Ceilings, My Only Sky

July 4th, 2015 by George Martorano

There she is, Ovette, on a street. It’s summer, on “the” step with one or two others, the inhale of cigarettes, a bit of laughter…. Come season’s cold she sits alone holding a cup of soup. After each slurp; a mongrel dog stares up and pants. And through it all, thoughts drift up from her soul as Ovette scratches words on stone with nail file…. Words of her own.

Ceilings, My Only Sky

This spot, hidden from the street light’s “give”,
Back to wall, high heels and all
Comes lust in garment, passion to disrobe,
The price is set, sweat’s living bread
Mere perfumed air, that’s the boulevard here

Pennies for Men
Like a copper coin dropped into sea,
Floating down down never to be found
Short skirt, low-cut top, brings needs’ rest,
The night and I, small talk, hush hush, the quick good bye

Paris where, Harlot, was born
The sidewalk, same beat, flesh,the forgotten repeat
My cross to bare,young, pretty and poor,
Police to pay, old lady to sew,
Winter’s dread, soup, wine and wind, nothing really said,
Of girl-friend so so thin, the very worst end

Pennies for men
A curb in the night, smell of garlic, breath of wine,
The small room to pay, oh, the lay lay lay
But, I do speak to God, church-candles to light,
Saying, “the dream I can not feed anymore, only me”

Just pennies for men
Divorced from day, choose sweet-shadow in the dark,
Always strangers, a smile, a lie or two
My Devil’s Island, Paris is,
Is, each and every Paris night
Pennies for men….Ovette’s sad life

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973

The Ebb of Existence

July 4th, 2015 by George Martorano

The trees were as if, world. Just seen and seen forest in every direction of eye, mind and belief. This time of year, fall, the blend of it began, became a new lover to each and every shade. I changing of dress-color to complete delight. Natures statement of showing any living artist ,that, you know nothing….And in this realm of orange, brown,of yellow’s dying and mixed green…. Was a line drawn, imprinted into rock and mud. A corridor going and going as if any living thing traveling along it, surely must perish. And the growth that walled this corridor, stood as a high alignment as if parted sea.

A forever line of wood and steel. A creation by mans’ sweat, grunts, birth and death. The hundreds and hundreds of lives that are born yet meant to be throw away. The short lives of the poor. Yes, the poor who built the track. A repeat of set and set of beam; the straight of the iron after iron, again and again. Year after year until one end of the Tsar’s empire connected with the other end of Russia. And upon the track. The train. Mostly a movement of horror. Moving the condemned far far from any dwelling of warmth, of human touch or care…. For, they, will never smile again.

No one knows how he got there. The man I mean. Not old nor young. Just a man of some age. There, sitting on the rail. Just he alone, alone with the vastness of trees before and behind him. Yes, he sits…. Hair long and dark, dirty, tangled from life’s misery and all prepared by the assault of seasons. Broken work boots, toes sticking out, feeling leather feeling ground. Layers of clothes, a tarp of animal skin for covering, and the smell.

As he sits, he stares down at the small space before him…. Maybe he fell from a train. Maybe thrown. Or maybe walked to world’s end; just to join the beat of his heart….He does not move, will not. For he has come to an abyss state of mind . A total cleansing of the lowest, blissness of thought. For the days that he sat. He heard sounds of deep night and bright day. Where wind came down the endless track and swirled up his nose, down down to the well of lung. Where passing creature small and large took the time to voice hate. Yes, he is in his portioned dark-heaven on condemned earth. And wishes to wish of no more.

His right hand finally moves, enters cloth upon him; ignoring bits of food, ignoring pouch of drink…. The hand gently comes out with a worn photo. A girl, a lovely girl. He moves more, places the photo up against the other rail across from him; uses a small stone to brace….After the movement he goes back to how he sat…. Sits and stares at her with memory’s look .His mind then creates, making his lips move ,formed in silence; for he counts each and every drop of sweat upon her from his love.Love he and she made upon a bed of straw. Where next to them upon wooden crate , a chunk of bread , a tin of wine .His mind adds moon light through patched opening, giving little glow, aah,but made her blush. To kiss ,touch and thrust as if each exhausting minute was pleasing death ,there, on peasant’s inherited earth.The love of the poor and simply no more.

Maybe it was the next night or the one after. When an evil gust blew. Taking up the photo beneath immense stars, stealing it away and away…..Then, he stood, breathed a deep, silent cursed at and for the very center of all humanity….

Alas…. He walks for forest. He is singled out from all man. Where every poem ever written of and for loneliness; can not express he…. Going, his eyes reveal suffering, the ancient telling of it, which can only be found on cave walls. Yet, there, just there in his look, is an ageless understanding of what he’s become. Become but deep, self-strange and at peace unto all with in himself.

