Great ones about poetry:

Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.

Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.

Humboldt V.

Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.

The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.

If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.

A. A. Akhmatova

Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.

I. S. Turgenev

For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.

G. Lichtenberg

A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.

Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.

Murasaki Shikibu

I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"

We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.

John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"

Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok

Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.

Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"

I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...

Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.

Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"

Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.

Poems about September are some of the most beautiful. Nature is especially beautiful this month. Golden and crimson leaves, warm days of Indian summer create a special atmosphere.

In September
(L. Kim)

The breeze plays in September
It's beautiful with fallen leaves,
Accompanying you to school for class,
It tangles our hair playfully.
Autumn will swirl in the falling leaves,

Golden autumn is rushing to us,

(L. Zubanenko)

A playful bird in September in the forest
Throws a rowan into the thick dew,
Shakes the heads of withered flowers,
I painted the tops of the bushes purple,
Cold showers shade the garden,
He doesn't like the green outfit
And rushes south in a fast flock,
Carrying away heat from snowstorms and blizzards.
Every moment he sends us landscapes
And he sings a song about autumn life.

In September
(L. Kim)

The breeze plays in September
It's beautiful with fallen leaves,
Accompanying you to school for class,
It tangles our hair playfully.

Autumn will swirl in the falling leaves,
Paint the leaves yellow.
Golden autumn is rushing to us,
And he won’t ask whether we are waiting for her or not.

In September
(N. Yazeva)

In September, in September
Lots of leaves on the ground
Yellow and red!
Everyone is so different!

"Golden September"

(Iris Review)

Golden September.
Enveloped in haze
Dozing under the moon,
Our familiar garden

The leaves are flying around,
The stream does not gurgle,
And not visible in the field
Proboscis rooks.

"September"

(Iris Review)
Summer whispered: “I’m running away,
I'll take the flowers and paints,
I invite you to visit September,
You’ll have to bring him to court.”

September will give you gold,
He will reward you with rich bread,
In the morning it will beckon you into a wonderful forest,
You will be surprised by the gifts of the forest.

"Sad September"

(Iris Review)
Sad September
Continuous rains
The huge clouds have no end in sight,
The rowan and willow trees have already drooped,
They nod quietly at the porch.

"September"

(Iris Review)
September. No sun.
The day has become shorter
Hung in the sky
An alarming shadow.

I can't hear the robin
Only the winds
They sing mournfully
A song in the morning.

"September. The tops of the birches are turning yellow"

(Iris Review)
September. The tops of the birches are turning yellow,
The aspen trembles anxiously,
The web flies, knows no boundaries,
But still waters do not shine.

September has arrived
(N. Firefly)

September has arrived with colors,
Touched the leaves tenderly
And the tree is simple
Suddenly it turned golden.

September brought umbrellas,
It rained on the grove
And grew up on a hummock
Waves and breasts...

Asked the children to care
Walk through puddles in boots.
And sadly, good friend
Sent the birds south

In September
(S. Tsokur)

It's not sad yet in September:
Warm afternoon, everything is in flowers.
Tomatoes and cabbage
They keep up in the fields.

In the mornings, of course, it’s chilly,
But there is no frost yet.
And also a green hat
The tired forest will dress up.

The bird noise does not stop,
But it's cool time
Reminds me of myself
Boring rain in the morning.

September saddens us with tears of rain
(O. Kukharenko)

September saddens us with tears of rain...
Already, grasses have been hidden under silver more than once,
There are transparent frames on the puddles in the morning,
The rowan tree under the window began to glow like a child...
The river runs and hurries, trying to avoid
Tormenting sleep and long captivity...
And the maple whispers to the birch with inspiration,
How can he wait patiently...

In September in the forest
(Z. Pisman)

The yellow leaf circles and curls,
The rain drips and pours,
The rowan trees have already turned red,
Threads of cobwebs hang.

The wind flies and swirls
And the birds sing softly,
A ray of sunshine melts in the clouds,
The day is running away faster.

