbles

over the river abyss. A stream of loaded and empty cars slides off it, testing the engines. And the traffic lights, like inspectors, carefully inspect them...

AUTUMN LEAVES

So that they don’t get burned, don’t get collected in bags, they rush to the puddles, lifting up the petioles!

The green wave is full of autumn sadness. She sways a yellow bush in the shallows. The bathers are gone, the fishermen are not visible, only a tired boat flashes by

and so he was! And she, green, dreams of children's voices, And the songs of raftsmen, And Sails in the sun...

Cobwebs settle on empty wires. The news rushes along the path: - There is warm water in the river! In undried clothes the news rushes barefoot, on her goose skin Tina with clay and sand!

AFTER THE BIRD FAREWELL CONCERT

The birds fell silent. Coming out of the spring, Rook rushed after the black rook... At the forest edge, between the branches, As if in a club between the stools, It became empty, weedy and spacious.

October!.. The trees are waiting for snow, The floods of the rivers have quieted down locked up... I chose a haystack for myself to spend the night Where night found me on the way. Like fireflies in a slumbering swamp, the stars trembled in the black heights; The earth, chilled in its night flight, snuggled affectionately towards me in a dream. And I, covering my legs with dry straw And placing a gun under my head, Warmed myself up and soon little by little I warmed up the huge one... The dawn flowed into the gaps of the lead clouds, For the whole day, for many, many years, the Earth gave me the sun again, Out of the night dark took out

at dawn!

The wind rushes along the backwater, Pulling white tugs... Walruses are warming up in swimming trunks, shoes, and mittens. Behold, making the people tremble, an old walrus enters the water, and at the edge of the hole are members of his entire family. They took off their mittens: - Something bad water.... - What are you talking about! - the bass of the walrus is heard. It’s just amazing how fresh it is! And with cheerful eyes, the old walrus, surrounded by his family, wrinkles the water of the black Polynya with his white mustache...

WINTER MORNING

At night frost fell on the trees as thick as a finger. The village has become a fairy tale and so dear, dear! Silence pours into the fence, Everything is silent, I am silent too; You can just hear the tub splashing around in the well...

Convoy, convoy! The chilled drivers rattle their damp sheepskin mittens. The runners squeal. The tits are shading, calling the forest birds to a winter feast. The convoy creaks. Knee-deep snowdrifts sparkle like the wings of swans. The bumpy smoothed hay is caught by the Breath of horses.

The bear sleeps, scaring the mice with his snoring, Fat and gray-haired from the kurzhak. Pulls the dirty paw with a tenacious handful of lips and tongue. He pulls and smacks his lips: “Delicious!” The lazy dew is falling, The streak of milky oats has ripened to a sugar crunch. The moon sleeps in the early morning fog, The night watchmen sleep in the village; Only a stream rolls through a berry meadow,

trembling on the pebbles... And above all this,

behind the fog, behind the wall of green taiga, the ringing of birches, the rustling of a snowstorm, the wolf howl of a blizzard.

IN THE TAIGA VILLAGE

An ancient taiga village, There are lace carvings on the gates. Near the school the cedars dance, fluffing out their whitish forelocks. Bullfinches - flying poppies, blazing, frosted with dust. Fluffy dogs sleep in the snow, wiggling their eyebrows in their sleep. The smoke is pinned to the chimneys by the calm of the wind... Silence... And suddenly, falling off his feet, Slamming the door, he flew out of the school, Like a crumbly snowball, the bell rang! The gates and snowdrifts came to life; Next to the baby’s sheepskin coat, in the mouth of a big-faced dog, a backpack rides, its straps rustling. Mushroom pies are waiting for the boy, Sleds and steep banks... The cedars are waving their important forelocks, And Taiga is admiring them.

FOX DANCER

In the ravine the Fox mouses and dances and dances: Now he spins like a peahen, And now he tap-dances, Now he rushes to the right, Now he turns to the left. Sniffs the holes, ready to jump. Even the drool is flowing down the tongue in excitement! The dancer breathes often, And in the recesses of the holes Under the curtain of crust the Mouse Chorus thunders...

IN THE HOMELAND

The copses and snow are painfully white, the dark blue taiga borders the field. A village in the distance, surrounded by a tine, a farmyard in a birch forest, on the river Dam. Magpies chirping, At the porch

straw, And the paternal threshold of the Old House.

SNOWDrops

The Snow Maiden cried, saying goodbye to winter. She followed her sadly, a stranger to everyone in the forest. Where she walked and cried, Touching the birches, the Snow Maiden's Tears snowdrops grew.

The river is basking in the sun. Ice floes rustle and break. Their spongy sides are covered in sand and lumps of clay. They hurry to the North, to the Ob, losing the wet snow, like a herd of polar bears, pushing and diving. It's cramped here and it's hot. Look: They are shiny with sweat. They quarreled again. Jam at the turn! The duty boat "Grom" is coming to help with the current. With a clawed paw, a hook sternly separates them. And now the river has cleared, The pictures change: Clouds float, swaying Where the ice floes dived.

BIRD SPRING

Summer, summer, Hello summer! In the grove, the orioles are screaming... In the black nests, Noses have blossomed in yellow and are rooking!

BLUE HOUR

Blue clouds float in succession, Blue rocks glisten above the water. Blue, in the sleepy twilight, the taiga makes a dull noise, obscuring the banks. The fish at the bottom seem blue, Blue birds scurry about in silence.

Yuri Gagarin

A boy climbs a birch tree, climbing into a black thunderstorm. A boy climbs a birch tree. The comrades below are silent. The top is shaken by explosions with the warmth of charged foliage, gusts of cold rain tear the cap off his head... The boy climbs the birch tree, narrowing his blue eyes, and a gloomy thunderstorm grumbles at him like an old woman from a cart.

SPRING TRUE

Streams flow down the street, awakened by the warmth. Two girls on a perch carrying scrap metal. Two girl friends are carrying a bucket on a rusty handle and a boat motor to the schoolyard. Their fingers were pulled back, their shoulders were twisted... And so,

like the wind

boys are hurrying towards! Whirled and light, They run in a race. From a running start, Grisha successfully jumped between the girls, and Misha made a face: “Can’t you raise your perch a little higher?” It's a little high at the edges, but just right in the middle! Hold on, I'm coming now! R-r-az!!! The boys get carried away, the motor with the bucket swings... And the girls? And the girls are standing and smiling!

Our Five-Storey House Plays the Trumpet Brave Icicles Hang on His Lip. From morning until late at night, he thunders with streams of water as much as he can, trumpeting all the frets!

WHAT IS IT LIKE WHAT?

The birch tree stands there, green, like a spring day, it makes noise. Here's a pine tree. Its bark is as red as summer. And this is a willow

Willow, like an autumn night, is tearful. But a vigorous, fresh stump is short, like a Winter Day.

In memory of my mother

Arina Trifonovna

The sunny frame has already become, The benches are higher, and the corners are sharper. Without you, caring mother, It immediately became close to the door... The plane sparkled under the clouds, The lark fell from above, And with your dark hands the roadside flowers smelled. I walked to the river

into the dark lowlands, onto strangers' smoky fires. The wind blew in my face, then in my back, drove me from childhood to the present time. He drove into unlocked hallways, into cellars - for a bottle of milk, into steamship holds.

He knelt down under the weight of the bag. Wind, wind!..

Broken frames, Ceilings covered in tobacco smoke... I wouldn’t wish it on anyone to find themselves on earth without my mother.

What do the winter winds hit, pushing passers-by and shaking gardens? - What do the winter winds hit? Of course, to the polar ice! - And the summer ones, moving the white sailboat, are buzzing in fishing gear? Where do the summer winds hit? - Both in the sun and in the walls of rain! - And the autumn winds? - Into the stacks of straw, into the damp fences, into the schools of cranes! - What about the spring ones? - To the plows and to the green fields!

WELL, GOODBYE!

Well, goodbye! - I will say important to a friend, Entering the attached carriage. And, blinking as if in fright, I stare out of the window at the platform. I will look at the bags, at the backs of sweaty heads - point-blank. - Well, goodbye! - my friend from the platform

The traffic light will already say green. -Where is the green one? Not green at all! You, I’ll say, take a better look! But the carriages will twitch angrily, It will pinch and stutter in the chest... Blurry faces will float, Suitcases,

white trays. The distant wave of the Raised Hand sinks under the eyelashes for a long time...

GRANDMOTHER IN THE WINDOW

In her son's apartment, Alone and sad, A gray-haired old woman sits by the window. She would go to the barn for wheat, but nearby the store would burst with buns. I would spin yarn from white flax, but who needs it nowadays?

And it was!.. You light the lamp in the hut And with your fingers

Fuck! You spin the spindle... And now there’s nothing to take into your hands. Why do they show cookies to people? No stove to heat, no water to bring... - Oh my God,

the old lady whispers, I’m sorry!..

I'll run away from home at random, to the fishermen, to the hunters in the taiga! I’ll run away and won’t even cry... But if I cry, I’ll also run away! I’ll run away from my mother’s scream, from her tired face, from my sister with her wild hair, I’ll run away from my drunken father. I will run away from affectionate neighbors, from tearful old women - forever I will run away into the taiga to shoot bears, set seines on the lakes! I will live in a tent in the wild, I will freeze by the fire on a winter night, I will be fed with stale bread and salt, I will drink water from a black bucket. And then, huge, bearded, I will put the gun by the porch, and the father with a guilty smile will kiss his fugitive son.

Ermak walked with his fighting squad, stirring up the centuries-old silence. And his squad was squeezed into a spring by the wide gray-haired Irtysh. The chain mail, spears, helmets, high-cheeked faces were reflected in the water, and the plows swam to the North, Like a flock of heavy birds. Outlying Rus'! The region is gloomy! The splash of a wave and the flight of a wing... Ermakov’s thoughts are about you, Every stroke of the oar is for you. The rowers' hands are getting heavy, Red Yar's cavalry has reared up, the bows of the Tatars who have not yet been defeated are throwing red-hot death. Outlying Rus'! The region is gloomy! The weight of the forged chain mail... Kuchum's tent staggered from the birch wings of the planes! ... Ermak is sleeping, not forgotten by the new age, the Russian fairy-tale hero. And at his head lies Conquered Siberia.

CITY ON THE IRTYSH

While whiling away a century of hunting, a man came to a deserted place. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, threw away his light luggage, under his arms there was the two rivers, space, grace! A big-headed ax clattered in the pine forest, A peaked fence girdled the hut. A well-fed smoke wafted over the birches... But one man couldn’t stay! And the stubborn message went along the aisles: - There is a place for a fortress! There is a place for the city! Like fingers in a fist, the people of Balalaika and nuts gathered at the new gate. At the market there are carts, cuts of brocade. Above the fire shed is Versta tower. The lights of the lanterns swayed over the river, The gangplanks, the ropes, The cast iron of the anchors... ...The measured age floated along the steps of the porch, People tied their Hearts in a knot of two rivers!

Grandma Malanya! Affectionate speech. There's jam in the tueski, Bake with the shanezki, Grandma Malanya! Cracked nut, Sled, mittens, White, White Snow!

COUNTERS

1. On a May evening, girlfriends came to Pestrushka for pancakes: Three laying hens, Three kloktushkas. How many chickens are there in the hut?

2. Grandma Badger Baked pancakes. She treated two grandchildren to two pugnacious badgers, but the grandchildren did not have enough to eat, they knocked with a roar on their saucers!

3. From zero And to zero You can’t get there without a crutch, You can’t get there without a horse, Without a twisted Sweet Cheesecake, Without a rifle With a bayonet, Without a knife with an irradiator, Without a silk Whip, Without a crooked twig, Without balls and a bell You can’t move away from the porch!

4. From the drifting snow the breeze made a silver cord and on it brought the white-maned blizzard to the taiga!

TONGUE TWISTERS

1. What a Fat Master Unpack the Backpack!

2. The roach landed in the Volga, the Volga washed the salt away from the roach. Vobla came to life in the Volga, Vobla swam with the Volga!

FIG.

1. You are a boy, I am a girl. There lived a little hare with a little fox. Trembling under the snags, Running away from the little fox!

2. White-fronted foal, try to catch up with me!

3. The old man grew turnips, And then, half asleep, He sold them to a piglet for a holey patch!

FABLES

1. Yesterday I went on foot to collect firewood. The grass around me was green under the snow. I didn’t bring a whole cart of firewood from the forest And I was rubbing my frostbitten nose in the heat!

