Happy birthday from famous poets. Congratulations to the poets of the classics happy birthday to the woman

The one who at least once tried to find
There are traces of an elusive melody in the words
Today there will be a holiday -
A wonderful holiday - World Poetry Day.

I am very pleased that congratulations
He has a relationship to poetry.
Accept, poets, my rhyme,
Congratulations to all the poets!

Congratulations to everyone who speaks in verse,
Congratulations, who is in love with poetry,
Or maybe we'll write poems ourselves,
After all, life is beautiful, if with a verse!

Look at weekdays and compose lines
For the glory of life, happiness and love,
Praise to the poets that in high verse
They have decorated our whole life!

Feather and inkwell. Soot lamp.
Dances of shadows of bygone eras.
Oh Gods! What talents were!
Divine how many verses
Hearts make you pound incessantly!
Petrarch's sonnets, Shakespeare's sonnets,
And Dante and Balmont decorated the regiment:
Tertsina shine and trio ...

Playing with beaten rhymes now
I try to congratulate the poets with verses.
I call Pushkin's muse to me,
But my voice still screams unanswered ...
The meters are confused, the sizes are mixed,
And my rhythm is, perhaps, harmful to the ear.
Oh, come on, poets, such examples,
So that it becomes sweet both to the heart and to the ear!

To all poets on earth
We want inspiration
And talent and love,
And great patience!

Let the heart beat with happiness
And the verses flow like a river
Let no edge be seen
Human gratitude!

Let the muse visit you
On weekdays, holidays - always.
Let them read your books
The cities clap!

I will send you my humble work,
Even though you are a much better poet.
But appreciate it and don't forget
That he is from the heart, from the mighty.

I wish you many years to come.
So that you have time to write a lot.
So that you live them without troubles.
So that there is always a lot of light at home.

I wish you well
Great love and joy.
So that there is a lot of happiness, so that the river!
And a fee to be immodest.

A strict rhyme spills,
Again music flows through the lines.
We go each our own way,
Choosing my own paths.
Everyone knows what he will write about.
Everyone is looking for their own skill.
And now the muse is breathing quietly,
Sinking down on your shoulder.
Let greetings sound for talents
And for those who are a simple rhymer.
For people, congratulations are not a pity for us.
Congratulations, people!

Please accept our congratulations on Poetry Day,
Today everyone will compose their own poem!
Make them, write rhymes in notebooks
For friends, loved ones, for their relatives!
Who wrote, or listened to at least a small rhyme,
We will receive congratulations on the Day of Poetry!

How many different peoples in the world,
How differently you can live
But there is only one holiday in the world
Allowing us all to create!

Congratulations on poetry day,
May spring only bloom in my heart
We wish you well today
Everyone who is friends with poetry lives!

Today life, whatever it is,
In poetry, it serves as an inspiration to me.
Well, and poetry, believe me, friends,
Life rhymes all kinds of excitement.

And today this greeting,
In honor of the day of poetry, I expound in verses
For those who were able to prose their lives
Change poetry with magic words.

On the day of poetry, I wish
More rhymes and bright lines!
I melt your poems,
I even read them for future use!

You write so that you want to cry
Then laugh, dream happily.
Easy and simple - the style is unique,
Thank you for your talent!

And happy birthday to you
We wish you happiness, sincerely loving,
Strong health and joy of the soul,
So that the years are wonderfully good!

So that your soul flies in the sky
And we saw inspiration in our eyes
To lay down the lines on a piece of paper,
God blessed your work!

A string of your heroes
Today I stood in a row,
They left the pages
Everyone wants to congratulate you.

Meeting your birthday
Let inspiration into the house
Plots, episodes flock
Fill in white sheets.

Let yours, writer, not run dry
Source of thoughts and ideas,
Let the descendants write: "Classic",
Next to your surname.

Happy birthday to a talented writer, kind and good person. I wish you creative inspiration, unusual plots, gallant ideas, excellent health, a large number of admirers, true success and personal happiness in life.