The forest is filled with mushrooms
Leaf, needles underfoot.
Dewdrops are melting on the grass,
Mushroom pickers are invited to the forest.

The squirrel is looking for a nut,
Her fur fluffed up.
The hedgehog walks, not in a hurry,
And there is a mushroom on the back.

The bunny jumps, loops,
He is picking cabbage.
The mole is preparing the bins,
Winter is not scary for him.

September
(A. Metzger)

September. The bell rang

And a tangle of yellow leaves,
The breeze moves across the sky.

Here it is September
(T. Kersten)

The sun is hiding, the sky is gloomy.
So September is guarding at the gates.
The grass has wilted, the bushes are empty.
A bird's "goodbye" flies towards us from above.

Summer ended quickly... What a pity!
The leaves on the maple trees are trembling timidly...
But don't be sad about the summer day:
Make an autumn bouquet from leaves.

September
(A. Metzger)

September. The bell rang
The baby is starting first grade.
And a tangle of yellow leaves,
The breeze moves across the sky.

And you can’t hide anywhere... What do I have to lose? Who's to blame? Who should I trust? And outside the window it’s September again, the sky is turning back with the leaves swirling, the rain is knocking, but, alas, the doors are closed.

With September in your eyes, with January thoughts, with March in your heart and the warmth of July in your soul. So every year we re-read the calendar page by page. It’s only autumn, but we can’t wait to find out when is summer?

And the rain drums on the window, and autumn whispers: “It’s all gone...” It’s only the end of September, and my dreams are not about you, no longer about you...

It is difficult to understand the students; they fearfully await the first day of September, dreaming that this day will never come. However, they celebrate the start of their studies with pleasure.

It's September, which means it's time for hot coffee with cinnamon and soft vanilla buns. And around there are the colors of autumn leaves, and in the air there is the aroma of smoke.

I love the September time... After all, it was then that WE and the thin connecting thread of our love appeared.

September foliage shines golden. Its aroma is akin to the fragrance of good wine. The city is intoxicated in the grip of autumn.

Continuation best aphorisms and quotes read on the pages:

September bleeds through old scars.

September has passed. What are you left with?

And summer is over. And September caught up with the cold. Now it is very difficult to believe in any miracle...

Eh.... and before we went to September 1st for the sake of the lineup, but now for the sake of getting drunk. – Statuses about September

It’s now the first of September and everyone’s contacts are “black and white”... :)

We walked down the street and the lights went out after us, plunging the city into cold melancholy... And this melancholy is forever in my heart...

Give me your September already, this summer everything is clear to me...

But there are hopes for a better September.

you think it’s all just rain, but these are actually someone’s tears...

If a guy just gives you flowers on the second of September, it means that one of his parents is a teacher!

September. Veresen. Pensive. Zorevnik. Howler. Fieldfare. Leaf grower. And this is all the same month!

- Damn, I forgot the second verse, don’t you remember how it is, what is autumn?... - September, October, November. - thanks, Cap. Shevchuk just died...)

September 1: “Hurray, I’ll finally see all my classmates!” September 2: “Damn, it would be summer soon.”)

9 years ago, September 11, 2001. The terrorist organization Al-Qaeda carried out attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon in the United States of America. Let's not forget! We won't forgive!

Eh. I wish I could bring back that September...

I want winter... because after winter there is spring, and after spring there is summer... And after summer there is September... after September there is hell, after hell there is heaven... then hell again... and after hell there is SUMMER)

Eh. I wish I could bring back that September...

Fear of madness! Fear of loss! Fear punishes! There is pain in the heart. A lot of me. The doors are closed. Forgotten password!

It’s September – autumn outside, but March in my soul still won’t end.)

Masha bought 70 copies of Cosmopolitan for September and poured herself a whole bottle of shampoo.

Autumn, it’s cold outside now I hate this September, it caused so much pain... I hate the summer of this year, because all that was in it was you and all the memories are connected with you...