2. I saw a snowdrop in the autumn forest, Where a hare was dragging a fox along the edge And a wolf was sneaking after the hunter... I heard the hunter chattering his teeth, I heard him “Help!” shouted and laughed loudly with fear!

1. Now she bakes pancakes, now she shows Dreams.

(Russian stove)

2. He climbed onto the table from under the bench, looked around on the stand, wiggled his flexible tail, licked the folds from his tie.

(Electric iron)

3. In a woolen clearing, a thin leg is dancing. From under a steel shoe, a stitch crawls out.

(Sewing machine)

4. There is an iron with a smoked pipe, Wrinkles and folds Leads behind it.

(Steamboat)

5. Through the taiga, Where the wind groans, We walk all day long; On porcelain palms we carry Light for the villages.

(High Voltage Transmission Line)

6. First in the field, behind the fishing line, He stood as a tall fat man, Then he climbed under the canopy, Then in the cowshed He disappeared.

(A stack of hay)

7. In a quiet house,

on a branch, the children took shelter from the rain. They sit in cramped little rooms and look out from under the shutters.

(Pine nuts)

8. He stands thoughtfully in a yellow crown, the freckles darken on his round face.

(Sunflower)

9. Who runs along the mountain slopes, chatters to himself, and hides his blue tail in the thick green grass?

10. White curls Lively lambs. They follow the rain into the woods along the lake, but as soon as they step on the sand they sigh and fall.

FOREST WEEPER

Lena was walking through the forest, she tripped,

fell and went to visit Grandfather Weeper.

The hut creaked welcomingly at the door, In the corner on the tub a frog was dozing. The voice of a cricket flowed behind the stove from a crack of dry logs. On the bench, the gray-haired old man, like a harrier, saw Lena through her tears... The little cry baby pulled down his colored little coat, clutched his gray beard in his fist, and with a sad smile said: - Let's go! If you cry, then cry together! I won’t offend you, I’ll show you the Weeping Path... And how could you have stumbled? He looked at Lena with alarm. Let's go if you can! And Lena went, picking up the basket at the threshold.

Forest path Mushrooms and cloudberries, The path turned into a pensive spruce forest. The little cry baby slowly minces along it, habitually gathering dust with its paws. On his hat, a snowdrop with three petals rings a bell. There is silence in the forest. Only the spruce trees creak and the squirrels chatter on the branches. - Look! The magpies are screaming in the nest. The little hare is jumping towards the Weeping Baby! The little tail flashed like a ball, and here comes the little hare, somersault

from the bush! - Crybaby, Crybaby, I knocked off my paws, I ran from the aspen tree into the slush! A badger stepped on my mustache at night, it hurts me and I want to cry! And Lena thought: “I’m not alone!” Looking at the little bunny with a sigh. - Cry with him, Little Cry! She said. He, the poor thing, feels really bad! And I’ll wait, I’ll sit on a stump, I’ll string a cloudberry on a string. I stroked the crying little bunny with my hand, pressed my cheek to the cold nose, and just ran my palm over my eyes. Tears were jumping on their mustaches... They woke up in the grass, Mosquito dancers, Frogs and toads - in the lakes, Young beavers sang in the stream, the little mice responded in the holes: - In the grove, at the edge, in the field and in the rye." Crying and laughing is bad alone! .. The little hare cried, sighed wearily and, with his ears like a flyer, fell asleep under the tree.

Forest path Mushrooms and cloudberries, The path dived into a bear's raspberry patch. The wind lazily stirs the leaves, scratches in it, like a mouse... In the grass

under the bush the little bear is whining. He ate too many raspberries in his sleep. He looks at the berries, but doesn’t put them in his mouth, rubs his disobedient eyes angrily.

And Lena sighed: “After all, I’m not alone!” And she quietly stepped aside. Cry with him, Little Cry! She said. Cry, help the little bear! And I’ll wait, I’ll sit on a stump, I’ll string a cloudberry on a string. The crybaby smoothed his gray mustache, took a sip of honey dew from a violet, closing his eyes,

whimpered, whimpered And then shook his little beard And how he started to roar... The little bear blinked And then, silently, Licked a tear with a tear with his tongue. He smacked his lips, Sniffled and purred, And joyfully asked his mother to run away!

Forest path Mushrooms and cloudberries, The path became unkind and gloomy. The weeper crawls along it barefoot, rustling behind its back with its paws. A snowdrop with three petals is ringing alarmingly... A rook screamed from a nest on the slope to the crying baby

ravine: - Well, where do you go? Something bad has happened that is hard to say! The titmouse has been ravaged by the marten, The titmouse will not cry out for grief, The titmouse will perish! You must help her ASAP! - Hurry! The oak forest rustled. - Hurry! The voices of bullfinches were heard from above, and from the left, and from the right. Crossbills showed the crybaby the way, and he ran,

parting the bushes, over hummocks, dry and rotten, over holes, over branches and grasses. Give him a beard

skidded onto his shoulder, he runs and sees an empty hollow... And then the Cry Baby's nose wrinkled, his eyelashes closed sadly, and splashed

frequent beads of tears On the cheeks and chest of tits... And somewhere in the bushes It sounded: - Feel it! - Feel it! - echoed in the grasses, Let's help her make a nest! - Swing! Swing! The oak grove rustled... And Lena sighed: - What am I waiting for? It’s better to be alone. I’ll go slowly. A grasshopper was chirping under a hat, a cuckoo was crowing in the distance. And the first warm drop of rain fell on the dusty ground... And everything blossomed, sparkled around: the forest, the path, the river, and the meadow.

----"Ryam is a moss swamp.

FOG IN THE BACKPACK

In the morning, A DECEPTION came to the forest, Brought FOG in a backpack, and at the bottom of Pockets of Little Fogs. Untied the DECEPTION Backpack And said to the FOG: - So that everything would be wrong! Not without deception! Gave a click to the Little Fogs. And Fun went into the forest! Like a blind man, Echo wanders. Who and what You can’t tell: Hedgehog Looks like a hazel grouse. Elk On the Nosed Tree, Spruce on the Winged Monster. The Hare will not understand: Who is the Hare or the Wolf? The Fox wandered into the ravine, And in the ravine Everything is not like that: Everything is somehow like this. It doesn’t look like this. Beavers will not find a dam or a hole in the forest. Here, ready to roar, a Bear climbed up a tree: No road, No den, Only Pine trees - rhinoceroses! A little fox ran into a hole, and a little mouse sat in the hole! In fear, the Squirrel barely took her legs out of the hollow! The cuckoo and the owl have neither a tail nor a head. Take a closer look The cuckoo has lynx ears on the top of its head. You will look again, No foliage, No cuckoo, No owl... Smiles DECEPTION: - Well done, Old Man MIST! Well done, Tumanchiki Young Deceivers! Now it's time to get into the backpack! Well, of course, It’s not for that, I won’t offend: I’ll give you crumpets, I’ll give you tea, I’ll work, and you’ll get each one according to the deception!

IGNAT'S FEARS

On the hillside the village of Murashki turns black. People don’t wear hats here, only caps. Ignat lived peacefully in Murashki, and rightly so - a neighbor invited him to hunt! They walk through the forest, pass swamps, tired, wet - that’s what they’re hunting for! Hungry, angry, they walk and walk, But they can’t find a large animal. In the forest every step it became darker, the mossy beards of the stumps flickered, and Ignat began to stumble and silently look around...

When the stray bear met them, covering half the sky, sniffled and growled, whining and cursing the taiga night, Ignat, frightened, rushed away. He ran, and the pine trees rustled, and shots thundered from behind...

The next morning they call him back to the taiga, and he says: “I’m sick, I can’t!” One day Ignat got ready to go mowing and carried food for the week in his bag. He's coming, tall - the head of everything! He finds a clearing - waist-deep grass. Ignat slowly rolled up his sleeves and had just beaten off and sharpened the Lithuanian, when suddenly he became timid in a forest clearing. A puppy barked behind him... Not daring to move his hand as he walked, He walked through the grass as if on thin ice. Then, finding himself on the road, Ignat the Long-legged rushed off!

In winter, Ignat's cow died without hay and shelter.

In the village the trotters are ringing their bells, Ignat went out into the street on holidays. An accordion hangs on Ignat’s shoulder, When the bellows stretch, the fire blazes! Ignat shook himself, began to play and sang, and heard: the snowball behind him creaked so insinuatingly, so carefully, that Ignat became anxious. The accordion sagged and his voice fell... - That's it! - Ignat whispers. I’ve finished playing, I’m gone! He tore his pants on a high fence and outside the gate - not a step since then!

Recently I wandered into the village of Murashki, where hats are not in fashion, but only caps. I saw brave, cheerful people, I looked at Ignat through the crack of the gate. I will forever remember this picture: A huge, overgrown fellow is sitting, Sitting on the porch in his yard, Tied to the house, Like a dog to a kennel!

GOODBYE ROBOT!

Fairy tale play

CHARACTERS _Vladik_ _Robot_ _Nadya_ _Vanya_ _Pashka Lezhebokin_ _Baba Yaga_ _Professor_ _Collective farm Fitter_ _Wolf_ _Fox_ _Cat_ _1st squirrel_ _2nd squirrel_ _Bear_ _Hares_ _Magpies_ _Crow_

PICTURE ONE /In the depths of the scene there is a wall of a deep forest. At the edge of the forest there is a hut on chicken legs. Behind the dilapidated fence one can see a small courtyard overgrown with wolfberries and thistles. There is a bench next to the gate. Above it, a brand new blue mailbox is nailed to the tree. From somewhere in the distance comes the cheerful music of a sports march and the words of the announcer: “...And-and-one! Stand straight, arms above your head...” The rising wind carries the music, a magpie’s chirping and a crow’s cawing can be heard. _Baba Yaga_ appears on the stage with a bundle of brushwood./

Baba Yaga_ /throwing away brushwood and sitting on a bench/. Dog life! Carry water, heat the stove... Ugh!

My poker got burnt

A cobweb glistens in a rusty mortar...

No Baba Yaga

I am an orphan,

Orphan! /The _Wolf_ and _Fox_ appear./

Wolf._ Why are you upset, Stupa Pomyalovna? What are you complaining about?

Baba Yaga._ And don’t ask, gray one! No meat for you, no bones! Life is going to waste, that's what!

Crow._ Car-r! Ashes! R-rah!

Baba Yaga._ Perish, you old firebrand! /_Crow_ flies away./

Etta spent half the day on the highway, begging the drivers for kerosene for a lamp. They cackle, idols: we won’t give it, they say, you’ll burn the taiga or you’ll explode!

Wolf._ Trouble, godfather, trouble! There is no peace. Everyone is picking at something, searching, chopping... /Getting angry./ So they roam around the taiga! Back and forth, back and forth! I would eat them all alive! /Clanks his teeth./

Fox._ Eat them, of course! /Everyone is thinking./ /Behind the fence, low above the ground, a _Crow_ flies and lands on a tree, not far from the mailbox. The fox wags its tail and watches her, raising its muzzle./

Baba Yaga._ Well, why are you staring? Go catch partridges, don’t bother with that!

Fox._ I won’t bother. I see what you have, godfather, in your drawer, something white... Cheese?

Baba Yaga._ No way, a letter? /Takes out a bunch of keys and picks up the key.../ Indeed a letter! The stamp is city, but the hand is familiar... /Reads./ “Hello, my sister Stupa light Pomyalovna! I live in the city, I live well, quietly, and I work as an elevator operator in a large stone house... How do you toil there? Alive is it?" /Sobbing./ She’s alive, she’s alive... Some light has slipped out of her eyes... Honor her, redhead.

Fox._ “My work is not hard: I press the button and again knit sweaters and socks by the knitting needles. The people here are increasingly prominent. They wear fur coats...” /The fox stammers./ I can’t make it out, just look, gray!

Wolf._ “... foxes wear fur coats...” / Baba Yaga./ Read it yourself - it’s not clear!

Baba Yaga._ "...the breaths of bears and wolves. And recently, one professor, an old man, brought from somewhere for his grandson an iron nanny - nicknamed Robot. He doesn’t ask for anything to drink or eat, but he knows and does everything as it is. Books reads, cooks food, even takes their little dog - Triba - for walks. I wish you could have such a breadwinner-assistant in your old age, sister! They went to the dacha, to the village of Petelino, This is near you. If an opportunity arises, send me some dried raspberries or linden blossom..." /Baba Yaga crumples the letter and is silent for a minute, rolling her eyes./ What if...

Fox._ What if...

Wolf._ What if...

