Many say, wonder, what I’ll do, free. I guess it makes them, those, wish, and want to think ahead. Many wonder what made me cross the divide. The other side, to this gut-grey life inside……Can you put yourself in my shoes.? Hmmm. That makes me give a grin. You’ll never win. Win, a coming dawn; for you’ll be dead and gone…..Cross never here. You’ll be made to wilt. Dry up; give up; forget your God; maybe laugh to your own sour smell; for Pete’s sake what have you become?…..Brother, you aint no fun. Wonders sunk all your heart desires. Guess what? You’ll thrown it into prison’s mire……Me, this fellow knows a way. Up a forgotten lane. To the very edge, I’ll go. My moon will be there, full. My eyes spand the wanted land. So calling to me. Sorry my love it’s all I see…..I’ve finally crossed. Not to lights and dance. Nor bed and she and she. Know, just the simple spot and a seat for me……I’ll think of something never born; write something never read. Feel something never felt. I’ve crossed, you see, blessed a first for me. Give me those crossings everytime. I’ll survive to the head of the bastard’s lines. Keep all else; this George will be fine.
Yes, many say, wonder, what I’ll do.
Guess it makes them…..wish.

I subscribe myself,
George Martorano

And welcome to the age of prison

I feel they took all the pretty seashells from the sea
I feel the flowers gone, vanish before the sun and me
I feel an unholy drape, dark, pulled so tight beneath blue skies

And welcome to the age of prison

No more can I hear the babies cry
No more can I taste lips so shy
No more will I dance to fall
No, no more can I woo again…..friend

And welcome to the age of prison

No, no more will she wake in my arms
No, no more they chained that charm

And welcome to the age of prison

I soon will feel the sum of things
I feel what agony brings
I feel lesson’s lesson, scared on my back
I feel my love never to look back

And welcome to the age of prison

2009-ARRESTED FOR SEXUAL ASSULT AND KIDNAPPING-awaiting trial

WOW!!!!! I have been caged for 26+ years and can’t get a shot, but this idiot did–someone, anyone, explain ALL of this to me.

So early as it is now, I sit on the edge of my bunk. I have the thin prison mattress lapped over the edge of the slab of steel I sleep on, to make it more comfortable. It is mid-summer, so the bright sun has already taken over my cell. So strong, so hot through the barred window.

Time to prepare. I move over to sit on the low trash can. I have a thin piece of plastic in my hand. There to the left of my leg… they sit. All three lined up waiting… An onion, a pepper, and a potato. I am preparing them for a “jail-house stew”. Little stuff, much water.

As I hover over the three, I pick the pepper first. It’s a red pepper, not too big, not too small… I begin, I slice very small pieces. For this must feed two. Patiently, slowly, I work. The bright sun upon the red of the pepper heightens it’s colors. While bending over so close, one can see multi-colors so rich. One’s mind can begin to drift. Mine does. I see places and things, on the side of a vegetable. I see sunsets, and the redness of the hair of a beautiful woman.

Finished with the pepper, I move on to the potato. I pick it up, bring the brown up close to my nose. The sun upon the brown becomes earth. I drift… I see a brown path through the woods. I see me upon a spirited brown horse, and I ride. I slice into the potato, now there is an off white color to the inner potato. I see sand, a beach, me upon it jogging to its end, till I run out of sand.

Last, thee onion. Slowly, I strip the thin skin. It makes a sound. I drift… I think of silk garments, those of a perfumed woman…I begin to cut small pieces, I stop; I reach for my cheap-sunglasses, the fumes you see. I begin again. The strong sun hits the onion’s flesh. I drift… I see diamonds, I see blue diamonds, yellow diamonds, clear too … When I get to the core, it is much shinier. So white, like clouds, puffy white clouds.

Finished. I stand up straight, look at the piles, and smile.

Birds play a part in prison-life; at least in mine. Being surrounded by walls and razorwired fences, the fowl have to come to us.

I remember in one “pen” on the Atlantic coast having a large population of pigeons. There were a few hawks also, they would perch up on the 100 foot light poles. Every once in a while a hawk would swoop down and grab a pigeon, leaving only a few feathers behind to rain down on us.

