Category: Portraits
Words can paint, each letter, a bristle of a brush. The sentence becomes a stroke. Paragraphs shape objects. A portrait needs no beginning, middle, or end. When we look deep at a painting, we can’t help but wonder why the Mona Lisa smiles. If you look deep enough at portraits, close enough to pick out desire, they jump out of the frame. The frame is the story. Break out! Break out!
Posted on August 24, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
24 Comments
When the wind takes its fingers and scrapes along the top of the forest, a murmur of voices erupts. This is the sound of lovers who can whisper and speak out loud at the same time. Ears have the ability to hear these intertwined…
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Posted on June 22, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
15 Comments
Full of space, it invites your wishes to be written down upon it. Then, as soon as you jot or type something within its parameters, it looks back at you and tells you more about what your wishes then you knew. A…
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Posted on May 29, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
24 Comments
The lamps bob in between echoes. They can only reverberate for so long, then disappear around a curve. So we tether together, in small groups of nonsense It is our belief that we will come to the end, turn around, and find the…
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Posted on May 15, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
15 Comments
We were underneath, before it crossed over the river. Tires sizzled above us like a new form of electricity. These were sounds of an alien world, our planet. Our arms glued on to it, tentacles. Yet, we couldn’t follow it. The kid was…
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Category: Flash Fiction, PortraitsTags: Author, Bridges, Fiction, Freeway, Ghosts, Murder, Mystery, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Roads, Writing
Posted on April 27, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
23 Comments
The train is always heard, cutting through waterfalls and springs. Only by standing close to the noise of water can the sound be heard. How does this waterfall speak? Each splash that ricochets off a rock looks the same as the one before. Each…
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Category: Poetry, PortraitsTags: Author, Columbia River Gorge, Ghosts, Hiking, Indian Myths, Indigenous People, Land, Multnomah Falls, Native American, Nature, Poem, Poetry, Shamen, Waterfalls, Witchcraft, Writer, Writing
Posted on April 17, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
22 Comments
This stream is the coldest my hands have ever touched. If there is a bottom to its shallowness, I can’t find it. The water seems so damned clear, too clear. I think I should be able to see, but I can’t. It must be…
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Category: Flash Fiction, PortraitsTags: Author, Books, Ferns, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Foliage, Forest. Ghosts, Hamlet, Nature, Ophelia, Reading, Rivers, Shakespeare, Streams, Writer, Writing
Posted on March 20, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
30 Comments
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Category: Flash Fiction, Poetry, PortraitsTags: Author, Aztecs, Climate Change, Drought, Mythology, Passion, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Prose, Rain, Religion, Romance, Storm, Writer, Writing
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