Fox._ What if... you steal it?

Baba Yaga._ Shh!

Crow._ Car-r! Theft! Theft!

Baba Yaga_ /swings at Crow with a crutch/. Shut up! /Fox and Wolf./ On this occasion, I don’t mind treating you! /He hits the ground with his crutch./ My faithful servants, quick with their feet, cheerful with their faces! Serve fragrant honey, nourishing, buttery food! /An old gloomy _Cat_ appears./

Cat._ Look what you want! Smells like honey! Oily food! That's all there is. Here! /Puts down the jug and throws a dry bone./ /The Wolf and the Fox grab the bone, snatch it from each other, and fight. Baba Yaga separates them with a stick and knocks with a bone./

Baba Yaga._ Tsits, damned ones! /The animals are pacified./ Drink and sing. /Dreamy./ Oh, and life will soon be with us!

The wolf_ /drinks from the glass and shudders/. What honey! The eyes pop out and the jaw tightens, as if a hoof had kicked in the ear...

Fox._ Come on, gray, come on! /Drinks, shakes her head and begins to slowly fall off the bench./ /The wolf holds her. Hugging each other, the Wolf and the Fox howl and whine./

The reeds rustled, the trees bent,

And you and I went to the chicken coop,

But there they came across a watchman

And they barely made it! /Beginning to dance./

Soon we will live

Happily,

Cheese and meat with wine

Drinking...

Baba Yaga_ /standing behind the Wolf and the Fox, casts a spell/.

Raschikaldy-chikaldy,

I'll splash water on you,

I’ll spin and enchant you, /with arrangement/

To the fire victims

I'll dress it up! /A whirlwind rises on the stage. The trees are humming, wolves howl and fox barking are heard./

Crow._ Kar! Carr-aul! Krr-aha! Krr-aha!

/A curtain/

PICTURE TWO /Sunny summer morning. Open terrace of a wooden cottage. On the left, by the window, _Vladik_ is lying on a cot._ The robot _Zheleson_ is sitting at the table with a book in his hands. Through the window you can see the _Professor_ picking gooseberries in the garden./

Robot._ “Nouns are words that answer the question who is this? What is this? And designate objects, for example: sister, brother, child...” Do you remember? /Vladik is silent./Vladyka! Whatever you want, you are not allowed to sleep during classes! So get up! /Vladik does not respond. The robot is silent for a second, flashing a signal lamp.../ According to instructions number four, paragraph twelve, I am forced to turn on the influence network... /Vladik jumps up and rubs his eyes./

Vladik._ Zheleson, have you connected the network of influence again?

I lit smart lamps inside myself!

Work and obey me, my friend!

I read letters at the speed of light,

I can be a floor polisher and a nanny.

One million one hundred four answers

Stored in my electronic brain! So, “nouns are words that answer the question who is this? What is this? And designate objects, for example: sister, brother, child...”

Vladik_ /repeating/. “Nouns are words that answer the question who is this? What is this? And designate objects, for example: sister, brother, child...”

Robot._ According to the schedule compiled for the students left for the fall, let's move on to repeating verbs...

Professor_ /entering the terrace with a plate of gooseberries/. Well, how are you doing? Here are some berries for you, Vladik. Help yourself!

Vladik_ /pushing away the plate, capriciously/. Don't want! And you, grandfather, are having fun, right? Eat berries, sunbathe, swim, right?

Robot._ According to the vacation instructions...

Vladik_ /turning off the robot/. Okay, shut up!

Professor_ /including the robot/. Who deserves what, dear grandson, who deserves what! And you can’t behave like that with Zheleson. It's clear?

Vladik._ Quite. /Chooses a larger berry./

Professor._ That’s great!

Vladik._ Whatever.

Professor_ /wary/. That is? What do you mean by this?

Vladik._ And then.

Robot._ This phrase, apart from the phrase itself, does not contain anything.

Professor._ Wait, Zheleson. It seems to me that there is deceit hidden in these words...

Vladik._ No. Just a refusal.

Professor._ Refusal? From what? However, I can guess. Are you refusing to dig up worms for tomorrow's fishing trip?

Vladik._ Yeah. And drink milk at night.

Professor._ Well, if there is such a danger...

Robot._ In case of danger, it is necessary to find out the degree of danger and its probability.

Professor_ /Vladik/. Of course, you're not going to change your mind?

Vladik_ /sincerely/. But Zheleson has already tortured me! In the morning - Russian, in the evening - English! You wish you did! /Whining./ Others are sunbathing, going for nuts, for berries, but I teach, teach!

Professor_ /sighing/. Yes, but others, presumably, worked for a year... I don’t want to offend you, but, sorry, your systematic absenteeism, your laziness - all this is just terrible! I am forced to demand from Zheleson discipline and strict adherence to the schedule in his studies with you. /Zheleson./ Do you hear, my dear?

Robot._ I can reproduce all your instructions orally and in writing, observing punctuation marks...

Professor._ That’s great! /Vladik./ Don’t be angry, my friend, understand: I have to do all this for your sake!

Vladik_ /cries/. If only my poor mother were alive...

Professor_ /walking thoughtfully along the terrace/. Fine. Yes, but... /Decisively./ Zheleson!

Robot._ Professor, I'm listening to you!

Professor._ I'm canceling classes until... tomorrow morning!

Vladik_ /throwing himself on the Professor’s neck/. Grandfather! Hooray!

Professor._ Well, it will, it will! Rest, and I'll go and lie down for half an hour. /_Professor_ leaves. Vladik takes out a pistol and fires bone balls at Zheleson. _Baba Yaga_, _Wolf_ and _Fox_ appear at the door of the terrace in disguise./

Vladik_ /noticing the newcomers/. Who do you want?

Baba Yaga /confused/. We... we... /Looks at Lisa./

Fox._ We are passers-by, passers-by...

Wolf._ We are passers-by, passers-by...

Baba Yaga._ Fire victims. We went to drink some water.

Vladik._ Water? Do you want milk?

Fox._ You can also have milk.

Wolf._ You can also have milk.

Vladik_ /robot/. Zheleson, bring the milk. /_Zheleson_ leaves./ Yes, sit down, sit down! Tired, perhaps? /To the wolf./ Look how gray your face is!

Lisa._ Thank you, let’s wait!

Wolf._ Thank you, let's wait!

Vladik._ Well, as you wish. /Babe Yaga./ Are you from here, grandma?

Baba Yaga._ Local, dear, local! Do the math, I’ve been living in these parts for a hundred years now.

Vladik._ Where are you going?

Baba Yaga._ It’s a secret, child, a secret...

Vladik._ Come on? What's the secret?

Baba Yaga_ /whispers, looking around/. We are looking for treasures.

Vladik_ /switching to a whisper/. What treasures?

Fox._ Royal coins...

Wolf._ Royal coins...

Fox._ Tatar sabers...

Wolf._ Tatar sabers...

Vladik._ Sabers, coins? How do you look for them?

Baba Yaga._ With this magic staff. /Knocks with a cane./ He leads us to where the treasures are buried. He will bring you, knock three times, dig and the money is yours.

Vladik._ Can he point out where the revolver or rifle is buried?

Baba Yaga._ Maybe, child, maybe!

Vladik._ And the mammoth tusk?

Baba Yaga._ And a mammoth tusk too.

Vladik._ Where are there a lot of worms, maybe?

Baba Yaga._ Maybe, maybe!

Fox._ He can do anything!

Wolf._ He can do anything...

Vladik._ That’s great! /A _robot_ enters with a glass in his hands./ Zheleson, did you hear - they are looking for treasures! With this stick. /Takes a stick from Baba Yaga./ This is a stick, a stick. I would like one like this. /The Wolf, the Fox and Baba Yaga take turns drinking milk, clanking their teeth on the drink./

Baba Yaga_ /taking the stick from Vladik/. Thank you, good people, we will go.

Vladik._ Grandma, and grandma, could you...

Baba Yaga._ What, honey?

Vladik._ Let me play with your stick until tomorrow.

Baba Yaga._ No, I can’t!

Vladik._ Should I sell it?

Baba Yaga._ No.

Fox._ Why should we sell her, boy, when she is looking for coins for us?

Wolf._ Tatar sabers...

Vladik._ And exchange?

Baba Yaga._ Well, if you give something worthwhile, you might think...

Vladik_ /robot/. Zheleson, bring some snacks!

Vladik._ Here are four of them, one hundred meters each! Want to?

Baba Yaga._ No, son, I don’t want to!

Vladik._ What if... what if I give away a robot in addition? Do you agree?

Fox._ We agree, we agree!

Wolf._ We agree!

Baba Yaga._ We agree! /Caught up./ I don’t know what to do...

Vladik._ Well, grandma, well, dear... Agree!

Baba Yaga._ Well, okay... Take it! /Gives Vladik the staff./

Vladik_ /robot/. Zheleson, go with this grandmother!

Robot._ The program does not provide actions for such an action...

Vladik._ That’s good. Go!

Robot._ I obey! /Picks up the fishing rods and leaves, humming./

I am an iron robot, I am an iron robot,

Baba Yaga._ Goodbye, son, goodbye!

Fox._ Goodbye!

Wolf._ Goodbye! /They leave, singing along with the robot./

Be kind, be kind

Work and obey us, my friend!

Vladik_ /twists the staff in his hands/. Here it is, my lifesaver! All sabers are mine! All revolvers are mine! Fuck-fuck! On the horses! Attack! Hurray! /Runs around, twirling his cane above his head./ /The _Professor_ enters./

Professor._ Why are you so excited, my friend?

Vladik_ /twirls his cane in front of him/. Do you see?

Professor._ Yes, I see. And what's special about this stick?

Vladik._ Oh, you don’t understand! Yes, she's magical!

Professor_ /picks up the staff/. An ordinary birch stick, no more! Where did you get it from?

Vladik_ /taking the staff from his grandfather and admiring it/. He traded one with an old woman, a passerby, for a robot.

Professor_ /grabbing his head/. What have you done, you worthless boy! What have you done!

Vladik._ Come on, I’m tired of him, your robot! And I will do it myself!

Professor_ /coming to his senses a little/. Vladik, tell me, was the robot switched to working position?

Vladik._ I don’t remember, I think it was. And what?

Professor._ And the network of influence was turned on? After all, in this case, you will have to obey him from a distance... I hope you understand? /These words strike Vladik like thunder. The staff falls out of his hands./

Vladik /horrified/. I forgot to switch it! Je-le-dream! /Runs away./

Professor._ Poor, stupid boy! Or maybe all this is for the better?

/A curtain/

PICTURE THREE /Autumn. On the stage there is the same edge as in the first picture. Instead of a hut on chicken legs, there is a log house of a large new house. In the depths of the courtyard there is a forge with open doors. Fire is visible, the sound of hammers is heard. In the center of the yard there is a tall machine for sawing boards from logs. _Wolf_, _Fox_ are sitting at the machine, resting. To their left is a hand sharpener./

Wolf._ Enough, redhead, lying around, get up!

Fox._ I have no more strength. Paws are shaking, mouth is dry.

Wolf._ Okay, don’t pretend.

Fox_ /getting up/. Oh-ho-ho! They exchanged the cuckoo for a hawk. /Sawing./ /The _robot_ and _Baba Yaga_ come out of the forge, heading to the grindstone, with an ax in their hands./

Baba Yaga._ The hatchet turned out great! /Turns the handle of the sharpener, sings./

Oh, you turn around,

My sharpener

I have work

Became cute! /The Wolf sings along with Baba Yaga, then the Fox./

Saw, drank

For the barn

We are our own home

We build it ourselves

We put the oven

Made from bricks.

If we want, we'll build it

Across the stream! /The animals get carried away, sing and dance. _Cat_ appears in a chef's hat and an apron./

Cat_ /takes a balalaika and plays “Kamarinskaya”/. Eh, you son of a cat, Kamarinsky man!..

Crow._ Car-r! Car-r! How good! And no stealing!

1st squirrel_ /jumping from a branch to a friend/. How fun it is here! Come here, don't be afraid!

2nd squirrel._ Won’t the Fox eat me?

1st squirrel._ No! She has been eating only semolina porridge and vegetables for a long time! And the Wolf too! Let's go! /The squirrels approach the animals, sing and dance. Dancing, _hares_, _Bear_ enter the fence./

The cat_ /looks at his watch and hits a piece of rail/. Dinner! Dinner! Everyone have lunch! /The bear drags the table, the squirrels cover it with a tablecloth. The cat brings food. While the table is being set, Baba Yaga, the Wolf and the Fox sit on a log and talk. A robot with an ax in his hands stands at the grindstone./

Baba Yaga_ /Wolf/. So I look at everything and think: how we lived before, well, it’s just a shame to remember! /Embarrassed./ And they were cunning...

