HOPE

November 16th, 2014 by George Martorano


Well, to all and all….. We are almost there. There is still much happening, smart and good. So all stay with me for I shall lead thee true!

And lets all understand, hope; it has always existed, yet is owned by no one; it comes upon you on the “journey”; if you can master life’s unforeseeable miles…..
You see, one must be amble to travel amidst rainbow, or desert; have nay fear, and now and then….. kiss some one, close and dear…..

thy George Martorano, always
11/11/14

***I choose the picture above due to the fact that I just said to George last week, you will be free, the lawyers will leave no stone unturned… and one of them WILL say “FREEDOM” on it!!!!!….JF

A LONG DAY

November 10th, 2014 by George Martorano

Well, to all and all, long day for all of us. For me, I kept busy, classes, mentoring, threw in 1000 push-ups, 500 squats, etc… What I am saying -is- relax take care of thyself 1st…. And all please stay strong and surely best to just, smile…

Also, tonight I had an amazing class with “Fathers Behind Bars”. Where some students told of situations with their children. That, for me, brought tears. Yet, most important made other students “feel” as fathers again.

So, who are we to worry deep of me. When there are little ones suffering from this land of mass incarceration.

As long as I will be remembered in and of this world in good standing, a man of words that may have touched one’s heart, actions that try so to help… I, we, have already “won”.

So, love to all and all,
thy George Martorano, always

11/10/2014

A VERY IMPORTANT POEM

November 8th, 2014 by George Martorano

November, of Prayer or Prey

Through my fault…..through my fault…..Me, never de-crying fellow man.
My God, for I have raced at the four walls for decades on…..Always strong, always alone…..There, before still and stone.

And world! I have jailed my heart out…..Heeded all before my very eyes. In doing thus and thus; I have placed a cape of gray-honor upon my numbered soul.

Yet, alas alas, even with freedom’s waiting-kiss…..My dreams will always come to cruise within the damn of the cell…..

And world, oh world…..All I can do, tis vision your early morn, to so bring’th that “wonder”; I have breath’d….. for so very long.

By: George Martorano
copyright: 12973
11/10/14

LOVE ON ANY STREET (part 2)

November 8th, 2014 by George Martorano

Every day she sees the old one and the handsome one, along with their buckets and the steady flow of water from the hydrant. The sounds at the corner of Miles and First are not like the huge, overpowering sounds of the city outside where her job was, the Thintons Publishing House. No, here they were pleasant small-town sounds that entered her wide window, sounds and the voices of the so few below, especially the voice of the younger one with the nice tan muscles that look so good when he has his shirt off and scrubs the cars with the wet sponge.

No, Connie and the rest of the single girls can have the beach, but thin, freckle-faced Joyce has her sunny dead-end street.

It was one of those delightful Mondays, hot, and her boss let everybody go at three. Joyce, though the walk was long, didn’t mind carrying the tall plant so many blocks home. Down the avenues she’d peek through the leaves at things and people, a smile on her face as she neared her block.

Just around the corner, and without her knowing it, the younger of the simple car washers sat on a crate with his head in his hands, a half-washed pretty blue car in front of him, water flowing from the hydrant and his buckets flat of foam. The younger one was so sad because of last night. A drunken brawl occurred below the Garden. Police rushed down to the underworld of the derelicts and poor old Bill mistakenly got clubbed.

When the mayhem ended, old Bill couldn’t move the right side of his body or face. They took him away in a police van on a hard stretcher, telling the younger friend nothing. They only shoved him back .Later Sonny made several inquiries about old Bill, but he didn’t know his last name, or even much about himself for that matter.

Joyce didn’t see him yet….. Sonny jumped up, catching her when she tripped over his feet,one arm for her, the other for the plant. Joyce, so very close….. looked into his eyes.

“You’re crying?!” He only put down the plant and began washing for a minute, then dropped the sponge in the bucket and sat once again.

She stood there looking at him as one, then two cars pulled up behind the blue one for a wash. Quickly they turned up the dead-end street, made a U-turn and dropped their keys in his lap, heading elsewhere for a time.

Sonny stared that way a bit, then at Joyce, his face saying he knew all about her, there by the open window, the one who sits and plays music.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked.

He only sighed heavily with a heaving of shoulders. Joyce kicked off her shoes and began helping. Why not, he’s so in despair, she thought to herself. Sonny sat there watching the thin girl in a flowered summer dress sponge along…..slowly he got up and began on the other side.

They glanced at each other, once, then twice, and he told her about Bill, told her his life started with Bill, showed her the scar on his head and told about having no memory of a past life …..only this and now that was shattered.

He sat across the table from Joyce. After the many cars they’d washed, she invited him in. She cooked for them both, even poured the wine. She talked about her real home in Kansas while he talked only about the weeks at the car wash. Joyce was amazed about the underground village he spoke of. He told her of the lives of an underground people, how they descend below at night and rise above ground for the day. He told her there were hundreds like him below the Garden, some not so nice. Some turned, or were turning themselves, into animals.