September walked, circled with leaves, an autumn ball for you and me, autumn gave and called, called with itself, called with itself an autumn dream, shrouded in a gentle veil! We were happy then, together with you.

September walked, circled with leaves, an autumn ball for you and me, autumn gave and called, called with itself, called with itself an autumn dream, shrouded in a gentle veil! We were happy then, together with you.

Everyone says: “I don’t believe it’s September 1st, etc.”, but I’m glad I went to school, it would have been very boring! :*

Let's bring your September here! This summer everything is already clear. Whisper: “Everything is fine,” inaudible. It flows away like water. How many tears this summer has brought. So much screaming, resentment and pain. The soul is breaking free again. My heart is not warmed by anyone.

The university develops all abilities, including stupidity.

There is nowhere to run, nothing to lose, no one to blame, no one to trust, outside September is turning the sky back and the rain is knocking on locked doors.

Drops fall on the glass, And only one thing happened, That at the end of September I see dreams... Not about you, not about you...

September. But it's not rain on my cheeks. These are tears of joy because you are with me! (tears of sadness because you are NOT with me).

Give me your September already, with this summer everything is already clear to me!

I don’t remember the notes, and I don’t remember the motive, I lost myself, letting him go. You said goodbye, left forever, the month of September, And there is water on the glass... No one needs this love of ours anymore...

I love September... He gave me YOU in the app with happiness)

Today is the last day of summer! And tomorrow is the festival of drunken bows.)

September is burning... It didn’t reach her through your dead hearts... The last breath snatched from life...

She simply collected large yellow maple leaves in the fall and looked for echoes of summer in them, loved getting wet in the rain and the salty taste of her warm tears...

The wet silver rain brings coolness with the arrival of September. Falling leaves are showering the whole country with gold. Dozing autumn garden as if waiting for spring. (With)

September is burning... It didn’t reach her through your dead hearts... The last breath snatched from life...

Autumn. September. Tired smile. Gray day and sad morning, tea and chocolate in the evenings, and warm memories for dessert...

Statuses about September - Autumn. September. Sad smile. Thoughts. Photos of friends. Vacation photos. Memories of summer. Why did it end so quickly?

It's raining in the morning and I'm sick with a hangover. You swallow warm tea and sip the Belomor. And outside the window there are sad trees...

The last Friday of the expiring September!) Summer is coming, I know it.

Crap. Well, it’s not fair, why do I fall in love in September?! And every year it gets worse. This time he is younger than me. Hard. I don’t even know how to start communicating with him... All my thoughts are about him. Crap. What a fool.

Fuck... September is already ending... Ass. Except it was summer... Kick!

I don’t understand the schoolchildren, everyone seems to be waiting for September 1st with horror, wishing that it wouldn’t start for a longer time, but in the end everyone goes to celebrate it with joy..

Damn, when they brought me to first grade on September 1... No one warned me how long this would all drag on...

IN at different ages September is perceived differently. It's terrifying at school, but after it... colorful leaves and feelings of something terribly familiar...

September will cover the path home with gold, and accidentally touch you with the breath of the wind. . . And I was ready to run after you across broken glass for kilometers...

September. Tired smile. Gray day and sad morning, tea and chocolate in the evenings, and warm memories for dessert...

This is what September means: getting together in a cafe with friends and discussing couples and teachers. sadly.

Crap! Tomorrow is the first of September, line, and as luck would have it, my headphones are broken!

You lost yourself by letting me go. I said goodbye and left forever. It's September and there's water on the glass. You know for sure that everything is your fault. You were with others, and I was home alone. And only now do you seriously understand that you are not at all worth my tears... And even if I forget about you, you will wait!

September means coffee with cinnamon, multi-colored maple leaves, like part of a child’s drawing, warm, delicate buns with vanilla and a subtle smell of smoke...

