Monday, May 18, 2009

Good Day,

My name is Mark Stratton and I've included the following poems for consideration in (A Brillliant) Record Magazine.

Wandering Mind

I live with a notebook at my side because my Muse is a jealous soul. The following were inspired by the world around me and letting my unconscious mind wander where it will. I've been published in Hogan's Alley, a magazine about comic art. It was a column on websites for comic fans that ran for a few issues. I blog about life, the universe and everything at

Thank you for your time in considering these pieces of me. I look forward to hearing from you.

Wandering Mind

I freed my mind to wander
And the first place it went
was a scattered pile of
faded memories and overused cliches

I spied a young boy fishing
For dreams. But catching shoes
Or perhaps an old broom
Lost in last years flood.

That burned the town to the ground.
For when the water receded
It went on vacation, except
In plastic bottles that can
Kill you if you drink it.

On a warm summer day when
Lemonade is better with burnt
Hot Dogs and the ashes from the Fire.

That won't go out but can't
Keep burning because
The dreams are soaking wet
From lonely tears


Dreams are made of this.
What is this? This, that
Dreams are made of?

Are dreams made of
Velvet and cotton?
Strong and comfortable.
Or polyester
That look good from afar
but pill and fray and
look cheap up close?

Or, are dreams made of scary
and evil and underwear
In public, miles from home?
Exposed and secret
and sweaty in the night?

Is THIS what dreams are made of?

Or of toil, hard work and
A plodding
on to tomorrow
Where goals were once Dreams?

Or are dreams butterfly wings
or a skirt blowing in the breeze
The laughter of a child
Clouds in the sky
or the Home Team winning it all?

if we don't know
Don't know what this 'this'
is. That dreams are made of

How do we know when

they come true?


In empty dreams
I see spirals
Coded swirls
Directions in liquid

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...