Joyce couldn’t let him go back there, She prepared for him a place to sleep by the wide bay window. He looked up at the stars and she looked down at him from her bed on the inter-loft. She had to go to work in the morning across town, while he walked just across the street with his wrench and buckets….. In time, she showed him Central Park, the Plaza, and fine eateries. In time they kissed, in time they…..

The end of September, a Sunday, brought much wind and rain. Joyce’s lips were as sweet as her constant love that day. By the wide bay window they laid on soft blankets. He excused himself, just wanting to get a cold drink. Crossing the room, a bang went off in Sonny’s head!…..’ Jeff ‘ fell to his knees, screamed in mental anguish. In a snap it all came back. The death of his wife and children, who he was…..

An hour later Joyce still rocked him in her arms, held him at the very spot he had succumbed in the mental pain. He told her all, even about the day he held the gun in his hand. His telling of who he really was was even more despairing than the life of a humble car washer.

“These weeks you’ve been here, you said you loved me. Now that your memory’s back, that you know who you really are, do you…..do you still lo…..”

He touched her lips gently with his fingertips, brought her face down to his.

“Yesss,” and he kissed her…..

[ The Finale ]

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973
11/1/14

Love On Any Street

October 26th, 2014 by George Martorano

Everything came to an end so fast. It was Jeff’s last week at Trenton penitentiary. He’d done so well the five years he spent there. It changed him, and all he wanted was to be with his loved ones. That part ended quickly. Janette and their two kids were driving to see him for his last prison visit, one car hit another, that one hit a large truck and the large truck wiped Jess’s family off the face of God’s green and asphalt Earth.

It was some months ago that a unkept, uncomposed lawyer pushed the respectable sum in the form of an insurance check in front of Mr. Chevoll, Jeff. It took some months for Jeff to gamble and drink it all away, making sure his boozed-up brain never saw a clear day or thought a clear thought about Janette and the children.

Now he paced, almost sober. Paced in a tan shirt, black pants, with a gun in his waistband. It was downtown New York near the Lincoln Tunnel. Being broke and some-what hungry led to a plan. He saw the truck he wanted make a right out of the tunnel.

“Good,” he spoke while moving fast for the open window, the running board…..

“Pull it in that side street !”. Jeff shouted and poking the gun in the window.

The driver’s eyes widened and only stared at Jeff, so much so he forgot to slow or brake. The impact with the van in front threw Jeff into a dumpster, only to roll off, out cold at the entrance to a smelly alley. The van driver shouted this and that while the truck driver ran for a cop…..

Jeff started to come to, feeling the pulling of his arms and torso. His eyes focused on a dirty, humble face of some helping derelict……

Jeff laid in the large cardboard box for days with his busted head, trying and trying to remember yet all in vain, all in vain.

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He knew it was August by the heat and the hot, warm feeling of the metal on the cars he washed……”That’s it, Sonny. Remember to get the rims good,” said the derelict friend that had helped Jeff that day of the botch robbery. Except the old, worn out bum, Old Bill, didn’t know Jeff’s name. Neither did Jeff. In fact Jeff, now “Sonny” just a given name, didn’t know anything about his past, only the present.

They now lived in a cell under Madison Square Garden, deep underground there are units, cell-like rooms that the construction workers used to use when building the immense subway system below the Garden. There are many down there, but the police leave them be if they are kept clean and there are no fires.

Up on the East Side at an intersection of a plush dead-end street and a corner, the old man and Sonny set up a carwash. Everyday except Sunday they wash cars. They have an old large wrench for the fire hydrant, two dented buckets, and lots of rags and sponges.

The outside work had Sonny tan and looking more handsome. Even his blond hair is more golden and enhances his green eyes. Old Bill, his friend and enterprising derelict partner, notices that they have been getting more women that seem to need their car washed lately. But they still have to do a few cop’s cars a month for free because they don’t have a permit and are using city water for free.

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Joyce never bothered going to the Hamptons on the weekends with the other girls from the office. No, she thoroughly enjoyed this new city and the new loft she moved into six weeks ago. She figured next summer she would go out there to walk along the beach and maybe party with the men.

She knew that walking along the beach would be fine, but the men, that was something else and not for her. Oh, she liked men but she wasn’t a so called fast-New Yorker and most likely she never would be. No, for her weekends Joyce Lesser so enjoyed the long walks around a somewhat empty New York City in the summer. Finding open, out-of-the-way thrift shops with useful things for her loft, suited her just fine.

She also loved being all alone there in her loft, more space than items yet, and opening that one large, push-out bay window, there up on the second floor over the cool looking garage. Up there, with the window set just right, she can smell and hear the sounds of New York…..Oh,and right below, across her street with little traffic, right there against the long, tall wall….. Are the two wooden crates those two car washers sit on.

[to be continued ]

By: George Martorano
copyright: 12973
10/25/14