Wolf_ /looking at Fox/. And they stole...

Fox_ /looking at the Wolf/. And they cut...

Baba Yaga._ And they walked around tattered and hungry. And now this is how we live!

Cat_ /setting the table/. Help yourself, little squirrels, to some nuts! And you bunnies are good boys, cabbage. You, neighbor bear, are minnows! /Wolf and Fox go to the table./

Baba Yaga_ /robot/. Zheleson, come, sit with us.

Robot_ /flashing lights/. Battery discharge. Battery discharge. A one hundred twenty-five volt connection is required. Be kind, be kind... / Zheleson’s lamps go out, the ax falls out of his hands. The robot freezes./

Baba Yaga_ /horrified/. Darling, what's wrong with you? Holy, holy! Little animals, what a disaster!

Crow._ Car-r! Car-r! The robot is dead! Kar!

Squirrels._ How did he die?

Wolf_ /dropping a spoon on the table/. How did he die?

Fox._ How did he die?

Bear._ Here you go! /The animals get up from the table and slowly approach the robot. You can hear a cuckoo cuckooing somewhere far away in the forest./

Baba Yaga._ What will it be now? Fathers! /Wails./ To whom have you abandoned us, wretches, our breadwinner, bright-eyed sun? On whom did he throw his restless orphans? How we took care of you...

Wolf_ /howling to Baba Yaga/. Both from dampness and from rust...

Fox._ ...lubricated with oil...

Baba Yaga._ ...filtered with salt! /The animals stand with their heads bowed low. The squirrels sob. The bear wipes its eyes with its paws./

Fox._ Whom we lost. Eh!

Wolf._ Whom they lost. Eh! /Cries./

Baba Yaga_ /viewers/. It used to be that we would finish work, light the lamp, and he would read books to us: native literature, English... And he was a hard worker with a passion! What have I lived for a century without lifting a finger, and with him what a man I have become! I can do everything: forge, and turn the sharpener... Sometimes you want to be lazy, but your hands do just that, that’s what they do! Eh! What can I say! /Cries./

Wolf._ Should you take me? You used to wander through the forest with your tail between your legs, your head dark, your belly empty, and such anger at everyone that it chilled your skin! You sit down and howl out of anger! And now there is peace in my soul and such kindness that I would kiss everyone.

Fox_ /nodding at the Wolf/. That's why he became such that we have a very rare specialty - sawing boards. They call you to the collective farm, they invite you to the state farm! And honor everywhere, respect everywhere! And that’s it, our beloved teacher... /Crying./

Baba Yaga._ We will bury him in a glass coffin, among four pines, on Krasny Yar...

Fox._ We hang the coffin on steel chains...

Baba Yaga._ Will be visible to everyone, our sun! /Severely./ Hey you magpies, long-tailed rattles! Collect all the birds and animals of the taiga! At Krasny Yar! Let's pay our last respects to Zheleson! /You can hear the magpie chirping./

/A curtain/

PICTURE FOUR /Same as in the second picture. Morning. _Vladik_ is sleeping on the couch with a book in his hand. The _Professor_ is sitting nearby./

Professor_ /taking the book out of Vladik’s hands/. Sleeping, poor thing. Hands with bruises and calluses. Either he will be drawn to the forge, or to the carpenters... He has become so thin, my orphan! If this continues, I won't be able to stand it! /The professor gets up and walks excitedly around the terrace./ Urgent, decisive measures must be taken! By all means, I must find Zheleson and switch him! Let's hit the road! To hell with it! On the search! Now! Immediately! /Disappears at the door of the room. He returns with a backpack, carefully removes Baba Yaga’s stick from under the cot and, taking it with him, leaves./ /Nadya appears at the door with a bundle in her hand. Vladik wakes up./

Nadya._ Hello, Vladik!

Vladik._ Hello! What do you have?

Nadya._ Watch. /Unravels the package./ For some reason they became steel. And the cuckoo doesn’t cuckoo at all. It's almost time for school, but they're broken.

Vladik._ Come on! /Takes apart the watch./ So, interesting. Oh, here it is, it’s clear. Now your cuckoo will crow. “Be kind, be kind enough to work and obey me, my friend...” /Hangs a clock on the wall. The cuckoo is cuckooing./

Nadya_ /clapping her hands/. Cuckoos, cuckoos! Thank you, Vladik!

Vladik._ It’s not worth it. /Begins to squat and do exercises./ /A collective farm _Fitter_ enters with an accordion./

Fitter._ Hello, Danila the master!

Vladik._ Hello.

Fitter._ I brought the accordion. Two keys stick. Not a game, but a disorder! Look! /Plays./ Maybe you can fix it?

Vladik._ Let me try. /Corrects./

Fitter._ Well done! Oh, and the young girls will dance today! /Plays the harmonica and leaves./

Nadya._ And how does it work out for you, Vladik?

Vladik._ I don’t know! Out of habit, probably. You know: the robot influences me!

Nadya_ /dreamy/. I wish I could do that.

Vladik._ You’re a girl, you don’t have to!

Nadya._ Yeah, not necessarily! If you know, I want to be able to do everything! This is so interesting! Say: interesting?

Vladik_ /laughing/. I will say: interesting! You know?

Nadya._ What?

Vladik._ Let's go to the Irtysh, let's go for a swim?

Nadya._ Come on, Vladka! /Nadya goes to the wall to take off her watch. _Vanya_ runs onto the terrace./

Vanya._ Hello!

Vladik._ Did something break with you too?

Vanya._ Nothing broke for me! I saw your grandfather just now. With Pashka Lezhebokin. He told me to tell you that they went to look for Zheleson! And I'm with them! /Tries to run away./

Vladik_ /holds him/. Stop! Wait! What else did he say, don’t you remember?

Vanya._ Well, Zheleson tortured you, that you’re an orphan and covered in calluses. He wants to disconnect it from you, that’s what!

Vladik._ Wait! You are my friend?

Vanya._ Friend! And what?

Vladik._ We must prevent them from finding Zheleson!

Vanya._ Why is this?

Vladik_ /Nade/. Did I fix your watch?

Nadya._ Corrected!

Vladik_ /Vane/. Did he let you run the boat motor?

Vanya._ Let me in!

Vladik_ /Nade/. Could you do this?

Nadya._ No!

Vladik_ /Vane/. And you?

Vanya._ I don’t know...

Vladik_ /proudly/. But I can! I can do everything and I can do everything! And I like it! And if the robot is turned off... Do you understand? I can't do anything! Nothing!

Vanya._ Indeed... What should we do?

Nadya._ We need to catch up with grandfather and tell him... something. Explain! Or say that the robot has been found... somewhere!

Vladik._ How did you say - found?

Nadya._ Well, yes!

Vladik._ I came up with it! Hooray! Listen! /The guys whisper and then laugh together./

Nadya._ Well, I'm off!

Vanya._ Make sure you don’t get lost!

Nadya._ No! Hurry up! /Runs away/

Vladik._ Everything will be all right! /They go into the room./

/A curtain/

PICTURE FIFTH /Taiga. _Professor_ and _Pashka Lezhebokin_ are making their way through the dead wood into a small clearing./

Pashka_ /singing/.

I love napping on the stove!

Well, if I’m not dozing,

Reclining on the porch,

I love to husk seeds!

But it can be so sad

I spit husks...

I'm not that lazy

I'm not that bad!

Professor._ Now, Pashenka, let’s rest. Do you see the clearing?

Pashka._ I don’t see anything - just sticks and branches! The last button on my pants has come off! Where is she? /He searches, holding his pants with both hands./ Grandfather, and grandfather!

Professor._ What, Pashenka?

Pashka._ You seem to have a magic stick? Let me look for my buttons.

Professor._ Take it, my dear, try it, look, / Pashka sits on the ground, taps his cane./

Pashka._ Also magical to me! /Throws away the stick and looks again./ But there is one! /Returns to the Professor, looking around./ What a wilderness!

Professor._ Yes, it’s not crowded. Now you and I will light a fire and indulge in some tea. Go, Pasha, pick up some brushwood.

Pashka._ How can I pick it up, grandfather, when I have to keep my pants on?

Professor_ /rummaging through his backpack/. Here's a needle and thread for you to sew on your button. I'll dial it myself.

Pashka_ /singing/.

I'm not that lazy

I’m not that bad!.. Where should I sew it? Here or here? I'll sew it here. /Sewing./ Oh! Ahh! Uh! /The frightened _Professor_ comes running./

Professor._ What's wrong with you, Pasha? Did the snake bite?

Pashka._ What a snake! I'm sewing on a button, can't you see?

Professor._ So you sew it to your stomach, stupid!

Pashka._ This needle is so crooked!

Professor._ Let me try, my dear. /Sewing./ Done!

Pashka._ Something isn’t fastening!

Professor._ Really?

Pashka._ Here are those “come on”! Where there is a loop, there is a button!

Professor._ And we will cut a new loop. Like this.

Pashka._ Well, the loop is wider than the pocket!

Professor._ Nothing will fall out of the big one! Let's light a fire. Have you ever lit a fire?

Pashka._ No, I was lying more and more on the stove.

Professor._ Hm, what an idiot you are, brother! It's so simple. Here, break the brushwood. /Pashka holds a twig in his hands and begins to break it over his head./ Well, your head, Pasha... is excellent!

Pashka._ Yes, that’s a good head! /Breaks brushwood, sings./

I'm not that lazy

I'm not that bad!..

Professor_ /putting brushwood in a pile, lights a match/. Now get on your knees and blow! /Pashka blows, the fire goes out./

Pashka._ It went out...

Professor._ You blew very hard, Pasha. He even moved brushwood. Blow more quietly. /Lights a match./ Come on! /The match goes out./

Pashka._ It went out again...

Professor._ Strange as it may seem, but true. Come on, Pasha, let's stand against each other and blow together. /Pashka lights match after match, but they go out. Hares are watching Pashka from behind the trees and laughing. Squirrels laugh on the branches./

Crow_ /from the tree/. Ka-r-r! What a shame! Carr!

Professor_ /laughing/. Yes, with a fire, and therefore tea, we must assume that nothing will work out. Well, let's refresh ourselves with canned food. Can you open cans?

Pashka._ No, I can’t!

Professor._ Well then!.. /Puts canned food in his backpack, takes out crackers./ Let’s better eat a cracker each! /They are gnawing on crackers. _Nadya_ comes out into the clearing with a basket./

Nadya_ /noticing the Professor and Pashka/. Hello, grandfather! Hello, Lezhebokin!

Professor._ Hello, granddaughter!

Pashka._ Hello.

Nadya._ And I’m walking and I hear it cracking. Let me see, I think. And you eat crackers.

Pashka._ Let's eat. Have you picked any berries?

Nadya._ Bones. Help yourself!

Professor._ Thank you. In fact, we’ve already drunk tea and eaten canned food. But I think the berries won’t hurt us, Pasha?

Pashka._ They won’t hurt! /Are eating./

Nadya._ Bones are red these days!

Professor._ Yes? But we didn’t come across something!

Nadya._ So you also pick berries?

Pashka_ /important/. No matter how it is! Berries!

Professor_ /sighing/. We are looking for Zheleson, Nadenka, Zheleson. Yes, I thought here over tea that it would be better, perhaps, not to look for him! Unless... /Looks at Pashka./ And even then it’s unlikely!..

Nadya._ Are you looking for a robot? /Laughs./ So he was found!

Professor_ /indifferent/. Really?

Nadya._ I saw him at your dacha today.

Pashka._ Well! And we are sitting here... hungry!

Professor._ So the robot is at home?

Nadya._ At home.

Crow._ Car-r! The robot is dead! Died! Car-r! /Flies away./

Professor._ What did she say?

Pashka._ She said the robot died.

Professor._ Strange, strange! /Thinking./

Nadya._ Don’t listen to her, grandfather. Let's go home!

Professor._ Yes, yes! Certainly! /Ties up his backpack./ It is quite possible that he could have discharged... that is, died.

Nadya._ Grandfather, what are you talking about?

Professor._ Yes, nothing. I’m trying to understand one truth, the truth! /They leave..

/A curtain./

PICTURE SIX /Same as in the second and fourth scenes. In front of _Vlad_ stands a _robot_./

Vladik_ /admiring the robot/. Everything is okay. Zheleson!