Once within great foliage…. he is engulfed….And only God hears the press of his feet.. upon.. the..pine.

By George Martorano
Copyright: 12973

The Bare Embrace { 1908 }

July 4th, 2015 by George Martorano

‘My name is Mary. I am far far from home, England. Now, I sit in sand, a world of sand. And write this, I must ! After, I will just toss the letter to the air. Let the desert wind take it. There is no sea here, no bottle, its’ cork, for the letter to float along ,be found from fate then read. No, let the desert’s wind take it forever away. You see, the tomorrows are not mine any more only this, this and him.

‘My name is Mary. My husband and I came to the desert in a foreign land, to visit, for business. I first saw ,him, in the local eatery as we dinned. Nathan, the handsome, desert soldier, an American, enjoying himself with legionnaire friends. Our eyes met, after that….I could not stop looking at him. In a short time , with life’s strange, wheel of intervention, we became lovers. I shall not, will not live without him. So, my husband discarded me. So, I sit on this part of earth’s ageless, desert floor and write; wait for him on march-patrol to come back, come to me.

‘My name is Mary. It is night. The few electric lights of the small town are there in short distance. The bed in the small room waits. Like I wait, wait for his lips, arms, touch,oh the touch. I dress is as the poor bohemian. For I am a person that Love has destroyed, yet reborn. Born as a single flower in endless sand. When I am with him. Lover. I do not care. His kiss is life.

‘My name is Mary. As I finish this letter. The warm desert wind must know. It sands blow harder, my hair whips, eyes forced downward…. I stand, hold the letter out with finger tips…. My heart beats….” Nathan, Nathan “…. And the paper lifts, flips and sails sails away…. ‘

“My name is Mary
Where nothing lives….
Love grows

Where nothing lives
Sweet sweat in the night
His heart commands,
To knees I fall,
the, LOVE, conquers all

My name is Mary”

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12972

White Soul Rising

July 4th, 2015 by George Martorano

It is the time after, America and its allies bombed Berlin…. There, standing is a young, foot-soldier on guard duty. Alone, just guarding a truck of military supplies. A big, army-green truck with the number 22 on it along with mud and not rolling now with the conquering, convoy of vehicles. The truck just stubbornly stalled and was left along the singled-out soldier to guard: honestly watch what he does not know what’s inside….. It is a night after rain. A somewhat cold night. The slight wind and cold making good use, drying all. Ye, leaving a stiff, metallic caking on all that remains. A multicapalin that was punished from above by flying missions from high above, bestowing down down upon what was once built from ground-up by now histories lost men…. In the crushed city of blocks and blocks, rest evening’s drying, ash-slush. There are no street lights. No, the bombs took them too. Only a low, burning lantern sits on the truck’s hood ,giving off a leveling slice of yellow glow…. As the young soldier stands, rifle upon body, hangs by a strap, he thinks of course. Thinks of home. Thinks of those towns left standing or not, the ones he has marched through, fought through here in Europe. Remembers the commanding yells, deep, penetrating screams,the clock of moans attached to all war; brutal, since the beginning of hate’s time; most, he remembers,’ forever death ‘…. Hours pass…. He wonders and looks downward. For to look about is only to see, one thing, destruction. Once, great buildings in a great city now struggle for any tomorrow, a longing to stay standing amongst the burned -out rubble. Horror’s landscape of structures all gone, nothing. A piece of a building here and there. Walls of stone or brick with backdrops of killing holes small and large, holes that came hard and fast ; blown out from blast after endless blast. There and there are unimagined ,supported floors still standing, stand at-the-level, complete,yet walls gone as if some dying space of a theater stage. An empty theater, lonely, lying in wait for audience then actors to appear.Once there were thousands of windows giving off sun’s glare or the catch of bedroom light, are but little now. Maybe a door or two stand alone embraced by fatigue frame and all abandoned. Still and as if at attention just a door by itself. As a wide plank purposely put there, saluting and missed by flame’s cruel heat . And the door giving off a eerie feeling. An emotion as such, that if one were to enter through the dark, molested wood; would cross the threshold of ‘thee’ unknown…. The young soldier creates happenings in his head ,concerning walks-of-life, laughter, song, maybe a girl any girl …. Though there is supposed to be a street beneath where he stands. Now nothing, nothing but tire tracks and layers of war’s ash. The worst kind of ash. Ash smashed down by fast, moving boots and armored vehicles . Other places ash thick with many things mixed in: glass, wood, metal, all sorts of human belongings and worst, parts of humans…. So, the night crawls by. The soldier only smells the smell of harsh aftermath, of man’s hell…. He notices ash with a finger nail mixed in on the tip of his boot, he quickly stomps it…. He waits, he wants to hear something, yet no sound comes as if this part of Berlin only exists in a dust, covered glass-bottle…. The wind comes now and then touching his ears; giving off whispered words, words he knows not of. Every so often, he exhales, his shoulders rise causing the strap on the rifle to pull. He he…. Catches a glimpse of something. Just a tad at first. Some bit of color. Then…. More, of it enters the war-world of deep-gray on the oh’so still ,tarnish street. What the young soldier absorbs moving across from him….. Watches it enter, ease through a narrowness in the rubble…. There! Yes there!….Is the whitest cat ever. A pure Holy white…. And the white thing slowly steps here and there. A careful placing of paws with in black night , with in deceased city…. The ‘ whiteness ‘ freezes…. Stares onto man…. And ‘ man ‘…. Stares back.

