We've Moved!

Writings By Peter

We've Moved!

My life seemed to fall apart when he left.
Although I knew it was a far better place
Where he was going.
We were close, but from two different worlds.
He was a hamster, I was a human.
I don't know how much farther apart you can be.
We understood each other without communicating.
When he left, a part of me left with him,
As I learned a body can only function well with all its body parts functioning.
I also learned that death is something unavoidable,
Something you have to learn to accept.
You don't know what you've got until it's gone,
And to finally accept death.
Not his death, but all death in common.
Death, in reality, isn't such a terrible thing.
It's a game of hide and seek
And never being found.
I learned to show all the love you can while they're alive,
And not after they're gone.
I was lucky hamsters are at local pet stores.
You can't buy a new sibling.

Feather Fountain Pen

My Brother
My brother's grip tightened around my neck.
I started to lose my breath.
He threw me down again and again,
Oh boy! I hated it to death.
But something inside me was holding me back
From letting out a scream.
This was quality time with MY brother,
Which seemed to me a dream.
When I was young his footsteps I'd follow,
Wherever that might be.
I'd talk like him and wear his clothes,
Let people know he's with me!
When I'm with him nothing matters at all,
Whatever is done is done.
"Hey, this is my brother I'm with,
And we're going to have some fun."
But now he's gone to college,
The days of wrestling gone by.
I reminisce about the days of old,
It makes me want to cry.
I have to live the moment,
And not ponder my childhood past.
The times with my brother are precious,
And believe me, they certainly will last.

Feather Fountain Pen

Thirteen is the age when you're always too young.
Late shows are forbidden, R movies taboo.
No Johnny Carson, violence, or sex -
Playboys and cursing are disallowed too.
Thirteen is the age when you're always too old.
"Be mature" is the phrase teenagers are told.
Santa and crying and happy meals have died,
But childhood memories still linger inside.
Thirteen is to conformity as life is to breath.
Being with the in-crowd, a matter of life and death.
Independence and freedom, taken on with pride,
There's no turning back when the two worlds collide.
It's hard to let go of your childhood years,
The unknown future brings on new fears.
With each step you take you leave something behind,
A mature, young man you'll eventually find.

Feather Fountain Pen

On The Line
The whistle blew, silence ceased the crowd.
Time had dwindled down to only two seconds,
Between victory and defeat.
My heart was pounding like a clock striking twelve,
Sweat trickled down my face and fell
Like a raindrop hitting pavement.
I breathed in all the air I could heavily,
And let it out softly.
With a tongue as dry as the Sahara.
I set my left foot slightly ahead of my right.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my shirt,
Holding the ball like a mother holds her baby.
Time paused for a brief moment as
        I drifted away into my own world.
        A world with no cheering crowds or desired players.
        A world consisting of only me, a ball, and a basket.
        My knees were bent as I let go of the ball
        In a motion somewhat fluent.
        Nothing matters in my world,
        There's no losers or winners.
        Life goes on in my world,
        Nothing holds you back.
Reality struck me as the ball struck the rim.
The crowd on its feet looked on with anticipation.
The whistle blew, the crowd filtered out the exits.
I stood at the line facing reality with despair.
For a brief moment, the ball I was holding represented the world.
I had the world in my hands and could
Do anything I pleased with it.
I wished my world was the real world,
And there were no losers.

Feather Fountain Pen

The other day I met a cat,
A lazy lout was he.
He likes to let his days and nights
Go by lethargically.
His life's confined to a person's house,
Like a prisoner in a cell.
And when you mistakenly step on his face,
He ferociously lets out a yell.
All he does is nap and sleep
To pass the time away.
And when he is not asleep,
He's eating 9 Lives Gourmet.
Most cats are frisky, lively, and wild,
And like to play with string.
But he's too smart for all those cats,
He just looks at the stupid thing.
By looking at him, it's difficult to tell
How hard naps can be.
Once he settles down on your lap,
He says, "Hey, don't eve mess with me!"
When someone pets him he starts to purr.
That's what he calls fun.
All it takes is just one stroke
To make his motor run.
I've decided something now
About anything that's lazy.
They miss all the finer things in life,
Which seems to me quite crazy.
I know for a fact how it would be
If I were a person's pet.
I would be, just like he,
And never, ever break a sweat.