Robot._ I’m listening, Master!

Vladik._ Take the Russian language textbook from the shelf and bring it!

Robot._ I obey! /Brings./

Vladik /throwing the book on the table/. So good! Zheleson! You and I repeat Russian, and I fall asleep. What should you do?

Robot._ According to instructions number four, paragraph twelve, I must turn on the influence network.

I am an iron robot, I am an iron robot,

I lit smart lamps inside myself...

Be kind, be kind

Learn to obey me too, my friend!

Vladik._ That's right, well done! Now get some rest. /He approaches the robot and begins to unscrew its head. In place of the robot’s unscrewed head, Vanya’s sweaty face appears./

Vanya._ Ugh, it’s hot! Maybe I should get out completely?

Vladik._ No, sit there. What if they come?

Vanya._ We found someone to send - Nadka! She will never find them in her life!

Vladik._ He will find it! Be patient a little!

Vanya._ Give me some water, or something. /Sneezes./

Vladik._ Now! /Brings it./ /Vanya drinks water, _Nadya_ runs in./

Nadya._ They're coming, they're coming! Doesn't he even have a head?

Vladik_ /puts a ladle into her hands/. Will now be. /Screws his head./ /Professor and Pashka enter./

Professor._ Here we are at home! Hello, Vladik! Hello, Zheleson! Are you back?

Robot._ Hello, Professor! I'm back!

Vladik._ Hello, grandfather!

Professor_ /Vladik, nodding at the robot/. Don't you think he's become a little shorter?

Vladik_ /shrugging/. No, it's the same.

Nadya._ What are you talking about, grandfather! He looks so similar! Just like the real thing!

Professor_ /hiding a grin/. Zheleson!

Robot._ I’m listening to you, Professor!

Robot._ Yes, a little. /Sneezes./

Professor._ Be healthy, Zheleson!

Robot._ Thank you.

Professor._ And now, Zheleson, sing my favorite song to celebrate. Sit down, friends, let's listen!

Robot_ /clearing throat/.

"The storm roared, the rain made noise,

Lightning flashed in the darkness.

And the thunder roared continuously,

And the winds raged in the wilds."

Professor._ No, Zheleson, not this one!

Robot._ Now I’ll sing another one. /Sings./

"The apple and pear trees were blooming,

Fogs floated over the river.

Katyusha came ashore,

On a high bank on a steep one."

Professor._ Wait, wait, my dear. You forgot everything!

Vladik._ He probably has a runny nose.

Robot._ I’ll remember now. /Sings./

"Once upon a time I lived with my grandmother

Little gray goat.

That's how, that's how

Little gray goat." /The robot dances. _Baba Yaga_, _Fox_, _Wolf_ and _Crow_ appear at the door./

"Grandma of the goat

Loved it very much.

That's how, that's how

Loved you very much!" /Sniffles, breathes heavily and stops./

Baba Yaga_ /Approaching the robot in amazement/. Zheleson, iris, are you alive?

Robot_ /backing away/. Alive, grandma, alive.

Baba Yaga._ Why didn’t you recognize me or what?

Robot._ First time I see it!

Baba Yaga_ /contritely/. It means he lost his memory when he was lying down.

Vladik._ What are you talking about, grandma?

Baba Yaga._ Forgive me, good people! Sorry, boy! I deceived you with the staff. Yes, apparently, she was punished for deception. She didn’t save Zheleson. He's been gone for a week - he's dead! /Looking at the robot./ Or didn’t die...

Vladik_ /joyfully/. A week, you say?

Baba Yaga._ Count from last Friday.

Vladik_ /dancing/. “Once upon a time there lived a gray goat with my grandmother...” And Zheleson, grandma, we will revive! With these hands. /Unscrews the robot’s head./

Baba Yaga_ /backing away/. Forget me! Chur!

Crow._ Kar! Like this? Kar!

Vanya._ Very simple!

Wolf_ /Fox/. This is not for you to cut boards!

Fox._ We know the deal, master!

Baba Yaga_ /looking warily at Vanya/. I heard, father, are you leaving with your grandson?

Professor._ Yes, the holidays are over. Time to go home.

Baba Yaga._ Maybe you can give a letter to my sister, your elevator operator? And a package from me?

Professor._ Half-Yage Pomyalovna?

Baba Yaga._ To her, the killer whale, to her!

Professor._ Well, it’s possible!

Baba Yaga._ Thank you! You are welcome to visit us this summer!

Professor_ /wary/. Where is this going?

Wolf._ Sawing boards...

Fox_ /Wolf/. All you have to do is cut! Shut up! /Professor./ To our labor colony!

Baba Yaga_ /embarrassed/. We opened the colony for all sorts of parasites...

Fox._ Leshy, water...

Wolf._ Leshy, water...

Professor._ That's how it is! So what are they doing, your parasites?

Fox._ And who does what...

Wolf._ And who does what!

Baba Yaga._ Water leeches catch... medicinal ones. The fish are smoked. And who gave the idea? That's all, Zheleson, our clear sun... /Crying/.

Vladik._ Don’t cry, grandma, we’ll revive our Zheleson!

Professor._ And we’ll leave him in the village for the winter... Pasha Lezhebokin opens canned food. Eh, Pasha?

Pashka._ Well, if it’s canned... then it’s possible.

Vanya._ So, will we have a robot in our village?

Professor._ It will be, Vanya, it will be!

Nadya._ That's great! / Fooling around, he walks around the stage with Baba Yaga. / I’ll take him by the hand and go to the cinema! And incompetent people meet: “Hello, Nadya! Hello, robot! Hello, robot!”

Vladik_ /thoughtfully/. Goodbye robot! /An accordion can be heard playing from the street. The _Fitter_ enters./

Fitter._ "Let there be light!" - said the fitter and revived Zheleson! /Vladik./ So to speak, quid pro quo! Ask! /Enter _Zheleson_./

Zheleson_ /sings/. “I read letters at the speed of light...” /General animation. Everyone surrounds the robot./

Professor._ Well, hello, sleeping knight!

Zheleson._ Hello, Professor! /Hugs the guys, greets Baba Yaga, hits the Fox and the Wolf on the shoulder./

Editor_ /viewers/. I’m walking along the line, suddenly - stop: robot! Exactly like Zheleson, only sleeping. And on the chest there is a socket - one hundred twenty-five volts. Well, I and...

Professor_ /hugging the guys/. What, are you happy? Oh, my wonderful friends!

Poems about the wind, as well as riddles, finger exercises, fun exercises and educational tasks for children. Let's learn by playing!

Today we are finishing our conversation games about the wind with the kids. Our children already know a lot about air and wind - there were experiments, fairy tales, games, and logic puzzles. And today - poems and riddles, and also about him - the autumn wind.

And just today I suddenly started thinking about why we’ve been talking about the wind lately! And I realized that this is very simply explained! The golden autumn has passed, winter has not yet arrived, outside the window there is greyness, wind and rain. Uncomfortable and unhappy. But it turns out that the wind can be interesting too! Let's remember our childhood together with the children and play with the wind! And maybe we’ll smile at the world and understand that the wind, even a cold one, is also wonderful!

Pantry of the wind. Timofey Belozerov

Ask your child what is stored in the pantry (at the dacha, in the village, in the apartment). Why do people make pantries? I wonder what is stored in the pantry by the wind? What can he put there, and why does he need it? And where might the wind storehouse be? Let your child reason and imagine with you.

The poet Timofey Belozerov looked into one such storehouse of wind and found there... guess what? That's what!

Whatever has been brought into the old ravine!

Kept in a ravine in the twilight of the night,

Tight earrings are a gift from the birch tree,

Flowers of fireweed, cuckoo tears,

Green, yellow beads of rain,

A partridge feather on a milk mushroom's hat.

Here, as if to the bottom of a chest, early in the morning

The wind throws sheets of fog,

In the stream, on the blue calico of the waves,

An antique Moon Brooch flickers...

What did the poet see in the storeroom by the wind? What would your baby like to give to the wind and put in his pantry? And why does the wind need this? These questions encourage the child to express his own opinion, and not someone else’s (after all, there is no definite answer here!) You can’t answer questions with a monosyllable “yes” or “no” either; you need to speak in detailed, beautiful phrases, and this is very useful for the development of creative imagination, and for children's speech development!

Invite your child to draw a fairy-tale pantry of the wind, figure out where it is, how it can be depicted and what will be stored in it.

Fun gymnastics “Fidget – the wind”

Now let's take a rest! And let's do some fun exercises! This gymnastics can be done even with the smallest children, encouraging them to repeat the simplest words: “kva-kva-kva”, “muuuu”.

Fidget-wind

He knows everything in the world (we wave our hands above our heads).

Knows how a frog sings: “Kva-kva-kva” (invite the child to squat down and pretend to be a frog, jump like one)
He knows how a shell makes noise: “Shu-shu-shu (we fold our palms into a boat and apply it to the left ear, then to the right)
He knows how the crow screams: “Kar-kar-kar.” (the child raises his hands up and flaps them like wings)
Knows how a cow moos: “Moo-moo-moo” (the child shows the cow’s horns and moos moooo)

How the wind helps the mill work

Ask your child, does the wind have a “job”? How does he help people, animals, birds? (we already talked about this with the baby - see article ) Yes, it turns out that the wind has a very important job - helping mills turn, spreading plant seeds, sweeping streets, bringing smells and sounds, helping parachutes and kites fly, and many other important jobs.

Wind, wind, wind...
Why are you scouring the world?
Better than the streets
Or cool the mills! Y. Akim

Show the child a mill in the picture. Mills are found in many fairy tales and cartoons (“Twist and Twist”, “Different Wheels”, “Puss in Boots”, etc.), but children do not always know why they are needed. Explain that grain is ground in mills. And flour is made from grain. Bread, pies, and buns are baked from flour.

Look - it's languishing in bags
Golden wheat.
The wind blows day and night
He wants to help the miller.
All the grain will become flour,
The flour will flow like a river.
They will bake for us from flour
Buns, buns, pies.

Finger gymnastics “The Wind and the Mill”

Do finger gymnastics “The Wind and the Mill” with your baby

We begin to pronounce words clearly, in rhythm, and gradually speed up the rhythm. We make rotating movements with our hands in front of our chests: “Mill, mill grinds flour, grinds, grinds, grinds, grinds (we speed up the pace). There is no wind, the mill has stopped. The wind blew again, the mill began to spin, and started working (we make movements with our hands to the rhythm of the words: “grinds, grinds, grinds, grinds”). The wind blew stronger. We twist our hands very quickly while pronouncing words quickly.

We ground flour (clench our fingers into fists, knock the fist of one hand on the fist of the other hand)
Here are huge bags! (arms to the sides - these are how huge the bags are!)

From flour, from flour

We baked pies! (palms open, clap one palm against the other - “bake pies”)

From ear to bread

If a child refuses bread or doesn’t like it, read these lines to him at lunch:

A spikelet grew in the field,
Taking juice from the ground.

Carefully squeezed by hand,

Became flour in the mill.

From that flour the baker

I baked some soft bread.

So much effort has been put into it,

And you only took one bite.

Miller

Ask the kid who works at the mill? Miller! What is he doing? Grinds grain. Sing an old Russian lullaby about a miller.

Hush, Little Baby, Do not Say a Word,
A miller lives on the edge.
He is not poor, not rich,
The room is full of guys.
Everyone is sitting on benches,
They eat Maslena porridge.
Butter porridge,
The spoon is painted.
The spoon bends
The mouth laughs
The soul rejoices.

A beautiful lullaby, isn't it? And in the singing of lullabies, the upbringing of the child proceeded imperceptibly - here is a friendly family, many children, and therefore the mouth laughs and the soul rejoices!

What does the wind do? Where does the wind sleep?

We already know that the wind, like people, has a very important job. What does he do when he takes a break from his work? Where does he sleep? What does he like? Here is one children's poem about the wind and its favorite activities.

The wind blew north from the south,
Swept dust from the road,
Clover swayed on the field
And combed the feather grass.
I leafed through the blades of grass,
I noted everything, took everything into account,
All the boogers on the path,
All the grasshoppers and bees.
He tousled the bushes and immediately
For the buzz and hum
I took the gadfly to the water
He blew the reeds angrily.
Passed along the river in waves,
I shook the float, jokingly,
Got on the boat between us
He fidgeted and fell asleep. (M. Pridvorov)

The second poem about the wind will tell us how to see the wind and hear it (The wind creaks the window frame, pushes the window, rustles papers, plays with the pinwheel):

I saw how the breeze
He was flying towards us!
He creaked the window frame,
Quietly I pushed the window,
Played with my Panama hat
He fidgeted and fell asleep.
He slept quietly
Slept peacefully
Didn't turn around, didn't interfere,
Then I sat down on the windowsill,
I rustled the paper a little,
Spun it in the corner with a turntable
And he lay down behind the pillow.
I saw everything. Only the wind
Apparently he didn’t notice me (G. Lagzdyn).

