Reading Mary Oliver's "Mockingbird" this morning prompted this thought/poem, which is somewhat chastening as I had set aside this morning for some more focused "creative writing.." Of course this is not a patch on Oliver's and in itself illustrates the very point I am making in it... Ah well... The thief of other sounds the poet's description of the mockingbird could apply comfortably to me a magpie of shiny thoughts because even when I am speaking from my true self I am only ever a complex amalgamation of ideas, influences and inspirations a recombination of generations of genes with only defunct or deleterious mutations likely to be remotely original and even then they and everything else are at source recycled stardust yet even in my unoriginality I am as the internet meme says unique just like everyone else.
Dialogues, monologues, sketches, poems, rants, theological and liturgical bits and bobs and miscellaneous other verbal doodles...