Autumn. September. Sad smile. Thoughts. Photos of friends. Vacation photos. Memories of summer. Why did it end so quickly?

September! Well, it's time to learn a little...

There's nowhere to run, nothing to lose, no one to blame, no one to trust, it's September, the sky is turning back and the rain is knocking on locked doors.

On the first of September the children went to school. Nobody was able to cut it down.

She differs from others in that she hates summer like everyone else, but loves, sincerely loves autumn. And not September, not November, but October, only October. She doesn’t care what others think, the main thing is that there is her October, her native October.

Wake me up when September ends...

In fact, the approach of the first of September is joy for some, and incredible torment for others.

Scattering gold on the crowns, wine, splashing on the leaves. Autumn is coming, the whole city is enchanted by it in September...

September! Well, it's time to learn a little...

With whom New Year you spend it, and that’s why the children will be in September.

Autumn. September. Sad smile. Thoughts. Photos of friends. Vacation photos. Memories of summer. Why did it end so quickly?

There is nowhere to run, nothing to lose, no one to blame, no one to trust, outside September is turning the sky back and the rain is knocking on locked doors.

Sergey, 15 years old: Yes, I helped my mom and dad earn money for a new apartment, on the website...

It started raining all night... Now I’ll put on a raincoat, take an umbrella-cane and go wander through the dark streets, scaring rare passers-by with my shadow and the sounds of footsteps..

September walked, circled with leaves, an autumn ball for you and me, autumn gave and called, called with itself, called with itself an autumn dream, shrouded in a gentle veil! We were happy then, together with you.

The dawn from the garden poured over the windows, with the bloody tears of September...

in the eyes - September, in the head - January, in the heart - March, the soul is warmed by July. So, year after year, we leaf through the calendar, welcoming autumn - in anticipation of summer.

Great ones about poetry:

Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.

Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.

Humboldt V.

Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.

The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.

If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.

A. A. Akhmatova

Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.

I. S. Turgenev

For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.

G. Lichtenberg

A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.

Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.

Murasaki Shikibu

I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"

We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.

John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"

Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok

Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.

Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"

I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...

Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.

Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"

Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.

The most best statuses about September

Scattering gold on the crowns, wine, splashing on the leaves. Autumn comes, the whole city is enchanted by it in September...

It’s poured into a glass in September in the Indian summer, he drinks with pleasure, rejoicing at the guest - glass after glass, after all, he’ll leave without asking. The air is still saturated with the last warmth - the artist Autumn mixes the magical colors on the natural palette.

So for two weeks, day after day, “Indian Summer” brings happiness, giving everyone love... We and September are in his power...

September, affectionately kissing the autumn bride, said: “I wish you all love and happiness!” and “Indian Summer” gave...

September with a song of love along the yellow carpet of foliage, driven by the autumn wind, circling fine days...

But autumn on the calendar will remind you of this with a crimson leaf. And the warm rain in September is a farewell to the past- Indian summer!

September painted everything around with flowers and smiles. I laid out a carpet of leaves - it had golden highlights.

Today Indian summer is in full swing, and the autumn rains will soon begin to fall. The day of September has become very short; we wish we had time to enjoy the beauty.

Reluctantly parting with summer, we will enter reddish autumn. Throughout September we admire the golden rain easily and carefree.

Autumn has again scattered its watercolors along the paths with leaves. And the bonfires of September burn out with tassels of chilled rowan tears... The soul is again filled with the mournful wind of pipes. The bare palms of the birches are reaching towards the sky, but everyone has their own autumn...

Autumn woman, perfection! Well, it’s not for nothing that they say - Indian summer. Warmed by unearthly beauty, and the rustling of leaves, bliss. Autumn woman in September. These are magical sounds of the wind. And the trees' cold hands, without leaves, tremble so much at dawn.

September was walking, circling leaves, an autumn ball for you and me, autumn gave and called, called with it, called with it an autumn dream, wrapped in a gentle veil! We were happy then, together with you.