I remember at another “pen” in Texas looking out my barred cell window, at a dip in the ground where sandpipers would gather after a rain. They moved around fast and seemed to do so with a purpose.

At a Chester County jail while in the “hole”, I remember praying for the sparrows outside my window. The razor wire would cut off their tiny little feet and they would laydown and die on the cold cement. Proof of this was laying there everyday.

The ducks, I remember the ducks at a Maryland prison. They would lay on the blacktop sunning themselves. The road led from the prison, there was little traffic.

I write this from a small space as usual: but it’s my space.

While watching staff trim limbs from the trees that house our fowl here at Coleman: I noticed that 2 nest, one with 3 young doves and one with 2 eggs laid upon on the ground. I picked them up, the mothers and fathers swooped at me. I assured them they would be ok.

Within seconds a warning came over the loudspeakers, announcing for everyone to clear the compound. We were herded to a space 10ftX30ft, a mini lockdown of sorts. Upon entering the space I searched mine out, 2 dove nest in tow. I found my spot-took off my shirt, removed the laces from my shoes-made a cloths line-hung my shirt and tee shirt over it, and had “my space”
I noticed a lot of new arrivals trying not to look over at me: they probrably thought I was the “unit nut”, sitting there, on the floor, behind my cloths line, with my bird nest, pen and paper, lol… little do they know, being so new.

I tore a little peice of my tee shirt and wet it, getting the young doves to take a drink was challenging, but accomplished. Once off this lockdown, I will try and find my friend Brian. Brian takes care of the birds as he has the time to devote to them. I will be able to visit them and watch them mature.

Watching pleasant things is good, please remember that: try it, find that “space”, and try it.

We have been locked down most of the day due to some violence on my unit. There was nobody taken out to the hospitals so that is a good sign.

While I sit “locked” in, I have nothing to do but think and write. I was thinking about how shitty it is that I still remain here. 24 years and still hoping for some relief. But, then I think of some others here who face what I have already endured. Some, if not most will not make it. See, the youth today that are being funneled into these places by the courts, cannot really see themselves clearly. Something that is hard for them within these walls.

When I started thinking of what I would write today, I first thought that my anger would prevail and show up in this entry. No, I would rather channel that anger, to tell you of love…

I have a friend here, Shawn. He tells me of how he met the woman of his life, Maria, as a pre-teen. Their first kiss together was just that, their first kiss. They loved each other so much they ended up with 4 lovely children. Their love and and a mistake has brought a seperation. Shawn is serving a 24 year sentence and Maria is serving a 3 year sentence. All she did was answer a phone.

I have met the children in the visiting room, 3 girls and 1 boy, ages 4 to 13. The grandmother takes care of them and does the best she can. I see they have a stare, a very scared stare.

After Shawn would not cooperate with the authorities (snitch), they decided to not only give him a harsh sentence, but to charge Maria also. 4 children now visit their parents in prison. Sounds sad huh? It is.

It all gets worse. Maria just received word from INS that she will be deported to Columbia this December when her 3 years are up. They told her that the children are welcome to stay. If Maria is deported, the children will most likely never see her again. She will be in harms way and face much danger. Men who deal in fear have already stated her life is theirs to shed.

While I agree that Shawn needed to face consequences for his crimes just as I, I think it’s a shame that our government can use this woman as a pawn. What’s even more embarassing for our government, is that they don’t care that 4 children are the real victims in this case.

I dread the day that I have to sit across from Shawn in the chow hall and watch him weep. I dread the day that I have to remember that stare.

If you would like to write to either Shawn or Maria to see if you might be able to assist them, you may do so at the following address’s – I have received permission from both to post it here…

Shawn Joseph Monteigo
Reg. # 05264-070
FCC Coleman Medium
PO Box1032
Coleman Fl. 33521-1032
USA

Maria Del Pilar Benavides
Reg. # 05402-070
# Unit G
FCI Tallahassee
501 Capital Circle
Tallahassee, Fl. 32301
USA