ALL I WANT IN LIFE IS…

My Stacks Of Books 3All I Want In Life Is…

By Jorge Antonio Vallejos

1. Books

2. Books of poetry

3. Comfy chairs, stools, hammocks and couches to read Books

4. Books by Indigenous Writers and Writers of Colour

5. Money and gift cards for Books

6. Personal libraries full of Books

7. Bookmarks

8. Books by Queer and Trans writers

9. A woman who loves and reads books as much as I do

10. More Independent, Queer and Trans, and Women’s bookstores to open and thrive

11. More time and quiet to read Books

12. More storage space and shelves for my many Books

13. Books of erotic fiction and essays

14. An endless supply of ethical, organic, fair trade coffee to drink while I read books

15. Books written by me to be published, read, and taught

The above was inspired by a list on Face Book by author M. J Rose.

 

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About Black Coffee Poet

Black Coffee Poet is a mixed race poet, essayist, and journalist who focuses on Social Justice, Indigenous Rights, STOPPING Violence Against Women, Film, and Literature.
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9 Responses to ALL I WANT IN LIFE IS…

  1. Ms. Paulette says:

    Hello Black Coffee Poet,
    Welcome back! We missed you.
    What a great idea. thinking about all we want in life.
    Peace,
    sistateacher

  2. prairiepomes says:

    Wishing you all those blessings, Jorge.

  3. stuffandnonsense14 says:

    Hi Black Coffee Poet, I’ve nominated you for the Liebster Award!
    http://adventurethenexplain.wordpress.com/2014/09/26/liebster-award-nomination/

  4. Anishinaabekwe says:

    I agree with this list! Although I would need coffee and tea for all of these books. Books, writing and poetry are my life! =)

  5. Ms. Paulette says:

    BCP,
    Check out poet Victorio Reyes:
    http://www.wordriot.org/archives/6641
    We, Animals by Victorio Reyes

    For Justin Torres

    You’re right kid.
    We are animals.

    Upstate Puerto Rocks. Wepa!!!

    Comin’ up in a land
    of Big Dick Trucks.
    raised by gringas,
    knowin’ more about
    Genny Cream Ale

    than Medalla.

    But yo, we can eat rice and beans
    with our buffalo wings all day!

    And I was drinking Adirondack Cola
    when my cousins was drinkin Maltas.

    But my godmother’s moms would come
    up from Loisaida and make some mean
    pastelillos on the weekends.
    So it was all good.

    But people who ain’t animals
    can’t understand the way
    riverbanks replace
    beaches,
    and smallmouth bass
    replace el sábalo.

    No one
    knows the rhythm
    of Héctor Lavoe
    when he’s mixed
    with Led Zeppelin,
    the way we animals do.

    Call it Mi Gente in tye-dye.

    And no one knows
    what it’s like, crying
    in your pampers,
    while your idol
    is opening a vein
    outside a bar,
    somewhere,
    hummin’
    a mashup
    of
    Jim Morrison
    and
    Ismael Rivera.

    Noone knows
    but we animals.

    And no one
    understands
    the distorted sound
    of your father’s
    hand smacking
    your mom’s face
    when those fingers
    are your only
    pathway
    to a world
    of ocean breezes
    and coconuts
    and congas.

    And that’s why we animals.

    Back in the day I didn’t know
    Crazy Legs was Puerto Rican
    but I wanted to be a b-boy
    just like him.

    But no one told me that the air
    upstate, prevents fluid rhythm.

    But man,
    my pop could dance
    with the graceful confidence,
    of a Paso Fino, incubated
    in the appropriate climate
    before migrating north,
    to the cold, grey skies.

    My mom,
    was white as snow,
    definitely couldn’t dance,
    she taught me Celia Cruz though,
    and recited Julia de Burgos
    to me every night before bed.
    She also lost her mind, like
    for real.
    The way an animal’s mom do.
    Slow at first but quick at last.

    Don’t tell, but I was smokin’ bongs
    way before I was smokin’ Ls,
    and I knew Jimi Hendrix,
    knew his afro looked like mine,
    and knew Menudo way before
    the gringos did.

    And I knew what it was like
    scribble down an identity
    out of confusion.

    But that’s what animals do.
    We write the story under the story.

    The secret of growing
    up in exile dreaming,
    the oldest colony in the world—
    an island paradise,
    could be realized
    in the touch
    of the cool
    autumn
    breeze
    upstate,

    as it brushes across
    the backs of all

    us animals.

    About the poet:

    Victorio Reyes is an activist and artist living in Albany, NY. Reyes was featured in the anthology of emerging writers: Chorus, published by MTV Books and edited by Saul Williams. He holds an MFA degree from The Vermont College of Fine Arts and teaches poetry classes at Siena College. His poems are forthcoming or have been published in the Acentos Review, Mobius, Word Riot and the anthology It Was Written: Poetry Inspired by Hip Hop. Reyes will serve on a panel entitled “Uncovering Hip Hop Poetry” at the upcoming AWP Conference. Blending his writing and activism, Reyes has also been the executive director of The Social Justice Center of Albany (SJC) for the past 8 years.

    Peace,
    sistateacher

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