Joel Lippert
Bio
We all just create something out of something else; to create something out of nothing would be truly divine, would it not?
Stories (19)
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What Is This Crap?
I hope they catch me, I really do, so I can explain my motive in a rational, informed manner. I’m not crazy, you know. To catch me in act, however, someone would have to look over my six-foot fence to see into the backyard, and who is going to do that? Not sure why I’m so paranoid about it. I stopped for three years. Why did I start again this season?
By Joel Lippert3 years ago in Fiction
Forgive Me If You Don’t Recognize Me
The picture I have in my mind of some of you from what feels like mere seconds ago, blends with you as you are now, sometimes like chickpeas and humus, hard to believe one was once the other – other times like milk in espresso smoothing out the rough, scalding edges of your youthful flavor. And do you see me as still an avocado, or am I now guacamole? Plain black pekoe or iced chai? Melancholy and my mirror suggest that measure us both only through my slightly wishful, much more wistful, fading blue, Dorian Grayish eyes.
By Joel Lippert3 years ago in Poets
Hitting the Sauce
If you think that world hunger or any kind of food security issue is about our inability to produce or grow enough food, you might change your mind if you take a casual look at any grocery store’s condiment aisle, for example, and then multiply what you see by every grocery store in your town (and/or, the world). Think of what each of them are made of: You’ll find (among other things); ketchup/tomatoes, mayo/eggs, mustard/mustard seed (which takes a lot of land), and of course pickles & relish/cucumbers.
By Joel Lippert3 years ago in Earth
Don't Blink
What should I do with those eyes, those gypsy eyes? They murder and resurrect me, either side of a blink. I think I’m free from them, and then I see them again, even when I’m not looking I see them, there in the periphery of my silly heart. And when they see me too, in moments of unspoken, shared, blurry clarity, I’m somewhere between knowing, longing, and utterly lost when I try to fathom what they are telling me, like water drops dancing on a hot skillet, disappearing into the thick, heated air, the mist finding its way into my parched eyes.
By Joel Lippert3 years ago in Poets
