Poet Beth "Batyah" Elishevah Ginzberg expresses her creative poetic meditations about water as a very powerful atmospheric element of the environment. Ginzberg wrote these poems at the East Rogers Park Lake Michigan Beaches, on-the-spot, to experientially convey the full effect of the Great Lakes of Chicago, IL USA for your reading pleasure.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

BEACH BIRDS IN LOVE

Image result for birds on a beach

Seeing the love of a bluebird cooing together with no, not another bluebird, but with a red-breasted robin instead. Hearing the song of these two birds of different feathers, different types of birds, but falling in love and singing their song together.

A bluebird and a red-breasted robin together sipping water from a fountain in a yard, bathing together in a bath built just for them, a Jacuzzi in a yard with flowing waters like chocolate where to dip your strawberries. A fountain of waterfalls like the Niagara in Canada, but in your neighborhood forest flowing as a trickling brook where the birds go to drink.

A bluebird and a red-breasted robin, loving each other, even though coming from different flocks, birds that fly freely in the sky, with no danger of beebee guns, a red-breasted robin also cooing together with a red cardinal bird, flying together and flying free, flying as their love spreads as their feathers pick up with speed in the wind, birds that have no doubt, no anger, needing no forgiveness, not understanding why they say "birds of a feather flock together."

Being a talking parrot of many different colored feathers, whistling and talking, saying words of a human language, a parrot having a brain of intelligence, not in a cage but flying free in the tropics, a bird who owns his own island in the middle of the ocean.

Being human but learning from these birds, learning your lessons from nature, studying the flight patterns and lifestyle of birds, building your own nest high in a tree, a treehouse, and warming eggs as you sit comfortably in your tree, being protected as the mother bird cannot be captured along with her young.

The mother bird therefore singing the loudest and the sweetest, a song of opera in the air, a mother bird whose eggs did not crack, whose nest was not toppled by the wind in its tree. A mother bird whose young grows up with nests of their own in trees of their own, a mother bird who can be proud of her young and of their young, generations and generations of free birds of every color, every feather, flying together.

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