By :George Martorano

Render The Thirst (Act V)

July 4th, 2015 by George Martorano

SCENE: It is the underground, sewer lair; the hot tub is still there. There is only Al [Frankenstein ] and he is busy at something. Oh wait! Al is piling….Gold Bars….Then V.O. of Frankie [the Released Prisoner ]….He’s entering stage, wearing a wig and a fake beard….Also, he is pushing ahead of him a woman in a fur coat and by the looks of things wearing pajamas underneath and furry slippers….Also! She has a hood over her head….Now ! We see Frankie has a gun to her back….Clearly, she’s held captive….Before the hood is removed from her….Al covers up the gold.

AL: “….You got her.”

CAPTIVE WOMAN: [hears] “….Who’s that?!”

FRANKIE: [Yanks off her hood ,she's blonde ,very attractive ] “….Shut up, that’s Al!”

CAPTIVE WOMAN: “Who the hell is he? Oh, let me guess, Fred Munster.” [laughs]

FRANKIE: [Points gun at her] “I said shut up!” [ yanks off wig and beard ]

CAPTIVE WOMAN: “Oh, a dressed up kidnapper and a guy in a costume. Don’t tell me, lets see I’ve been kidnapped by a circus act.”

FRANKIE: “A circus act. I’ll show you a circus act!”

SCENE: Frankie in anger, steps past her and shoots Al three times. S.O. Bang! Bang! Bang! The captive woman screams….
But, Al’s fine, not hurt a bit. She quickly looks from one to the other…. realizing some thing really wrong here….

CAPTIVE WOMAN: “….Blanks?”

FRANKIE: “Hell no.” [shoots into the hot tub, water jumps]

CAPTIVE WOMAN: “Then, then….?”

FRANKIE: “That’s right lawyer lady, Marcia Paul. He’s the real deal. A certified monster all the way babe, all.. the.. way.”

MARCIA: “Then, what do you want with me? I am a lawyer not a doctor, not a plastic surgeon for that matter. I mean….” [ she steps a little closer ,observing Al's face ]

AL: [Cuts her off] “Doris will explain.”

MARCIA: “Doris, who’s Doris?”

AL: “She kinda runs things.”

MARCIA: “She does? Again, but what do you want with me? Money, ransom? You know me from the papers, TV, is that it? You think I’m rich or something. I give allot to charity .I mean big big I give and give so there isn’t much ,and and …. ”

FRANKIE: “No no. Can it, will ya . Like Al says, Doris will explain.”

AL: “Yeah, Doris will, she she….”

SCENE: V.O. Of Doris talking to herself….She’s upset about her clothes or something….Enters [ the lovely, super strength monster ] Doris….She’s carrying dry cleaning and a hat box.

DORIS: [Sees Marcia] “Oh good, you have retrieved the lawyer. Now things can move along. Hello Marcia Paul.” [Doris puts down what she's carrying]

MARCIA: “They told me you will explain things. I mean this guy shot this one and and nothing! Nothing, not even blood or a hurt face, nothing.”

DORIS: “Playing games again Frankie.”

FRANKIE: “Ah, ah just wanted to shut her up.”

AL: “Shoot yourself next time. You human little little sh , sh….”

DORIS: “Shut up both of you, that’s enough, don’t start you two, hear me? Don’t start!”

DORIS: Continues, [addresses Marcia] “Well, it’s like this, I need your counseling for several things, important things.”

MARCIA: “….Things?”

DORIS: “Yes, things and don’t interrupt or you’ll end up like that dry cleaner fellow.”

MARCIA: “….Dry cleaner?”

DORIS: “Yes, that fool ruined one of my expensive dresses, then got smart with me. Trouble was, there was just him and I.”

AL: “….Oh boy.”

DORIS: [Stares hard at AL] “Yes, so I had to put him in his place.”