Feather Fountain Pen

The Omnipotent Net
A fish swims freely in ageless seas,
Contentedly living in ignorance and bliss,
An artless entity amidst a wanton world,
An innocent being where others are remiss.
Ensnared in a Janus-faced trap, the fish
Struggles and fights to break free,
But becomes more entangled in the web
That subdues the inferior being.
The omnipotent net enmeshed everything,
Lilliputian creatures, ripe, all.
What appeared at first so innocent
Subjected the fish to his downfall.
Others around him share the same fate.
They, too, eventually yield to its power,
Unnerved by the unfamiliar article
That entices the delicate flower.
The net was soon lifted, the fish released
Into the fraudulent seas of despair.
But it would never again be the same for the fish,
Living in fear of the snare.
Freedom is to the fish as life is to breath.
He swims but lives no more,
A pulsating heart manifests nothing,
A life of apprehension evermore.
Living in fear and trepidation,
The uncorrupted fish is lost in an abyss,
A black-hearted world of immorality
Where innocence is transformed to cowardice.

Feather Fountain Pen

My heart is cold and empty,
My days are full of rain.
I am lost in an abyss of loneliness
Of heartache and of pain.
She once was locked in my arms.
I was in complete ecstasy,
'Till one day she broke the chains of love
And then again I was free.
If it's freedom where a lover's trapped
In a tragic world of despair,
I shall always be a free man but
Eternally confined in a snare.
She was the very music of my soul
Who played my heart's emotions,
A song that made the day turn night
And rivers turn to oceans.
'Tis better to live a life in hell
Where a soul can never rest in peace,
And burn a freezing heart of grief,
Eternally suffering, pain never cease.
Our moment we shared together
Is endlessly lingering deep inside.
I will never again live in blissful peace
'Cause my feelings for her will never subside.
To see her now intensifies my pain.
I am naked without the one I love.
Without her, I walk alone,
A barren heart, a flightless dove.
I know I am undeserving,
In her eyes I am reduced.
But seeing an object of such beauty
Is when I am seduced.
It was a vile act of God
To create such an enticing being as she -
A heavenly spirit amidst a mortal world,
A refined entity of harmony.
Her beauty, divine and seductive,
Has captivated my every desire.
Her delicate lips I covet to touch,
Piercing my heart, igniting my fire.
Love showed me I am mortal -
I believed I had omnipotence.
Yet it is she who rules my every thought,
Corrupt by her innocence.

Feather Fountain Pen

An unfriendly autumn breeze stirs
the torpid leaves in tiny pirouettes.
A colorless sky dangles placidly
aloft a patch of sacred, frozen earth.
An innocuous crowd watches on with anticipation
as the boys of autumn race across the field,
leaving their juvenile worries for another day.
They champion a tiny ball from their adversaries
as a mother does her infant.
They play in their own world of illusion.
A world containing only a ball, an opponent, and a net.
A world that consists of no screaming crowds, beautiful
cheerleaders, or cars passing in the street.
A world where the anxieties and pressures of everyday life
are washed away by the electricity of the game.
Fear of defeat breeds the stamina for success.
        During the game, time stops on the field,
        things working in reverse.
        Friends suddenly become foes and foes become friends.
        A drunkard, a janitor, and a lawyer
        are all equal on the sidelines of the field
        because all are embraced by the same emotions and passions.
As the whistle blows signaling the end of the game,
evidence of the world of reality creeps slowly back
into the minds of the people.
People go their separate ways, and once again
players become students, supporters become mothers and fathers.
But, for a brief moment in time on the field,
dreams could come true, anything is possible.
Escape and freedom appear only fallacies of the game,
because one must always return to a life of complexities.

