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FREE GEORGE MARTORANO Read some of George's latest writings and letters - creative to say the least - why let this talent be "caged" any longer
Week 10...
The Wait Leaks on.....
I nap in the night. I lie within four walls of the encampment of the numbered men. I feel as though I am further than life and earth's forsaken. At times those caged around me are disruptive; boarding mad as if they never ever neither gained nor know the meaning of lost. As I lie on a slab of steel on this seventh floor of ' the wait '.......I hear a tad of them first. I do not rush my eyes to seek them. They come every night, as if sentenced also. At times they are very near upon my chest; if you look long into their eyes you can see many things. Things as though how I, George, have evolved into something unique even to one self. I do not frown. I do not sadden. I do not give up. I do not speak of ill and pain. I do not truly long for what man has raped from me. No, I am finally at the end of a prisoner's long, long track. I know my mind, soul, heart, and strength are all in one stone. A stone that cannot be thrown, nor crush, nor placed upon papers that lie...Ahh. The mouse that was on my chest and the eyes of pink that have stirred at my eyes of brown has scurried off. The mouse has joined his two friends. There, there to my left. They move to a spot, back and forth, they jump, pause now to the right. I see them wipe they're whiskers so. I do not chase mice anymore out my prison cell. I do not kill them, nor flush them. They are part of all that must be written. To write such as I, is a diary of loneliness, clay and molded in such a way that a true man if he is a man; will desire. If even a small portion of one's brain could learn this desire, he would be a leader forevermore......Now follow me, follow me. And wish to never see
Week 9...
The Wait…..
I am the man on the seventh floor. I rise very, very early. I walk from my cell across the dim concrete floor. I turn the large metal handle on the heavy door, softly. For I wish to look out the narrow window. Out and long, long down the street as far as my eyes can do. There in that distance is my home. I feel like there is such a deep divide from where I stand to the warm dwelling. I look not too long; it is best. I turn and look at the wall, I think of a cherry blossom. How lovely yet, how short lived. And I don’t feel so bad……It is still very early, and dimmed. I walk another direction across the cell block. I turn another handle softly, on a larger door. Now I am outside in a large cage. Good for man, but not beast and I look up and I see sky meet the top of the high rises. I see spotted lights of rooms up high. With each light there is a life. So many live and breathe below and above the seventh floor. So many live and like, hate, love, cry, and laugh…….Not I…..Not I for I am the plaque of a caged man. On this plaque it reads. ‘He lived, he was caged, all remembered…..’ It is best for all and anything that breathes in passing to dwell, ponder, sink or rise with his thoughts. For in suffering, there is a meaning. This meaning can be from the dark pits or our God’s golden clouds. I the man on the seventh floor choose to face both……In closing, I say, I shall kneel before God, never man…….Goodnight.
The Hearing
Your Honor, Your Honor understand my life for I am the one they chose to be the loneliest
In this loneliness a dripping melts from my heart drop by drop
Thus these drops all in my cup of sorrow which I am forced to drink again and again.
Then cometh and come the gray morn it all starts over drop by drop
Your Honor, Your Honor please make it stop even if it's drop by drop
Oh God-through these gray walls I can not see
Such a place so lovely and green
I could lie there-cry there, even see the lover’s sky there
Where and when I need a friend
Where and when so needing love till no end
A meadow waits for me
Through these gray walls I can not see
She knows the place-dream to dream
Our magical scheme, just a dream
Bodies so close-eyes to the sky
Even the stars blush, as they pass by
When and where cometh this friend
Oh God bring on the end
Seems fear is always so near
Seems fear is what pushes away my dear
Through these gray walls I must wish, I must
Through these gray walls a wish I trust
Yes, a meadow waits for me
Oh God can’t you see-please, please release me
You know that meadow waits, make it wait no longer and give me my date
I have to go, don’t want to hate
Please Lord, just give me my date
Eyes alone upon me
Eyes alone unto me
Eyes alone and forced that I see
See the tomb-see the unseen path
Sorrow sorrow to the end
Endlong endlong never can hard gray
Say so say… ahhh we’ll give this day
No oh no! I take the day
For when the soul of my eyes
all but flee-this I say,
I take the day
Flee and just leave one emotion to be
For love, ahhh love makes a man of me.