Invite your child to look out the window, listen and try to guess whether there is wind outside today.

How to draw the wind?Speech exercise

Is it possible to draw the wind? We have already tried to convey with a line the different moods of the wind in a children's fairy tale - see What color is the wind? Invite your child to ask the wind what color it is.

We repeat the first two lines with the baby:

Tell us, wind,

What color are you?

You will be surprised that the wind does not respond. Why? Try asking in a quieter voice – in a whisper – barely audible. Then louder - even louder - even louder - very loud. If the child immediately screams very loudly after a quiet sound, then stop him like this: “Oh, the breeze was scared! “Who is that screaming so terribly there?!” - and hid." Let's call him quietly - let him get used to your voice. And now a little louder, etc. with increasing volume. This exercise teaches the child to regulate the strength of his voice from quiet to loud and vice versa. At the end of the exercise, say: “So the wind heard our question and answered us” and read the poem in the voice of the wind.

Tell us, wind,
What color are you?
- I am the color of the sunset,
I am the colors of dawn
I am snow-colored
I am the color of fire...
The way I am
You will see me. (V. Lunin)

Why can the wind be different colors? (remember that wind is the movement of air, and air is transparent and has no color). When is the wind snowy? (In winter, during blizzards and blizzards). When is the wind the color of dawn? (In the morning). And the colors of the sunset? (In the evening). When is the wind the color of fire? (For example, when the breeze plays with the flame of a fire or with a candle flame). Tell your child that wind can be very dangerous during a fire because it quickly spreads fire through the forest. Therefore, during a fire, they try to cover the fire so that the wind does not carry it further.

What kind of wind is there? Winds, storms, hurricanes

Ask your child what time of year will come after autumn? What holiday awaits us in winter? Does he know who the winter winds are friends with? No? Winter winds are the main helpers of our beloved... Santa Claus! Don't believe me? Then listen to the poem!

The white grandfather slept in bed,
He stood up, jingling his icicles:
-Where are you, blizzards and blizzards?
Why don't you wake me up?
Mess in the yard:
Mud and puddles in December!

And from my grandfather in fright
Blizzards rushed to the fields,
And the snowstorms flew away -
They moaned, whistled,

We worked until the morning -
Everything was removed from the yard
All the scratches of the earth
Covered with white snow!

Early in the morning grandfather came out
He's wearing a new fur coat.
I wanted to check it myself
Through meadows and forests:
Is everyone waiting in a new outfit?
And are you ready to meet him?

“Yes,” answered the snowstorms,
Even the hares turned white!
Not a blade of grass in the fields
Not a leaf on the branches.

Only one Christmas tree
Yes fluffy pine
They don't want to obey
And the green ones are standing! (Nina Artyukhova)

Who are Santa Claus' helpers? What are the winter winds called? (Blizzards, blizzards) What do they do, how do they help the winter? You can dramatize this poem with a child or a group of children, giving the kids your transparent scarf or handkerchief, with which they will circle and cover the ground with snow. You can give everyone a silver New Year's rain. You read a poem, and the children depict blizzards and blizzards. They do it wonderfully! They howl, and spin, and dance, and purr, and get great pleasure from such a role as an Assistant to Santa Claus Himself!!!

Well, if you want to call on the real helpers of Santa Claus - winds, storms and hurricanes, then the words of S. Marshak will help us

Winds, storms, hurricanes,
Blow as hard as you can.
Whirlwinds, blizzards and blizzards,
Get ready for the night!
Trumpet loudly in the clouds,
Hover above the ground.
Let the drifting snow run in the fields
White snake!

It is very useful to learn this poem with your child and read it by heart while walking, helping winter to come to us as quickly as possible and calling on the winter winds! The text of the poem is remarkable in that it contains almost all the names of the wind - storm, wind, hurricane, whirlwind, blizzard, blizzard.

Game “The wind can be different”

This game is best played with a group of children. We will all pretend to be the wind together. When playing in a group of children, even shy children forget about their shyness and become more relaxed. But you can play with an adult and one child together.

At first, the breeze blows a little (we put one palm against the other and listen to this sound), but then it intensified (three times stronger), the trees began to crack (we clap our knees), a storm began (we depict it with sound, stretching our lips forward with a tube, the task is to draw out the sound as long as possible, you can change the pitch, volume according to the signal), a hurricane has arisen!!! (we add hand movements to the sound - as if trees are swaying). The wind began to subside (again “rustling” - three palms touching each other). The wind died down (we sit without moving and listen to the SILENCE).

The poem is a logical riddle for children about the wind.

Invite your child to listen to a poem about the wind and guess whether the wind was strong or weak at night.

The wind blew all night
Made noise
Ate,
The water wrinkled.
Pines
Old
They creaked
And you
Bent
By the pond.
Howled.
Dulo,
Howled
And when he came
Dawn,
Winds
As if it never happened
As if it didn't exist<
And no (S. Kozlov)

In windy weather, remind your child of this poem, listen to how the wind howls, watch how the trees bend. Ask your child what this weather (windy) is called. What is the weather called when it rains (rainy). And when does the sun shine? (solar).

Windy,
Windy,
The whole earth
Ventilated!
Wind leaves from branches
Spread around the world:
Lime,
Birch,
Yellow leaf and pink,
Red
Multicolored,
An old sheet of newspaper...
Sunny,
Bucket...
<Ветрено,
<Ветрено! (И. Токмакова)

Riddles about the wind for children

Tell your child one of the riddles about the wind. Don't suggest the answer. It’s better to help with leading questions (Who can fly and what? What else is said in the riddle?)

For children 3-4 years old, riddles with a clear answer in verse are suitable. For children 5-6 years old - riddles-metaphors in which the wind is compared to a person (“waved his sleeves - bent the trees”)

I'll shake the birch tree
I'll push you
I'll fly, I'll whistle,
I'll even steal my hat.
But I can't be seen.
Who am I? Can you guess?

No arms, no legs,
Prowls the world
Sings and whistles.
It is unknown where he lives.
It swoops down and bends the trees,
If he whistles, there will be tremors along the river.
You're a mischief maker, but you won't stop.

He often flies around,
I broke a lot of trees,
But no one, nowhere and never
I didn’t see him, didn’t hold him.

Not a beast, but howling.

No wings, flies everywhere

He waved his sleeves and bent the trees.

And at the end of our games with the wind, I want to give all readers of “Native Path” a lullaby. Not a simple one - but... a wind one! Why “wind”? Because the author of this lullaby is the Wind!

Wind lullaby. CM. Gorodetsky

I sway, I sway, I sway
Above your head.
Bye bye, I'm flying,
I rock your cradle,
Bye-bye, bye-bye.
Hurry up
Go to sleep.<
In my open field
Scarlet flowers do not sleep.
In my blue sky
The stars are shining clear.
They are waiting for me to fly to them,
“Sleep quietly” I will tell them.
I don't want to fly away
I look into these very eyes
I sway, I sway, I sway
Above your head.
Bye bye, I'm flying,
I rock your cradle.
Bye-bye, bye-bye.
Hurry up
Go to sleep!

I hope you enjoyed our introduction to the wind - games, logic puzzles, fairy tales, experiments, and poems! Write what else you would like to know about on the “Native Path”! I am always glad to receive your comments, questions and wishes!

Summary of educational activities in a preschool educational institution for children 6-7 years old "Wind Pantry".

Educational area-cognitive development.

Summary of educational activities in the preparatory group “Wind Pantry”.

Target: introducing children to the formation of wind.
Training tasks: study the properties of wind using poetic texts; explain to children where the wind comes from using games, experiments, speech exercises, fairy tales, and assignments; use the TRIZ technique (wind is good or bad). Introduce it to its properties. Learn to draw conclusions and conclusions in the process of observation and conversation.
Developmental tasks: develop cognitive interest.
Educational tasks: follow the rules of the game.
Materials and equipment: multimedia equipment; basin with water, paper boats; fan, candle, snake (a circle cut in a spiral and suspended on a thread).
Progress of educational activities:
Educator. Today, guys, we will talk about the wind, get to know it better and understand that the wind, even cold, is also wonderful.
Tell me, do you have a storage room at your dacha, at home, or in your apartment? Why do people need a pantry? (Old things are stored there, winter things are put there in the summer, and summer things in the winter, winter supplies that grandmother and mother make are stored there.)
Educator. I wonder what is stored in the pantry by the wind? What can he put there? Why does he need this? And where might the wind storehouse be? Let's speculate and dream together with you. One day, the poet Timofey Belozerov looked into one such storehouse of wind and found there...guess what? Here's what.
(There is an image of a ravine on the screen of the multimedia equipment.)
What hasn’t been trained into the old ravine!
Kept in a ravine in the twilight of the night,
Tight earrings - a gift from a birch tree,
Flowers of fireweed, cuckoo tears,
Green, yellow beads of rain,
A partridge feather on a milk mushroom's hat.
Here, as if to the bottom of a chest, early in the morning
The wind throws sheets of fog,
In the stream, on the blue chintz of the waves
An antique moon brooch flickers...
Educator. What did the poet see in the storeroom by the wind? What would you like to give to the wind and put in its pantry? (Children reason and fantasize.)
Educator. Guys, today we will find out where the wind comes from. I suggest you play with boats.
Experience game "Boats".
(The teacher brings into the group a basin of water and paper boats previously made with the children.) Come closer and lower your boats into the water and blow on them.
Educator. Why did the boats sail? (They are pushed by the breeze.) Where did the breeze come from? (We exhaled the air.)
(The teacher suggests organizing competitions for boats. Which boat will sail to the other shore faster (it’s better to take a square-shaped basin.) Boats for this game can also be made from walnut shells with a sail on a toothpick shelf attached with plasticine.)
The wind blows on the sea,
And the boat speeds up;
He runs in the waves
With full sails.
(A.S. Pushkin)
Educator. Well done, you played very well with the boats. And now the next experiment awaits us.
Experience - the game "Fan".
Educator. I suggest you make a fan from strips of paper. Take each person a piece of paper on your desk and fold it like an accordion. This is how your fan turned out. Now wave the fan in front of your face.
Educator. How did you feel? What is a fan for? (In hot weather, a fan gives us a breeze, which cools us and helps us.)
Educator. Wave each fan over a bowl of water. What happens in a bowl of water? Where did the waves come from? (From the wind.)
Riddle about the fan.
The wind is blowing - I'm not blowing

