Free George Martorano » prisoner

Prisons Past

George Martorano — Tue, 10 May 2011 23:59:43 +0000

Chained and Moving….

Well, you might think Im losing it after all these years, caged, but I like to tell all my facebook friends, blog friends, and anybody who wishes to be my friends of a certain night long ago. You see they were transporting me from one hell hole, to another. Me, in the backseat chains around my wrist and ankles, two marshalls in the front seat; not caring if I live or die. Driving me through a late stary night in America”s heart land. Where one see’s nothing but farms. Farms after farms. I had my head to a tilt and just looking out at fields of snow, and fences. Where home’s and barn’s; any and all I pray they will wish me a welcome. If I saw a soft light at a home far in the country distances. I felt I could cry……Then it happened. There far on my right, as if my shoulder and chin wanted everything from my soul, to that right. You see, I saw a barn in the distance, was a blaze. And around the barn, ran a beautiful dark horse. The yellow flames, climbing into the purple night. The steam flowing in and out of the horses nostrils. Snow being tossed up from his fast moving hooves…….And I swear to God, it was the prettiest thing I ever saw.

(last of) The Crack Riot Chronicles

George Martorano — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 18:46:46 +0000

Again…….The weeks went by. Our ears were offered the sound of metal clanging. More steel bars re-enforceing here and there. To me; all needlessly. Our cell visited and visited roughly by guards taking all; leaving but a little. At least I was able to write some of a manuscript. The poor old man Sam, eyes sunk in, just stared out. Then as if within on himself. Like some single curse shadowing from midnight; finding him and just remained.
But all things have to end. Bang……cell door locks began to bang. One after the other…….Slowly thick prison doors moved. Moved like the morning yawn of a hippopotamus. Prisoner after prisoner eased out…….I looked at their faces, skin shades of grey, yellow and spotting of red and brown marks. Worst of all, the strong smell of unwashed bodies.
Ahhh. Finally. Fresh air. Finally, we were able to walk more than ten feet.The luckless captives, I one. Began to head to the rec-yard. The first thing I noticed were the missing lovely flower beds. As for prisoners there werent many left after the thousand or so. We walked as if we all betook a path to some ‘ugly waiting’……But we had to go.
Nearing the rec-yard it waited for us, tall, monster green and mean. They welded steel. Lots of steel. Like huge jaws across an entrance. Simply to keep you either in or out…….Now masses of men silently crowded before the green monster. Then as if an evil castle’s drawbridge…….It cranked, moaned, opened to gulped us in. In we went through the short tunnel…….Then, the masses all betook, in, the whole yard.
But all things have to end……Nothing: no: weights, chin-up bars, dip bars, sit-up benches, pool tables, ping-pong tables, basketball court, softball feild, tables, benches, and again no pretty flower beds. Just a narrow black top track, spotting weeds.
I believe three minutes had past…….I simply kicked off my shoes. Began jogging barefoot…..all began to watch. I saw smiles appear then low laughter. Finally, clapping joined the flapping of the soles of my feet against the black top…..faster and faster I went……Some began to follow. More soles of feet clapping along……
But all things have to end

“Three Acts”

George Martorano — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 01:23:18 +0000

And the start of it……

Eruption; into this life. Seems not bad in the beginning. Seems to worry is short. Laughter comes each day. Play had its ups and downs. Than, once in a while along comes a clown. Though the area wasnt that much. On certain days came a little luck.

Eruption; you’ve grown so tall. Venturing out not knowing, yet searching for the fall. Came the taste of love; went and push wanting more than the hugs. Gangsters near and far, handsome nice to see. Will the neighbors remember me.? Dressed to kill, walking flat streets at will; no, never looking for a hill. My, my they set a trap. Back and front hidden from all; eyes so small; mouths that be. Badges and all……rats, rats in every hall. Wanting one thing, to see me kneel.

Eruption; thrown into a cage. Four by four; can I remember it all.? Tears came and went. Fists bang, bang till dawn. Lips knew words, sounds but she’ll never be found. Eyes, oh eyes just you they see. Eyes, oh eyes tell all to me. Mine are clear, facing decade’s fear. Oh, then of heart. It beats, yes. Does it feel.? Does it wish, maybe a dream.? But it all comes down to you. Last, last eruption’s past. Last, last, the last eruption could be. Life or death. I and the cage wait and see…..wait and see.

