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.
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