Write, write! And we honor
How we congratulate you today,
We wish you the development of creative plans,
Large fees and spontaneous awards,
In a family of understanding, affection with love,
After all, a creative person is difficult at times.
Let the critics graze in silence in the south
We know you are the best writer around!

I wish you a lot of inspiration
Plots are bright, interesting,
Infinite patience
Truly wonderful ideas!

Let your health not fail
And all dreams come true!
Let success find you
So that you taste the glory!

A writer is a creative person.
I wish you well.
Health and good luck in life
Let them never fail.

I wish you joy and happiness.
Let success await in your career.
You can write beautifully.
I wish you to live without troubles.

We are all happy to congratulate you
We want to say from the bottom of our hearts,
Without any exaggeration:
"Your books are all good!"

We wish you happiness and health
For you for many years
To make great inspiration
Never left!

Happy Birthday,
Stitch and pen master,
I wish you inspiration
From night to morning.

May the great masterpieces
Will bring you recognition
Let it always inspire
You are a glorious calling.

May talent be appreciated
Let life be only bright
Will never touch you
Let the gloom and sadness.

I wish you scoop up inspiration with a spoon,
To earn recognition in writing,
May every day be kinder than the past,
So that with all my soul I would like to live stronger!

I wish you romance, pleasant meetings
And happiness is an endless flight
And let the stream of fans be immense
He will find all the importance in your work!

You can boldly invent fate
For all the heroes of his work,
But I just forgot in a continuous run,
What a holiday today, your birthday.

So let it light up in the sky tonight
Your star, illuminating the road,
And everything that the heart cherishes,
He warms you all his life with love!

I wish you skill and inspiration,
Calm and patience
Dignity and nobility,
May good luck smile on you!

Have prosperity and success,
Work, so that there are no obstacles,
So that Pegasus does not leave,
The spark of talent has not died out!

Modern woman
Modern woman -
Wrapped up with vanity,
But as before, divine!
Let it be a little tired
But, as before, beautiful!
Not fully understood
Not subject to anyone!
Modern woman
Modern woman -
That is sad and thoughtful
That is light and solemn.
To prove her weakness
Overcome her in insolence
In vain men try
They hope in vain!
Do not boast of strength
But on it - nevertheless -
And office worries,
And family concerns!
Knowing everything in the world,
All past adversity -
Remains a mystery
Modern woman!

Robert Rozhdestvensky

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Two clouds don't make the weather
And two tears make no rain.
A haughty look is not yet a sign of the breed,
And the hat is often the head of the nail.
Striving does not mean purpose
And two rubles is not capital yet.
Two shots don't make a duel
Two valor is not ideal yet.
Two glasses are not fatal for a reveler
Two clowns are not a booth yet,
Two attacks don't mean a fight
Two kisses are not even a romance.
How often do we worry in vain
And we see a storm where the sky is clear.

Anna Akhmatova

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Love is a beacon raised over the storm (W. Shakespeare)
Love is a beacon raised over the storm
Shining in the gloom and fog
Love is the star by which the sailor
Determines the location in the ocean.
Love is not a pathetic doll in your hands
By the time that erases roses
On fiery lips and cheeks
And threats are not scary to her at the time.
And if I'm wrong, and my verse is lying -
Then there is no love and no poetry of mine!

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I learned to just live wisely
Look up to the sky and pray to God
And wander long before evening,
To tire out unnecessary anxiety.
When burdocks rustle in the ravine
And there is a bunch of yellow-red mountain ash,
I compose funny poems
About a perishable, perishable and beautiful life.
I'm coming back. Licks my palm
Fluffy cat, purrs more tenderly,
And a bright fire lights up
On the turret of the lake sawmill.
Only occasionally does the silence cut through
The cry of a stork flying to the roof.
And if you knock on my door,
I guess I won't even hear.