Prison Welcome

George Martorano — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 02:30:04 +0000

I feel wolves at my soul’s door
I feel ravens glaring down at me, down from naked branches that be
I feel so lone in this full house; a house that beckoned like a trap

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

please…

George Martorano — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 15:15:24 +0000

First, I would like to wish everyone a “Happy First Day Of Spring”
Here, March 2011 and where I am now caged. Has a small enclosure of an outside rec-area. It is about as big as a regular size swimming pool. 260 times around is 6 miles. Each morning early, while most of the prisoners are asleep. I run the 260. Today, was a pleasant morning. The local news said it was the warmest day of the year so far.
After I finished the run. I strecthed some, then found a spot to sit. Sit and look up at the tops of the city’s highrises…..Than, the heads started appearing. Female prisoners doing some kind of maintence work, on the side roof of the same building. I saw them, but they saw not me.
The work they did, didnt take long. Than one by one they stood at the roofs waist high wall, talked, laughed and glanced out over the city……And I kept wathing them, each one different in many ways.
Than…..the talk and laughter stopped, by something. And I so knew what it was. One by one, the female prisoners became still unto themselves. So quiet and began gazing out. Out, over the city that they once had some kind of free life. The longing on their faces was as each were children again. Just standing there looking at a candy store’s front window, so full of sweets. Candy they so wished for, but could never have.
I saw some even lower their chins to their arms, and day dream out. Then, not a word was spoken to one on either side. In time the longing became expressions of great sadness. In time, I felt my eyes full up with tears. I knew none of them. I knew not of any of their crimes. But, I truly knew what their hearts were feeling. And if I could channel that lowness of soul. Channel it, pass it along to those who ‘decide.’ Maybe, just maybe this country would at least try and understand more.
For if I placed all that sad feelings into one person’s heart. He or she would just ly down and die. So please at least try and cry, please.

Say…

George Martorano — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 14:24:45 +0000

There are those who know how to look. Those that see just by accident. The human eyes see, say, accross a far reaching desert, say; other eyes see such and much of an intriguing dark jungle; so thick it is as though inchanted. Say one could be by the edge of lovely blue water……and it happens. Even as walking along city sidewalk and eyes quickly catch the lowly dash of a rodent.

Yes, some eyes can catch the camoflauge animal suddenly move, making its cameo…….Than say, human eyes adjust upon a caged beast. Just there always, sadly there, in its hardcore zoo enclosure. There isn’t an unnotice movement. It is still in its wonderous fur, so enable to hide. Nothing of the wild there the beast so needs. Born, entitled to blend in, entitled to jump out; entitled to make one’s heart race. Know, your eyes in that zoo are only on that beast eyes……Waiting for some shift, some quickness from its soul. Gone, gone they have sealed it away. Gone, gone leaving the beast to its forever dismay.

Ahhh, say the man, there, in his prison cell. Each day as I. Staff eyes look upon me, through me. And I have not a thing upon my skin to camoflauge myself within their gray walls. Only can I stare back, stare as the leopard in the cage. I sit, stare and wonder why I am kept this way and not mercifully killed. Cause worse than the beast. God gave me mind. And it longs, crushing in on itself. And it pleads with God to keep me a good man and not the leopard they daily count and stare at in the zoo. Am I of not human glue? Am I not as one as you and you……?

* * *
Say one day I am freed. Say one day I live and love in peace. Say one day upon a desert floor. Eyes catch the quick of me. Say…….

Radio Interview: George Martorano’s Appearance on Cultural Baggage

John Flahive — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 18:47:00 +0000

This is the first interview of George Martorano-Dean Becker arranged and conducted the interview – give it a listen, it’s very interesting and informative. You can download the interview file here.

You will need Real Media player to hear the interview (it is free).

Inside A Federal Prison

George Martorano — Sat, 24 Mar 2007 23:45:42 +0000

I am asked at times… “What’s it like?” “My God, how do you do it?”… and all I can say is… “Here I remain, here, you can find me through my pen.”

“I’ll explain in simple terms of suffering…”

“I feel as a rock, oh, not some rock of pretty colors. Not some rock positioned on a rise above a lovely shore… No, just a gray thing forever at rest. There, up a dark alleyway, that opens into a cluttered backyard of some abandoned building. Where debris is left. Where drifting smells of decay spawn.”

“Yet, at times, at season best, an ugly vine leans over the rock. Brings forth a single yellow flower; bending there, as to offer a kiss.”

“Then, whence first snow falls. Clean and levels a glistening white across the unwanted place. And as if eyes peeping above Heavens gate. The tip of the rock waits… last, tears come. Just a moistened squint. Just a hint… I can go on… and on…

March 4th 2007

George Martorano — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 14:13:40 +0000

I really don’t know what is wanted from me concerning this blog. I am told it is some sort of diary. I am to write things daily of my world of the “caged”. Man has been caging man for oh so long. It’s nothing new. One can endure and try not to let themselves wilt. He can fight hard, hard against thoughts of the destructive mind, against losing his true soul.

I know at times I have become one with a loose and lost soul. A soul from a galley slave. His spirit enters me… I am there, pulling at the oar, chained to it. As I pull, I look through a small port hole. I see water, I see some of the world. I know death is on the horizon, death is the only freedom.

When one pulls on the oar, when one walks prison halls so very long… it is the same. Yes, you can call me a galley slave. Now in my 24th year, that soul from the ships slave comes more and more. I breath hard when it enters me. I stand tall against the wind. Even when the gray steel door slams closed and laughs. I back up, stare, and know how life can be bitter sweet.

With respect for this site and those making it possible, I swallow this bitterness… never getting to the sweetness. I pen, hoping that from my words, that those that read, will know not to back away when some ugly-beaten soul wishes to enter you. Befriend it, know it’s tears, but, never, never fear it.

I subscribe myself, George Martorano