Endlong endlong to sorrows end
The soul of my eyes is my only friend
Eyes alone unto me
Eyes alone and forced that I see
Eyes alone, what God has made this man to be
A Letter To Some Forgotten god...
Dear Forgotten god,
I have no-one else to write so I choose thee. I write because I am lonely in my graft. I am a Gallows Stopper, my job is to save those who wish to take their lives by hanging. They do it in a horrid place of many cells… We are prisoners.
After years of stone and chains, along with a training given by pain…. I work.
I can read their eyes and almost hear their thoughts.
How I save them is, I speak, I relate to them in a language only learned from within these cages. It is very old, these words I use. Also, these eyes of mine must cease the screaming of their souls, the weeping of their hearts, and hardest of all; unlock the vice that is pressing, pressing deep inside their dispairing brain.
Yes, I am a Gallows Stopper, A man of little reward. A man who truly knows no orbit of love. No sweet smell of a normal day, or the warmth of a feminine night.
Just a simple Gallows Stopper, here in the “gray gray row”.
This is a letter that George wrote almost 5 years ago to scores of Government Representative, Judges, etc...but to no avail, receiving NOT ONE RESPONSE. Shame on those that ignore this injustice of sentencing.
Dear Sir or Madam,
My quest for freedom has been more than a twenty year ordeal. Wherein, I've made great strides to reshape the stigma that has clung to me since my birth. Due to my father's alleged mob ties, I haven't been able to outrun the curse.
When most first time non-violent offenders are being sentenced to the bottom of their guideline category, which would have put me at two hundred forty months, a sentence I've entirely completed, instead, I was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole--which means no chance of ever getting out, for the charges of a drug conspiracy. I was never alleged to have taken anyone's life in any court proceeding, but my case was treated that way. The time I've already served (more than twenty years) makes me the longest serving non-violent first time offender in U.S. history. Only the God of heaven and earth has substained my sanity throughout my pursuit of freedom.
In a the past three years I have experienced complete tragedy. First, I lost my wife, the mother of my 2 children, to cancer. The next year followed with my son being killed on a motorcycle. While still grieving my son's death, my father was shot on the streets of Philadelphia and never recoverd. Being imprisoned, I've never been able to mourn the death of my loved ones in a proper manner. Instead I sit alone in a prison cell trying to hold it all together.....A spotless prison record meant nothing.
As if the deaths of my loved ones were not enough, The Bureau of Prisons violated my first amendment right to free speech when I became a writer. They threw me into solitary confinement and subjected me to cruel and unusual punishment. I remodeled my life into something honorable so that I could leave a legacy for my remaining daughter, Francesca. I've worked hard to create fifteen novels, eight movie scripts, and numerous short stories. After the Bureau of Prisons finally realized it was my constitutional right to be an author, I began teaching Creative Writing courses in every prison they have sent me to since 1992.
I dream of being out of prison one day and living out the rest of my life with my mother and daughter in a normal setting. I feel that this is only fair.
George Martorano
I came into the cage at the age of 32, today, December 21, 2011, I am 61 years of age. I have been living the very human dam of an unnatural life. Blocked off from the very meaning of real love. Between, and along the gray decades of high, hard, walls..... the cries of men are many, sounds of the very worst, few sounds of the very best..... Last night I made myself wait til the barren hour of midnight. My strange eyes locked upon the clocks dials. Whence, the unfeeling arms both reached directly up..... Suddenly, I felt the air ease from my lungs. And no, not even any kind of whisper from an Angel came, came low and calling down the cell block tier..... And all I could do was stand in the center of the cell's uncaring four walls as if a mad man. Just standing. Just stretching out weary arms as far as I could..... And opened up my hurting hands..... And, by God, I tried, believed, I could hold onto the night..... Hold it back, never bringing the dawn. For dawn only means..... each new day I die a bit more.....
I Subscribe myself: George Martorano
Date: 12-21-11
