Rap Of Crickets

October 24th, 2015 by


There…. Coleman Prison. Arrived 2003. Left 2015. A place of many numbered men. A place where breath of prisoner lives. Where breath at times divorced lung only to bachelor convict to the hereafter. Yes, there I existed, not lived. I lived so where I sweat left my body as pain. Where my tears burned running down cheek. Where hope continued its harsh laugh, laughed right up close. So close I smelled its scorn. Yes there where cell married me, wed as if an ugly weapon was jammed into the small of my back; forcing the marriage… Of doors never wished to know the clang of that steel. Never wish to know the same song of the keys of guard. Yes, never… Thus, I shall not go on of dread. No, I shall go on of the now of self rainbows.



There…. My new palace. Oh how I romance star before sleep comes. Oh how I blossom with nature’s night call. Only God can see and smile I have. Have with my hands folded behind my head, gazing up. Only God sees how I wake within wee morn to giggle…. Then, my sweet sweet dawn come’th with call of bird. Slow and cease the rap of cricket. Sobers the voice of frog. Boy oh boy the colors then canvass sky. Blues, highs and lows of reds…. And I rise. Stand there before my Coleman Tent. Nay and not a palace. Yet, this man’s man gaurd’s before it.

By George Martorano


October 16th, 2015 by

“At LAST”…… Every night as I lay my head on my pillow, my last thought is not of my lonely brother in the dark steel cell
“AT LAST” ….. Every morning I don’t have to put on my armor of strength around my heart to function all day
“AT LAST” ….. The holidays and celebrations will not be depressing
“AT LAST” ….. Our mother can be whole again filled with joy and laughter
“AT LAST” ….. All the years of sadness and heartache are gone. Our family can live again
By Maryann Martorano Flahive (George’s Sister)
Of rain wets the hair
Of wind cast down the eyes
Of sun warms such skin

Of my heart…. one beat for me…. one beat for her


I truly wait for my sisters loving beat

(Written in glow of and for my sisters) GM


October 9th, 2015 by


It is of a spider, the structure I mean, Holmesburg Prison (now condemned). The center body, then channels of cell blocks extending from. Of course the inmate chow hall walls, poorly drawn, large murals. Murals of gray and red upon the gray, ugly green…. And where I was cornered within my first prison riot years ago. You heard voices loud, then shouts, then the vocalized hate. The inmate population, mostly North Philly’s poor and discarded erupted to devour all.

I was in the chow hall, tin tray in hand when the wave of distorted faces came my way…. To do?! Run! If there be an exit. Not. Fight until hard death…. I fought. Fought wailing metal tray. Fought unto.. I.. of faced distorted. Fought unto I of lungs of scream. Fought unto I of stomach of vomit charging from mouth…. I fought on. And all the time there was someone against my very back. He, trying to stay alive too. Same as I with everything that my mind, bone and tissue could excel with…. In combination of a human…. I wanted to live.

We lived. That someone at my back. We lived…. Once, secure by prison guards, city police, state troopers, there laying on the chow hall floor. Bent trays just there as if Gods given protection. And near by, the one who fought with me back to back.


“What’s your name?”

“My name, Prince, everybody calls me Prince.I know who you are, saw you in the papers”

“Well Prince, we’re alive. I felt your back meeting mine, thanks, really thanks”

“Yes, people think cause, cause I’m gay I can’t fight”

“Well, you did”

“I saw you around the jail. I know someone like you won’t bother with the likes of me. You know I am a street dresser and all”

I stared at him before I answered….”Some people learn everyday how to forgive, be humble. I did today.. I did today”

By George Martorano

Education In The Federal Prison System

September 18th, 2015 by

The Prison Teacher

Good day. For many, many may know, then not know…. I teach. I have been, forever so long. So much so, that, I have created, create a variety of lifestyle change courses. (see, www.webelievegroup.com) Yet, I am enlightened of late. Yes, I’ve managed to uplift my self in and of my teaching ability…. I’ll explain. When instructing a class; of course the teacher is there before the students. He or she usually lays out in steps what one wishes to educate. One’s speech is direct of setting out a substance matter. What the students hear should be somewhat profound. What the teacher is asked, should have depth concerning the implementing curriculum…. So, again I state I have been teaching in American prisons, for decades…. Well, this year and I truly wish to share with those teachers in many class rooms, is, at times, to become.. “Student”. Yes, my fellow teachers wherever you are. Especially, those educating from behind prison walls. At times, just be a student. What I have taught myself, is, that in today’s times in prison the teacher must find better ways to be a self reaching innovator…. You see, that today’s younger prisoners, domestic or foreign; a lot have little education from a school room setting. They are educated with in the streets (form). Where a young person doing crime can make lots of money. So, in their minds, “who needs school”. And, my experience in prison class rooms the last few years, is, they are getting harder to turn around for the better…. So, what I have been doing, is, they see me teaching at the front of the class….Then sometime later, I am actually sitting in another classroom; writing down notes, raising my hand asking of this and that…. Just a student, same as they. They’ll then look at me with a renewed interest. They’ll then speak to me more openly. They’re smiles join mine as if really one of them. And, what it does ,is, truly open up a new form of mentoring. Also, what occurs, is, after the class is over, I and my now co-students stay and talk. We speak of what was expressed in the lesson, their views of course and most important , life-lessons for better change. And the great understanding change, of not being a repeat offender….. I absorb it in their eyes. Why, yes why, someone like me, a long term teacher, is now a student sitting amongst them. Of course my channeling words to them are, “I wish to keep learning, keep improving myself”…. Now, I am proud to state, in this confined-life-setting, I am a…. Teacher (slash) student.

By George Martorano

The Fiefdom

September 15th, 2015 by


I approach it every day. It is just there, unwanted by the sentenced men. There used to be a net, though long gone. Now, a pit. A place of old sand, sand never replenished by tide nor man…. To run around it for miles and miles, you know the ‘try’ of body and mind…. And, I do…. The hot sun does not join until mid-morn. No, when I meet sand it is morn’s gray. The blend of dismal sky ugly sand are but one. Yet, tis the rainy season. The pit is as if some far-off sea’s shoreline…. And, I begin…. round and round…. round and round; every fifteen minutes; reverse, go clockwise then counter-clockwise. Some know of this, me, running the pit, others not. Others know not of butterflies…. I do…. Know that butterflies are lovely to look at, especially when not fluttering about…. Running today, strong. There was a difference of butterflies: yellow, pink, and white, orange and brown and the blue-green, very pretty, very pretty…. And all were there, not of fluttering…. Just, drinking blood. A purplish, blood patch of a blood canvas upon sand. Also, a bloody rock, silent, staring….Ooh, telling all. You see prison yards are “jungle”. Very early today man-beast heavy-handed another within the 4th world [prison]….. Running…. I never knew pretty butterflies drank blood. Drank and would not even fly off as my bare feet passed…. Round and round I checked…. Absorbing the deep colors so…. And, for me, another day I cannot even call a-day. Nay, for it is long’s madness and nothing more.

By:George Martorano
9/10 /2015