He blows, I don’t blow.
But then when I blow,
The wind is blowing towards me.
(Fan)
Educator. Well done and the next stage awaits us.
Experience game “Where does the wind come from?”
(The teacher brings a candle and a snake. It’s very simple to make a snake: take a circle of thin paper and cut it in a spiral, then hang the resulting piece on a thread. Lights a candle and invites the children to blow on it.)
Educator. Why did the flame deviate? (The wind blows.)
(The teacher places the snake over the candle flame.)
Educator. What happens to the snake? (It starts to spin.) Why is it spinning? (Because warm air rises and lifts the snake.)
Why does the wind blow in different directions? (It turns out that at the top the air comes out of the room to the outside. This is warm air. It goes out into the street. And the cold air is heavier and it is at the bottom. It enters the room from the street. This is how “wind” is obtained in the room. But this is exactly how wind is obtained in nature .)
Conclusion: wind is the movement of air. The warm one moves up and the cold one moves down, and they tend to change places.
Educator. Now listen carefully to the reasoning, or educational story for children about the wind, by the great Russian writer Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy, “Why does the wind happen (reasoning).”
Fish live in the water, and people live in the air. The fish cannot hear or see the water until the fish themselves move or the water does not move.
But as soon as we run, we hear the air - it blows in our faces; and sometimes when we run we can hear the air whistling in our ears. When we open the door to the warm room, the wind always blows from the bottom into the room, and from the top it blows from the room into the courtyard.
When someone walks around the room or waves a dress, we say: “he makes the wind,” and when the stove is lit, the wind always blows into it. When the wind blows outside, it blows all day and night, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in the other. This happens because somewhere on earth the air gets very hot, and in another place it cools down - then the wind begins, and a cold spirit comes from below, and a warm one from above, just like from the outhouse to the hut. And it blows until it warms up where it was cold, and cools down where it was hot.
Educator. This is how children were introduced to the wind in the 19th century. Do you guys know that the wind can work! It turns out that the wind is a hard worker: it helps mills spin, spreads plant seeds, sweeps streets, brings smells and sounds to us, helps a parachute and a kite fly...
Wind, breeze, wind...
Why are you scouring the world?
Better sweep the streets
Or mill circles!
Look - it's languishing in bags
Golden wheat.
The wind blows day and night
He wants to help the miller.
All the grain will become flour,
The flour will flow like a river.
They will bake for us from flour
Buns, buns, pies.
(Ya. Akim)
Finger gymnastics “The Wind and the Mill”.
Mill, mill, Children pronounce the words clearly, gradually speeding up the rhythm.
Grinds flour, grinds, Children make rotational movements with their hands in front of their chests.
Melts, grinds, grinds...
There is no wind - the mill has stopped.
The wind blew again and the mill began to spin. We twist our hands very quickly to quickly pronounce words.
Melts, grinds, grinds... Fingers clenched into a fist, fists knocking.
The wind blew stronger.
We ground flour Hands to the sides - these are how huge the bags are!
These are huge bags!
From flour, from flour. Palms open, clap one palm on we bake the other one
We baked pies! "pies".
Educator. We know that the wind, like people, has an important job. What does he do when he takes a break from his work? Where does he sleep? What does he like? Listen to a poem about the wind and its favorite activities.
The wind blew north from the south,
Swept dust from the road,
Clover swayed on the field
And combed the feather grass.
I leafed through the blades of grass,
I noted everything, took everything into account,
All the boogers on the path,
All the grasshoppers and bees.
He tousled the bushes and immediately
For the buzz and hum
I took the gadfly to the water
He blew the reeds angrily.
Passed along the river in waves,
I shook the float, jokingly,
He climbed onto the boat between us,
He fidgeted and fell asleep.
(M. Pridvorov)
Educator. And another poem about the wind will tell us how to see the wind and hear it. (The wind creaks the window frame, pushes the window, rustles papers, plays with a pinwheel.)
I saw how the breeze
He was flying towards us!
He creaked the window frame,
Quietly I pushed the window,
Played with my Panama hat
He fidgeted and fell asleep.
He slept quietly
Slept peacefully
Didn't turn around, didn't interfere,
Then I sat down on the windowsill,
I rustled the paper a little,
Spun it in the corner with a turntable
And he lay down behind the pillow.
I saw everything. Only the wind
Apparently he didn't notice me.
(G. Lagdzyn)
Educator. And now I suggest you play the word game “Choose a Word.” (The teacher asks the children questions, and the children answer.)
- What can the wind do? (Make noise, hum, rustle, howl, lift, swoop, etc.)
Guys, the wind can do a lot. Can it harm a person? (Yes, he destroys houses, breaks trees, rips a hat off his head, throws dust or snow in his eyes and overturns cars.)
- How does the wind help us? (Inflates the sails, turns the wings of the mill.)

Timofey Maksimovich Belozerov was born on December 23, 1929 in the village of Kamyshi, Kurtamysh district, Kurgan region, into a large peasant family. Childhood was spent in the foothills of Altai, where fate brought the family in the hungry thirties. He lost his mother early, and during the war he ended up first in Omsk, then in the Bolsherechensky village of Staro-Karasuk, being raised by a kind woman, Maria Nikitichna Terentyeva. Here he graduated from the seven-year school and continued his studies in the village of Chernovo.
Then fate brought Timofey Belozerov to the city of Kalachinsk, where his work career began. He worked as a simple worker cleaning railroad tracks, as a carpenter, and as a hired timber worker. Here he was constantly accompanied by an unsettled, hungry life. Some kind person advised him to enter the Omsk River School. There, he explained, the cadets are fully supported by the state.
The Omsk River School in those years was paramilitary. It trained not only river specialists, but also officers for the Navy. Having passed the competition (12 people per place), Timofey Belozerov became a cadet in the technological department. He graduated from college in 1952 and went for a naval internship in Vladivostok. Then he returned to Omsk and received a referral to Barnaul at the Bobrovsky shipyard with a diploma in metal cutting technology. As he himself recalled, he worked with passion, he liked the assertive and noisy mechanics, captains, and he liked the intense work on the shop floor.
During these years, the creative biography of the poet began. Like a magical miracle, a great love for poetry appeared, which arose in the fertile time of school, and with it a further passion for one’s own writing. The first publication of poems appeared in the Altai magazine. He was noticed and invited to Novosibirsk to a regional meeting of young writers. The leaders of the seminar, well-known poets at that time, Alexander Smerdov and Kazimir Lisovsky, approved of the young poet’s poetic experiments and advised him to write a book for children. Somewhat later, when Belozerov was already living in Omsk, such a book was published with colorful drawings by the famous Omsk artist K.P. Belova. It was called “On Our River” (1957).
In 1954, Timofey Belozerov was transferred to Omsk to the Office of the Nizhne-Irtysh River Shipping Company. He was hired as a literary employee of the basin newspaper “Soviet Irtysh.” Here he had to truly plunge into the working life of river workers not only on the river bank, but also on the deck of the ship. However, as the poet himself later admitted, work in the foundry shop of the Omsk Radio Plant named after. A.S. Popov was more suitable for his acquired profession and liked him better. Here T. Belozerov worked for several years, before entering permanent creative work in 1969 - it already provided enough money to support the family. During these creative years, he published books for children one after another: “Spring” (1858), “Forest Violinist” (1960), “Beeps over the River” (1962), “Garden Growing Up” (1962), “Forest Swing” (1963) and so on.
The accumulated creative experience contributed to admission to the Literary Institute. A.M. Gorky (in absentia), from which he graduated in 1963. Timofey Maksimovich himself recalled about the period of study in the only educational institution in the entire country: “Studying at the institute, in this restless “anthill”, where the air itself seemed to be saturated with literature, endless debates, reading, analysis of poetry, gave and revealed a lot. I began to look at children’s literature as a serious matter.” A year earlier, he was accepted as a member of the USSR Writers' Union.
In subsequent years, books for children by Timofey Belozerov began to be published annually, and in publishing houses in different cities: in Moscow, Novosibirsk, Sverdlovsk, Kemerovo, Barnaul, Alma-Ata, Kyiv, and even in Bulgaria and the GDR. Friendships began with great luminaries of children's literature. A positive assessment of his work was expressed in written and oral form: Agnia Barto, Sergei Baruzdin, Yakov Akim, Igor Motyashov, Yuri Korinets, Valentin Berestov, Vladislav Bakhrevsky... The classic of children's literature Elena Blaginina, with whom the poet had a real relationship, especially admired Belozerov's poems. friendship and active correspondence. With her foreword, T. Belozerov’s books “The Pantry of the Wind” (1970), “Winter-Winter” (1974) were published by the publishing house “Children’s Literature”.
The same publishing house publishes several books of different volumes with mass circulation and even millions of copies - “The Forest Weeping Man” with drawings by the artist-storyteller V. Suteev. (This tale was later republished several times). The book of poems “Karasik” with a foreword by Irina Tokmakova was published in two million copies. In the preface she wrote: “The poems of Timofey Maksimovich Belozerov are a breath of fresh air, permeated with the sun, smelling of a blooming chamomile meadow”... Only a real poet with a true sense of nature can see a hare in the first snowflake that fell on a meadow in late autumn, hear the clatter of deer hooves in the sound of a light summer rain, call the blue snowdrops Snow Maiden’s tears.”
The most expensive and favorite book for the poet was “Zhuravkin’s Holiday” (1980) with engravings by Nikolai Kalita, a well-known graphic artist in the country and abroad. This book received a 2nd degree diploma for printing at the International Book Fair in Moscow.
Many drawings for various books by T. Belozerov, published by the publishing house “Children’s Literature” and in the Omsk Book Publishing House, were made by the Moscow graphic artist Nikolai Korotkin. In the Omsk Museum named after. F.M. Dostoevsky, an exhibition of works by this artist was organized in addition to the works of our fellow countryman.
Children's magazines - "Murzilka", "Kolobok", "Pioneer", "Funny Pictures", "Misha", "Sibiryachok", "Koster" - willingly and regularly published the works of T. Belozerov, and even adult magazines "Siberian Lights", “Ural”, “Neva”, “Siberian-Far Eastern Land”. His poems can be found in many collective collections, almanacs, anthologies, and anthologies. Perhaps for each book, reviews, articles, and notes were written by different authors in regional newspapers, especially in Omskaya Pravda, where the poet worked as a literary consultant for about twenty years. Many aspiring writers came to him for advice and support. Some went on to become professional writers.
With the opening of the Omsk book publishing house in 1981, the poet published significant books of poetry: “Snowdrops” (1982), “Swan” (1986), and a book of fairy tales “The Little Housekeeper” (1989). And in total, over the course of his entire creative life, Timofey Belozerov published 53 books, half of them in Moscow publishing houses. And two dozen have already been published posthumously. The total circulation of the poet's creative heritage is more than 17 million copies.
For his services to Russian literature, he was awarded the government awards “For Labor Valor” and “For Valiant Labor. In commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the birth of V.I. Lenin". For the book of poems “Colored Voices,” published in 1972 as a gift edition, he received the Omsk Komsomol Prize. And a little later he was awarded the title “Honored Worker of Culture of the RSFSR.”
T.M. died Belozerov on February 15, 1986 and was buried at the Staro-Vostochny cemetery.

Vladimir Novikov

LIST OF PUBLISHED ITEMS

On our river.
Omsk book publishing house,
1957, 100,000 thousand copies.

Spring.
Omsk book publishing house, 1958, 200,000 thousand copies.

Forest violinist.
Omsk book publishing house,
1960, 100,000 thousand copies.

Horns over the river.
Novosibirsk bookstore
publishing house, 1961, 100,000 copies.

Horns over the river.
Moscow, Detgiz,
1962, 110,000 copies.

Choose according to your taste!
Sverdlovsk bookstore
publishing house, 1962, 50,000 copies.

Gardener Grow up.
Omsk book publishing house,
1962, 110,000 copies.

Forest swing.
Sverdlovsk bookstore
publishing house, 1963, 100,000 copies.

To my friends.
Omsk book publishing house,
1963, 110,000 copies.

Gardener Grow up.
West Siberian
book publishing,
1964, 110,000 copies.

Toptyzhka.
Sverdlovsk bookstore
publishing house, 1964, 100,000 copies.

The gates have opened!
Sverdlovsk bookstore
publishing house, 1965, 100,000 copies.

Fun, counting rhymes, riddles,
tongue twisters, fables.
West Siberian
book publishing,
1965, 50,000 copies.

Cheerful watermelon.
West Siberian
book publishing house, 1966,
100,000 copies

Taiga traffic light.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1968, 300,000 copies.

Horns over the river.
Alma-Ata, “Zhazusy”,
1968, 10,000 copies.

Nuts.
Altai book publishing house,
1968, 150,000 copies.

Blue hour.
Moscow,
ed. "Soviet Russia"
1969, 150,000 copies.

Blue hour.
Kemerovo, book publishing house,
1969, 100,000 copies.

Gulenki.
Folk lullabies
songs.
Middle Ural bookstore
publishing house, 1969, 150,000 copies.

Dance on the river.
Novosibirsk,
West Siberian
book publishing,
1969, 100,000 copies.

Dance on the river.
Moscow, "Baby"
1969, 100,000 thousand copies.

Nameless river.
West Siberian
book publishing,
1970, 200,000 copies.

Forest Weeper.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1970, 300,000 copies.

Among the green and blue.
Perm, book publishing house,
1970, 200,000 copies.

Pantry of the wind.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1970, 100,000 copies.

Forest violinist.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1971, 100,000 copies.

Miracles (riddles, counting rhymes,
Tongue Twisters).
Moscow, "Baby"
1971, 150,000 copies.

Magic staff.
Moscow, "Baby"
1972, 150,000 copies.

Mosquito bun.
Novosibirsk, West Sea
Birsk book publishing house,
1973, 150,000 copies.

Forest Weeper.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1974, 300,000 copies.

Winter-winter.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1974, 100,000 copies.

Gardener Grow up.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1976, 300,000 copies.

Magic staff.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1976, 150,000 copies.

Forest poems.
Moscow, publishing house "Malysh",
1976, 1,500,000 copies.