Anna Akhmatova

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Revival
Barbarian painter with sleepy brush
The picture of the genius blackens
And your drawing is lawless
He draws meaninglessly over her.
But the colors are alien, with the years,
They fall off with decrepit scales;
The creation of genius is before us
Comes out with the same beauty.
This is how delusions disappear
From my tortured soul,
And visions arise in her
Initial, clean days.
1819
Pushkin

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As long as we are alive, we can fix everything ...
To realize everything, to repent ... Forgive.
No revenge on enemies, no cunning on loved ones,
The friends who were pushed back should be returned ...
While we are alive, you can look back ...
See the path we left.
Waking up from terrible dreams, push off
From the abyss to which they approached.
While we are alive ...
Stop the loved ones leaving?
We did not have time to forgive them during our lifetime,
And to ask for forgiveness - could not.
When they go into silence
There, where there is definitely no return,
Sometimes a few minutes are enough
To understand - oh my God, how we are to blame ...
And the photo is a black and white movie.
Tired eyes with a familiar look.
They have forgiven us long ago
For being too rarely around
For not calls, not meetings, not warm.
Not faces in front of us, just shadows ...
And how much was said wrong
And not about that, and the wrong phrases.
Tight pain - guilt is the final touch -
Scratches, hurts the skin with cold.
For everything we didn't do for them
They forgive. We ourselves - we cannot ...

Eduard Asadov

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I drink you captivating life
With eyes, heart, sighs and skin.
It would seem that everything is the same
Like a perfectly accurate mechanism.
But how wrong we are - oh God!
In fact, everything is diverse.
And every day is filled with novelty.
Diamonds burn differently in the night
Bottomless stars - in winter and spring.
We feel summer differently
And insatiable autumn infusion.
We know all the questions and answers
And all the same we shout to the time: "Wait!"

Marina Tsvetaeva

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We lose half our lives because of haste.
Hurrying, we sometimes do not notice
Not a puddle on a russula hat,
No pain in the depths of your beloved eyes ...
And only, as they say, at sunset,
Amid the hustle and bustle, in captivity of success, suddenly,
Will grab you mercilessly by the throat
Fright with cold hands:
Lived on the run, chasing a ghost,
In the networks of worries and urgent matters ...
Or maybe the main thing - and missed ...
Or maybe the main thing - and overlooked ...

Julia Drunina

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They must be subtracted from the calendar,
and life is getting shorter.

Was busy with stupid vanity,
the day passed - I did not see a friend
and did not shake his hand alive ...
Well! This day I must throw off the circle.

And if I haven't remembered my mother in a day,
I haven't called my sister or brother at least once,
then the justification has nothing to say:
that day is gone! An invaluable waste!

I was too lazy or tired -
did not see a funny performance,
I did not read magic poems
and deprived himself of something, didn't he?

And if I didn't help someone,
did not compose a single frame and not a line,
then robbed today's result
and made life one more day shorter.

To fold - it's so scary how much you squandered
at gatherings where it is neither warm nor hot ...
And he did not say the main words of his beloved
and didn't buy flowers or a gift.

How many days that were wasted
days that died somehow by the way.
They must be subtracted from the calendar.
and measure your life even shorter.

Eldar Ryazanov (the author's spelling and punctuation are preserved)

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Winter morning
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still asleep, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up;
Open your eyes closed with bliss
Towards the northern Aurora
Appear as the star of the north!
Evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
In the dull sky haze was worn;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the gloomy clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
But now ... look out the window:
Under blue skies
Great carpets
Glittering in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river shines under the ice.
The whole room is amber shine
Illuminated. Merry bang
A flooded stove crackles.
Nice to think at the couch.
But you know: shouldn't you order to the sled
Turn the brown filly?
Gliding in the morning snow
Dear friend, let us run
Impatient horse
And visit the empty fields,
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.
1829
Pushkin