Feather Fountain Pen

A Story About Moon, Spider, and a Widdle Bunny
Moon was sad. She had spent many years looking at the people on Earth and she saw that they were constantly afraid. She noticed that the entire world was afraid of heights, afraid of deep water in the ocean, afraid of the Boogie Man, afraid of spiders, afraid of this imaginary guy their brother makes up called "the guy"....but most of all they fear Poitre Francais from Boston.
So Moon decided that she would send a message to the world telling them that altohough Poitre comes off as abrasive and disturbingly strange, he actually means well. He sometimes scares people away by his weirdness. She wanted the world to know that his wackiness is actually normalcy, and that their normalcy is in fact lunacy. The people on Earth are actually the ones that are weird, not Poitre.
So Moon, because she wouldn't leave her post in the sky, decided to send her friend Spider to deliver her message to the world. "Spider," she said. "The whole world is afraid of hanging out with Poitre. They think just because he talks to his finger, says ooh ooh ooh and dude a lot, does the pimp sidewalk dance, the fax machine dance, and dresses up like a mentally challenged Dopey that he himself might be mentally challenged and a bit disturbed. Poitre is a good egg, even though he is a little bit wacky! Can you tell the world not to fear him, but to instead embrace him and feel sorry for his mental problems?"
So Spider slowly made his way back to Earth, carefully picking his way down on moonbeams and sunbeams. On his way, he met Widdle Bunny. "Where are you going Spider?" asked Widdle Bunny.
"I am going to deliver a message to the world from Moon," he said.
"Oh, you'll be far too long. Tell me the message and I'll take it there for you," replied Widdle Bunny.
"OK! Moon wants the world to know that although Poitre is pretty darn loopy, talking to his finger and saying ooh ooh ooh all the time....", Spider started.
"Right! Tell the entire world that Poitre is pretty darn wacky and he talks to his finger saying ooh ooh ooh!", interrupted Widdle Bunny (cuz you know how widdle bunnies are). And with that, Widdle Bunny disappeared off to Earth before Spider could finish his sentence.
Spider gloomily made his way back to Moon and told her what had happened. Moon was very cross with Widdle Bunny and when she came back to tell them that she had given the world the message, Moon hit her on the nose and Widdle Bunny fell and whacked her head! And that is why to this day, all Widdle Bunnies turn into silly widdle crazy wabbits.
"You had better take the message yourself," Moon said to Spider.
And to this day, Spider is still carefully carrying Moon's message to the world. However, whenever Spider spins webs in the corner of people's rooms to give them the message, people get scared and run away. Nobody wants to listen to Spider! So Spider is forever destined to find anybody who will listen to Moon's message. Until then, people only know what Wacky Widdle Bunny said - that Poitre talks to his finger, says ooh ooh ooh, and is a strange bird. I guess they will never know that he is normal, and in fact it is everybody else who is weird!

Feather Fountain Pen

Pete Snake and Crissy Viper

Peter Snake with the Boa brothers,
Vandy Rattler and a couple others,
Formed the Snakeville Macho Troop,
A snake (boys only) social group.

No girls allowed, no way, no how,
And Pete Snake upheld this vow.
But Crissy Viper caught his eye
Each time that she went slinking by.

Soon Pete began to be enthralled
By Crissy's wiggling when she crawled.
And every night he slept in bliss
With dreams of Crissy's tender hiss.

When Crissy rolled those big snake eyes
The thunder boomed up in the skies.
Against these feelings poor Pete battled,
But Crissy Viper had him rattled.

She smiled and Pete turned to red.
His friend Bill Boa frowned and said,
"Youre blushing and it makes me sick,
You look just like a rhubarb stick."

Pete thought, "I think that Ill
Act stuck up for a little while.
I just wont look as she glides by
And shell go find another guy.

"ANOTHER GUY?? How could that be?
I hope that she will like just me.
When I am near that cute sweet viper
I feel myself a 'gittin hyper.

"I guess I never will relax
Until I tell the guys the facts."
He told them and they werent upset.
They said, "You havent got her yet."

They hissed and joked as boys all do,
"That gorgeous snake does not want you.
Why she's a beauty, goodness sakes,
She has the eye of all the snakes.

"That handsome dude, Big Dan the Asp,
Flicks his tongue, and the gals all gasp.
He'll be the one she's sure to choose.
Pete, give it up, you're bound to lose."

Poor Pete thought his heart would break.
He found their laughter hard to take.
He coiled up on a huge hot stone
And suffered sadly all alone.

Valentine's Day would be tomorrow.
And though his mind was weak with sorrow,
He made Crissy a heart of red,
Sent it to her, then went to bed.

And in the morning he was cool,
Went out the hole to go to school.
He was delighted when he found
A white card lying on the ground.

And on the front, plain as could be
Was written there: "Love Crissy."
He flicked it over, to his surprise,
This glorious message filled his eyes:

"Oh, Pete, you are the cutest snake,
I think of you each breath I take.
I hope someday you will be mine,
Please say you'll be my money valentine."

His pals were warming in the sun.
He gave them all a big, "High One."
He strutted with his cocky crawl
And Big Pete felt four inches tall!!