Currant bush.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1977, 100,000 copies.

Lark.
Novosibirsk,
West Siberian
book publishing,
1978, 150,000 copies.

Forest Weeper.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1979, 2,100,000 copies.

Horses are galloping
(poems, riddles).
Moscow, "Baby"
1979, 200,000 copies.

Zhuravkin holiday.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1980, 50,000 copies.

Karasik.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1981, 2,000,000 copies.

Fairy tales.
Novosibirsk,
West Siberian
book publishing,
1981, 200,000 copies.

Where the grass grows thick.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1981, 150,000 copies.

Beech.
Sverdlovsk,
Sredne-Uralskoe
book publishing,
1981, 350,000 copies.

Snowdrops.
Omsk book publishing house,
1982, 100,000 copies.

Sweet cranberry.
Omsk book publishing house,
1983, 100,000 copies.

April.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1983, 100,000 copies.

Wonderful song.
Moscow, publishing house "Malysh",
1984, 100,000 copies.

Loaf.
Omsk book publishing house,
1984, 250,000 copies.

Eternal flame.
Moscow, publishing house "Malysh",
1985, 300,000 copies.

Forest Weeper.
Moscow,
ed. "Children's literature",
1986, 2,000,000 copies.

Swan.
Omsk book publishing house,
1986, 50,000 copies.

Enchanted Grove.
Moscow, publishing house "Malysh",
1986, 150,000 copies.

Puzzles.
Moscow, publishing house "Malysh",
1987, 500,000 copies.

Whistle with a pea.
Omsk book publishing house,
1987, 40,000 copies.

Forest Weeper.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1988, 2,000,000 copies.

This is my village.
Omsk book publishing house,
1988, 50,000 copies.

Dvorovichok.
Omsk book publishing house,
1989, 50,000 copies.

Winter-winter.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1989, 450,000 copies.

Bayushki (folk colas
white songs and amusing
ki). Omsk book publishing house,
1990, 200,000 copies.

Summer song.
Moscow,
Children's literature,
1990, 100,000 copies.

Zhuravkin holiday.
Moscow, publishing house "Malysh",
1990, 500,000 copies.

Song over the creek.
Omsk book publishing house,
1991, 100,000 copies.

A living gift.
Omsk book publishing house,
1992, 100,000 copies.

River fairy tale.
Omsk book publishing house,
1992, 100,000 copies.

Forest violinist
(in Ukrainian),
1992, 87,000 copies.

Starlight (compiled by
IN AND. Belozerova).
Omsk, 1997, 999 copies.

Seasons
(compiled by V.I. Belozerova).
Omsk, publishing house
"Dialogue-Siberia"
"Heritage". 1999, 999 copies.

Forest Weeper.
Another reissue
in Moscow, 2001

Karasik.
Omsk,
Publishing House
“Science”, 3000 copies.

TANKER NAMED AFTER THE POET

In Omsk there is both a street and a library named after the great Russian poet Timofey Maksimovich Belozerov (1929-1986). And now, on the initiative of Omsk writers, primarily Alexander Tokarev and Vladimir and Vladimir Novikov, the motor ship “Timofey Belozerov” appeared. The event is more than fair, because Timofey Maksimovich’s first profession was a riverman.
“Timofey Belozerov and I entered the Omsk River School in 1948,” says A.P., a member of the Union of Writers of Russia. Tokarev. - I studied at the navigation department, and he studied at the technology department. After graduation, I worked as a navigator on the ship "Azerbaijan", and he worked at a ship repair plant in Barnaul. Returning to Omsk for family reasons, Timofey went to work at the editorial office of the newspaper “Soviet Irtysh”. It published his early poems, which he began writing while still in school. When we were in our second year, we formed a literary club. Belozerov was the oldest among us, and his poems were the most mature. Then he worked as a foundry foreman at a radio factory. At that time, Timofey Belozerov was already a widely known poet, publishing his wonderful books.
After his death, when a high relief was installed on the wall of the house where he lived in memory of him, I said: it would be nice to name at least a small ship after him. But it turned out that it was not a small, but a huge tanker, an oil tanker with a carrying capacity of 2100 tons, 108 meters long and 15 meters wide...”
The meeting on the occasion of naming the ship after the poet was held on the tanker itself, and it is symbolic that it was on May 24 - the Day of Slavic Literature and Culture, as well as the 100th anniversary of the birth of Mikhail Sholokhov. River workers, writers, and workers of cultural institutions gathered on the deck of the tanker. The speeches were short but succinct, and everyone agreed on one thing: the name of Timofey Belozerov should be immortalized!
On the same day, the tanker "Timofey Belozerov" sailed towards the Far North, where the entire navigation will operate on the transportation of petroleum products. And many, many people will see the name of the classical poet on board.

Yu. Viskin

A memorial stone was erected on Martynov Boulevard to the wonderful Russian poet Timofey Maksimovich Belozerov. This event is very, very significant for the cultural life of not only our city, but also the cultural life of the country. After all, Timofey Belozerov is a long-recognized classic of Russian literature, without whose name the very concept of “cultural space” is already unthinkable.
It’s wonderful that a memorial stone was installed on this street: Belozerov lived here, expressed himself here with a whole kaleidoscope of books! During his lifetime, he published more than 50 collections, which were and are read with love by entire generations.
Now the number of his books has exceeded seventy. And it will grow, this process is unstoppable, since Belozerov’s legacy already belongs to eternity.
Walking along the alley and stopping at the stone in memory of Timofey Belozerov, you will certainly feel in your soul a touch of the sublime and beautiful, which bears the name - Poetry.

A personal fund has been created at the Kurtamysh Museum of Local Lore
writer Belozerov Timofey Maksimovich,
where manuscripts, correspondence, photographs, documents, publications and personal belongings are stored.
In the children's library. G.N. Zubov has books by the author.

Without mom

In memory of my mother
Arina Trifonovna

The sunny frame has already become
The benches are higher and the corners are sharper.
Without you, caring mother,
It immediately became close to the doors...

The plane sparkled under the clouds,
The lark fell from a height,
And with your dark hands
The roadside flowers smelled.

I walked to the river into a dark lowland
To strangers, smoky fires.
The wind blew in my face, then in my back
He drove me away from childhood for the time being.

Driven into an unlocked hallway,
In the cellars for a glass of milk,
In steamship holds on your knees
He stood under the weight of the bag.

Wind, wind!..
Knocked out frames
Ceilings in makhorka smoke...
Finding yourself on earth without your mother
I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Dogs

Dogs caress me.
Seeing the school ahead,
They give me signs with their tails:
“The test smells!
Do not go!
That’s the thing - across the river!..”
And I gave up on everything.
I shared a loaf of bread
I gave away the remaining sausage...
I haven’t been to the meadows yet today, -
Follow me, devoted dogs!
But every dog
With his tail wagging,
Disappeared
behind the first bush.

The ship's smoke curls above the deck,
Seagulls fly by, the shores float.
The further north you go, the stricter nature is -
The sky is silent, the taiga is darker.
Krutoyars are smoking with loose sand,
The channels are full of meadow silence.
And now the ancient city of Tara
The tower houses above the pier are visible.
And again bushes, strips of bread,
Bays in the green coolness of the branches...
And suddenly, as if in a fairy tale, the sky was filled
All with the domes of Tobolsk churches.
With belfry openings,
wide and narrow,
With arrows of towers, battlements of the Kremlin, -
Eternally for us -
for Tatars and Russians -
Holy places and native land.
The sun, tired of the sea, sets,
The river sighs lazily and sleepily,
And lightning in the sky -
like the feathers of the Firebird,
And the cloud is like a mane
Little Humpbacked Horse!
Book list

Now we will get acquainted with a poem by the famous poet Timofey Maksimovich Belozerov.

But first, let's remember his biography.

Timofey Maksimovich Belozerovborn in 1929 in Siberia into a large peasant family.

Timofey lost his mother early, and his father died during the Great Patriotic War. He was adopted by Maria Terentyeva. At the age of 12 he moved to Omsk, where he got a job. He made shoes, was an apprentice carpenterá and an artist, cleared snow from railroad tracks. After the war, at the age of 23 he graduated from the Omsk River School.

It was during these years, longing for the rivers and Siberian taiga, that he began to write poetry, which was first published in local newspapers and magazines, then began to be published as separate books. By the time Belozerov graduated from the Literary Institute, he was already the author of several collections of poetry. The poet devoted all his work mainly to children.

T. Belozerov’s poems were published in children’s magazines “Murzilka”, “Kolobok”, “Pioneer”, “Koster”.

These books, so different, are united in one thing, the most important thing - love and devotion to the land where the poet was born and raised. These are books such as: “On Our River”, “Living Gift”, “Lark”, “Wonderful Song”, “Winter-Winter” and others.

Now we’ll check how carefully you listened.

Tell me, at what age did Timofey start working?

For what reason was the boy, at the age of 12, forced to start working?

Where were Belozerov’s poems published?

Name examples of books written by Timofey Belozerov.

- Open the textbook on page sixteen, find Timofey Belozerov’s poem “The Wind Storeroom.” I will read it first, and then one of you. Close your eyes, listen carefully to the poem, you need to imagine the picture that the author describes.

Whatever has been brought into the old ravine!

Kept in a ravine in the twilight of the night,

Tight earrings - a gift from a birch tree,

Flowers of fireweed, cuckoo tears,

Green, yellow beads of rain,

A partridge feather on a milk mushroom's hat.

Here, as if to the bottom of a chest, early in the morning

The wind has thrown sheets of fog,

In the stream, on the blue calico of the waves,

Antique flickers

Brooch

Moons...

So, what picture did you imagine after listening to the poem?

Guys, look at the title of the poem - “Pantry of the Wind”. How do you understand this?

Where does the wind carry its treasures?

- What does the poet compare the old ravine to?

Vocabulary work.

Guys, in the poem we came across such words as “twilight”, “Ivan-tea”, “cuckoo’s tears”, “rain beads”, “early early”, “canvas”, “chintz”. Let's find out what they mean.

Twilight - Poor lighting, almost complete absence of light.

Blooming Sally - Large herbaceous plant with purple-pink flowers. The name of the plant is associated with an ancient legend. In a village near St. Petersburg there lived a young guy named Ivan who loved to walk through the fields. And he loved to wear red shirts. And the villagers compared the color of his shirt with the flowers of the plant.And one day the flowers fell into a pot of boiling water, and the infusion turned out to be pleasant and refreshing. So in that village they began to make a healing drink from the leaves and flowers of fireweed.

Cuckoo's tears is a herbaceous medicinal perennial plant. Name “Cuckoo Tears” - associated with the legend of a cuckoo who cried over a plant and left her tears in the form of spots on the flowers.

What do you think, “rain beads”?

Why are they green and yellow?

Early in the morning - early in the morning.

Canvases – thick canvases. This means that in the poem “canvases of fog” are thick morning fog.

Chintz - This is a lightweight cotton fabric.

- And now the poem “Pantry of the Wind” will be read expressively...

Guys, let's go to a forest clearing and get acquainted with the fairy tale of Valentin Dmitrievich Berestov.

Let's get acquainted with the biography of the poet.

Valentin Dmitrievich Berestov

Born in 1928 near Kaluga in the family of a history teacher.

“When I was four years old, an extremely important event happened in my life: I learned to read. This was very helpful. After all, it was then that our children’s literature was created... I remember how I stood at the gate and waited to see if the postman was coming with the latest issue of children’s magazines... From then on, I forever fell in love with children’s literature and children’s writers,” recalled Berestov.

The writer’s literary activity began like this. “At the age of 14, I plucked up courage and showed my poems to Korney Chukovsky. This meeting became decisive in my future life.” Friendships with Samuil Marshak and Alexei Tolstoy played an important role in Berestov’s development as a writer.

In addition to literature, the poet was interested in history and traveled a lot.

Among the works for children, the most famous collections of poems and fairy tales are: “About the Car”, “Happy Summer”, “How to Find a Path”, “Pictures in Puddles”, “What is the cutest thing” and so on; in the writer’s work there is a story “I am being invited to Mars”, “There will be no adventures”, “Sword in a golden scabbard”, “Stone grains”, as well as stories, essays and translations.

Which poets helped Berestov in his literary activity?

Name the poems and stories of Valentin Berestov.

Read the riddle on the screen and try to guess it.

I grow like a worm, I eat a leaf.

I wrap myself, then fall asleep.

I don’t eat, I don’t look, I lie motionless.

But suddenly I come to life, I leave my home.