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Prayer
Desert fathers and blameless wives,
To fly with my heart in the field by correspondence,
To strengthen it in the midst of long-term storms and battles,
Piled up many divine prayers;
But none of them touch me
Like the one that the priest repeats
In the sad days of Great Lent;
More often than not, she comes to my lips
And he strengthens the fallen one with an unknown force:
Master of my days!
The spirit of dull idleness,
Lust of power, this hidden snake,
And do not let idle talk to my soul.
But let me ripen my, O God, sins.
Yes, my brother will not accept condemnation from me,
And the spirit of humility, patience, love
And revive chastity in my heart.
1836
Pushkin

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Song of Prophetic Oleg
How prophetic Oleg is now being assembled
To take revenge on unreasonable khozars:
Their villages and fields for a violent raid
He condemned to swords and fires;
With his retinue, in Tsaregrad armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.
From the dark forest towards him
There is an inspired wizard,
An old man obedient to Perun,
The messenger of the covenants to come,
Who has spent the whole century in pleading and divination.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.
"Tell me, sorcerer, favorite of the gods,
What will come true in my life?
And soon, to the joy of the neighbors-enemies,
Will I fall asleep with earth on the grave?
Show me the whole truth, don't be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward ”.
“Magi are not afraid of mighty rulers,
And they do not need a princely gift;
Their prophetic language is truthful and free
And he is friendly with the will of heaven.
The years to come are lurking in the haze;
But I see your lot on a bright brow.
Remember now my word:
Glory is a joy to the warrior;
Your name is glorified by victory:
Your shield at the gates of Constantinople:
And the waves and the land are submissive to you;
The enemy envies such a wondrous fate.
And the blue sea is a deceiving shaft
In the hours of fatal bad weather,
And a sling, and an arrow, and a crafty dagger
Years have spared the winner ...
Under the formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible keeper is given to the mighty.
Your horse is not afraid of dangerous work;
He, sensing the master's will,
Then the meek stands under the arrows of enemies,
It rushes through the abusive field,
And the cold and cutting him nothing.
But you will accept death by your horse. "
Oleg chuckled - however
And the look was clouded by a thought.
In silence, resting your hand on the saddle,
From the horse he dismounts sullen;
And a faithful friend with a farewell hand
And strokes and pats the steep neck.
“Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,
It's time for us to part:
Rest now! I will not set foot
Into your gilded stirrup.
Goodbye, be comforted - but remember me.
You, boy friends, take a horse!
Cover with a blanket, shaggy carpet;
Take me by the bridle to my meadow;
Bathe, feed with selected grain;
Water with spring water ”.
And the youths immediately departed with the horse,
And the prince brought another horse.
Prophetic Oleg is feasting with his squad
With the jingle of a cheerful glass.
And their curls are white as morning snow
Over the glorious head of the mound ...
They commemorate days gone by
And the battles where they fought together ...
“And where is my friend?” Said Oleg, “
Tell me, where is my zealous horse?
Are you healthy? still eh lego? to his run?
Is he still the same stormy, playful? "
And hears the answer: on the steep hill
Long ago he rested a deep sleep.
Mighty Oleg bowed his head
And he thinks: “What is fortune-telling?
Wizard, you deceitful, insane old man!
Despise your prediction!
My horse would still carry me. ”
And he wants to see the bones of a horse.
Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,
Igor and old guests are with him,
And they see: on a hill, by the banks of the Dnieper,
Noble bones lie;
The rains wash them, their dust falls asleep,
And the wind blows the feather grass over them.
The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull
And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!
Your old master outlived you:
At a funeral, already close,
You won't stain the feather grass under the ax
And give my ashes hot blood!
So this is where my death lurked!
The bone threatened me with death! "
From the dead head the coffin serpent
Hissing meanwhile crawled out;
Like a black ribbon wrapped around the legs:
And the prince, suddenly stung, cried out.
Circular buckets, foaming, hiss
On the lamentable feast of Oleg:
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on the hill;
The squad is feasting at the shore;
Soldiers commemorate the days gone by
And the battles where they were cut together.
1822
Pushkin