SCENE: Doris steps to the hat box, opens it….Pulls out a severed head….

DORIS: “Meet the drycleaner.” [and tosses the head, high, right up center aisle of the theater....it rolls]

SCENE: Marcia walks a bit starts to wobble, starts to faint….Al hurries up to catch her, he does, she’s in his huge arms. Then, Marcia’s takes a good look at Al…. Screams!… Jumps up recovering fast….

MARCIA: “You’re all nuts! Let me go! Let me go!”

SCENE: Marcia starts running around the stage. But, she does not know how to get out of there,’ thee ‘ underground lair….Doris, Al and Frankie just watch….Then, Doris goes over to the covered pile of gold bars, removes the cover….Marcia, hurrying by….Stops dead….And stares at the gold.

MARCIA: “….For my services?”

SCENE: Doris Al and Frankie all shake their heads, yes, in unison.

MARCIA: “This, this whole pile, mine?!”

SCENE: Doris, Al and Frankie all, again, shake their heads in unison.

Marcia: …”well “.

Doris: Well what ?”

SCENE:Well, Marcia begins to sing …. Doris, Al and Frankie line up behind her as back-up singers….And oh,, fingers snap, the 3 back-up singers move as one in back-up dance-moves….

“Well, I’m the international lawyer that’s me
Taking care of things here and a far you see
Just little old me, best in the land, Courtroom, bedroom, smart in the head
Just pay me in gold, jewels or bread

“Forget your legal troubles ,put them to bed
I’m the international lawyer, oh, for heaven’s sake
Send the limo, call from the jet, here or in Paris
I’m your best bet
Just pay me in gold, jewels or bread

“And when I say bread , I don’t mean to eat
No, spread the crash, do I have to repeat
I’m the international lawyer Best in the land
Pay in in gold ,pile it high
Then watch all your legal troubles ,go….
,….by -by -by, go by- by -by ” [ continue, repeat first verse, then song ends ]

MARCIA: “Does anyone have a paper and pad?”

AL: “Yes, yes.” [quickly goes and retrieves, paper and pad, brings to Marcia]

MARCIA:[holding pad and pen at the ready] “Okay, first order of business.”

DORIS: “Well let’s see, a wedding.” [Marcia nods yes, writing] “Then passports for Frankie and I, he’s wanted. Oh and Al he can be shipped in a crate.”

AL: “….A crate?!”

DORIS: “Yes, a big box or do you want to stay here while Frankie and I are in Europe. I do long for the old country.”

MARCIA: [Stops writing] “Ah, how long will I be your attorney. I mean, is there more of this?” [She points to the gold]

DORIS: “Rooms of it, here and abroad.”

MARCIA: “Good, Like I said I’m an international lawyer, work on any continent. Let’s see, the wedding now. I take it it’s you and him.” [Points to Frankie]

DORIS: “Of course.” [Points to Al] “He’s my, how can I say, he’s just him, the forever him. Anyway, the wedding will need guests. We know some, “Things”, here and about. That would love to come.” [Laughs]

MARCIA: “Things, yes aren’t we.” [laughs too]

SCENE: Al and Frankie chime in laughing, now all four roar with laughter….Music strikes up….and the four line up and begin dancing. Also, those two, sexy female rodents join dancing line….As the, now six, dance…..Then, Doris, steps forward, begins to sing….

“Monsters and men, bikinis in the sea
I’m the lady from Transylvania
Rich, deadly and will always be

“To leaders, Presidents, Kings and more
Yes, they love me forever, cant get their fill
Talk for days, whispers at night
Moonlight and kisses, what a life

“I’m the lady from Transylvania
My creator made me
He held my hand, ask me to dance
I kill, I did, the very first chance

“Monsters and men, bikinis in the sea
Mountains and lakes, the city square
Church bells do toll, the coming you see

“Came me, beauty of I
My, my, my to dine and dance
Rooms of riches, do not dare take it
Or its’ off with your head
Such a sorry state

“I’m the lady from Transylvania
Rich, deadly and will always be
For Monsters and men, bikinis in the sea
And yes, the world always, always have me”

SCENE: Song ends…. Doris goes and yanks Frankie from the back-up group…. Gives him a kiss…. Frankie (happy) pulls out his gun, shoots in the air!! A huge snake falls from some where above !The sexy rodents scream ! Run !….Get the hell out of there !…. Exiting stage….. And, Marcia goes by her gold bars, picks up path and pen, begins adding things up …. Yet, poor Al goes and sits, hooks both sides of his neck to the electros [some sparks fly ] ….While, Doris begins whispering sweet-nothings in Frankie’s ear ….

[to be continued]

By: George Martorano
copyright: 12973