Then, following his dad's advice,
Gave her a box of chocolate mice.
At school, with Crissy by his side
Our Pete Snake was filled with pride.

He was in love. Oh, life was great.
They met at Madison Square Garden at eight.
You should have seen those snake eyes shine.
Each was the other's valentine.

Then at the Sweetheart Serpents' Ball,
Crissy and Pete lit up the hall.
The crowd as one rose up and hissed
As the loving couple did the twist.

Pete dazzled the crowd with his moves.
Crissy jumped, jived, wailed, and grooved.
Crissy mocked all the snake-girl sluts
And Pete Snake was busy sniffing butts.

And in a corner stood a group,
That silly Snakeville Macho Troop.
They turned and all let out a sigh
As Mary Ellen Cobra slithered by.

And here's the moral:
So, all you macho little boys,
Don't get too used to single joys.
'Cause some cute gal will look real fine
And you'll end up her valentine.

Feather Fountain Pen

My Monster Story

Very very late one night,
After my dear Crissy
Had turned off the tv and the light,
And the apartment was quiet
As quiet could be,
And everyone was sleeping...
But poor little me!

The monster crept out
From under the bed.
First his hand...
Then his foot...
Then his googly-eyed head!

His face was the scariest thing
I'd ever seen.
There were scars on his forehead
From just being mean.
He was covered with hair
From his head to his feet,
Not the sort of a fellow
Even a money boy likes to meet!

But as I was lying
Curled up in my bed,
The covers pulled all the way
Over my head,
I wondered just why
He was scary and mean,
And if it was hard
To be hairy and green.

Perhaps he was lonely
And wanted to play,
But the way that he looked
Frightened people away.
Perhaps if I liked him
He might like me too,
I thought to myself
As my confidence grew.

Lord I am so money,
I should give him a chance.
Maybe he'll like Stew
And my silly butt-dance.
He could make me more money,
A pet monster he'd be.
I'd show him off
To every cute widdle bunny.

So ever so slowly
I poked out my head,
And looked at him calmly
Then boldly I said,
"My name is Poitre,
Have you come to play?
Are you feeling all right?
Have you had a bad day?"

I think that poor monster
Was downright surprised
As he sat down beside me
With tears in his eyes.

"I'm feeling quite lonely,"
He said with a smile.
"I hope you don't mind
If I stay for a while."

So I jumped on his back
And he gave me a ride.
He showed me the places
Where he liked to hide;
The back of my closet,
Under piles of clothes,
The sketchy back hallway
Which everyone loathes.

We climbed out the window
And played in the trees,
We hung up-side-down
On a branch from our knees.

We lay in the grass
And gazed up at the moon
That floated up above
Like a golden balloon.

And then as the sun
Was beginning to rise,
We climbed in the window
And whispered good-byes.

"Sweet dream," said the monster,
"I'll be back tonight!"
And then as I watched him
He faded from sight.

Do you have a monster
Who frightens you too?
Just give him your love,
That's the best thing to do!

Cuz you never know when
You'll meet a bunny
Who thinks you need a monster
In order to be money.

Feather Fountain Pen

The following is an excerpt from one of Pete's most recent writings, "The Little Eskimo Boy," which we feel typifies his philosophy of life:
"What is this little Eskimo boy all about? That's a question that he's been searching for for much of his young(ish) adult life. He doesn't believe in religion as dictated by the Eskimo "book of spirits" but does believe in a higher spirit. He doesn't believe in Guardian Angels or Leprechans, nor does he believe in the Abominable Snowman or the boogieman, but he believes that people carry just as much good, evil, and mystery as these creatures. He likes nature, animals, and playing in the snow. He also likes an occasional chocolate milk shake and happy meal and believes you never have to grow up as long as you know when it's appropriate to act "your age." He still likes Saturday morning cartoons, playdo, and shrink-e-dinks, but also a good dance to Bye Bye Bye to sooth the soul.
He believes in working hard and playing hard; taking names and playing games; being diligent and goofing off; as well as getting what he wants and respecting people's boundaries. He never invades other Eskimo's Igloo's, he isn't selfish or overbearing and has the great qualities of being able to listen and put other Eskimo's feelings in mind as he acts. His main shortcoming is that he sometimes gets lost in the blizzards of life and fails to see what is best for the big picture. He sometimes overextends himself."