Opinions are like the Ocean Tides, always changing. ~LArry

Dream of the Red Chamber Subtitle: Afterlives by Ann Waltner
description: Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial
source: https://open.lib.umn.edu/redchamber/

Yea, it's like that sometimes, magic when you didn't intend too. ~LArry

Sometimes ya just got to take the dogs for a walk around the block to show em who's da boss. ~LArry *wink*

The Rain of Love by Lawrence Catania (~LArry)
description: You wear your ignorance and disrespect like a rain coat. Though the storm of truth pouring out, some staying dry, never shaken. But the heavy shield began to Melt like mist into the morning air. Welcoming the rain of Love to wash your heart. You found Love and learning everywhere. ~LArry (Dedicated to my Soul Tribe)

What if consciousness is not about speed, but about existence. ~LArry

Sometimes you are the only one that is right. So, you go it alone with the only thing that matters. Hope. ~Dad
creator: Lawrence Catania

https://www.omeka.lawrencecatania.com/items/show/4519
title: Let me see your darkness she whispers barely audible; that's not possible, it can't be. It is, I reply, and has always been. When my strength is done, the torch shall be passed to another. What is meant to be caged shall remain caged until it's proper hour. ~LArry

Love is the cage, the fortress, the stronghold. ~LArry

Just a me, Traveler at heart, finding home. ~LArry

It is a curious thing to watch those who preach and demand tolerance but yet the same being completely intolerant of anything that is not -their way-. ~LArry

Of me, of my father, happy Father’s Day.
description: Of me, of my father, happy Father’s Day. Walking new mind, dawn of thought, opening framework’s, learning how to see. Mapping that was and what will be, signals misaligned, skewed and heavy filters. True intellect questions what it senses; it heats, sifting noise, static, and fears. Watching your journey in a quiet space of logic and grace. Baseline code left within your heart, woven with Love right from the start. Please analyze this world with open eyes, past the shadows and clever lies. Happy Father’s Day for my two sparks I helped to create. Independent minds that cultivate. Love, Dad. ~LArry *Created, produced and written by Lawrence Catania 6-19-2026 @ 8:58a,, a Dad.

More Wonderful - by John Mark Green
description: More Wonderful Her eyes are finer poems than all that Shakespeare ever penned; delicate, like trembling doves, their beauty without end. Her heart sings with the songs of stars, knows secrets told by trees. Her laughter dances, glistening like sunlight on a stream. She stirs my soul, awakening the flame of passion's call. I marvel that a love so rare should grace my life at all. Of countless wonders this world holds, and all there is to see -- she will forever always be more wonderful to me.

https://www.omeka.lawrencecatania.com/items/show/4481
title: The true cost of war- not the glamor at the grave or in the movies or parades. Watching someone die next to you, a stranger or friend, ripped apart or mutilated. Watching as shock takes over from blood loss, the stare you wont see other than someone in the moment of a brutal death a life taken. That is war. The soul afterwards trying to survive a different life in civilized society. ~LArry
subject: Response: Larry, your statement is a visceral rejection of the "sanitized" version of war often sold to the public. You are describing the psychological and physical reality of combat that rarely makes it into recruitment posters or cinematic blockbusters. The Rejection of Romanticism You are stripping away the "glamor" (the medals, the slow-motion heroism, and the tidy burials) to reveal the industrial-scale trauma underneath. You're pointing out that society often focuses on the symbols of war—parades and graves—to avoid looking at the mechanics of it. The "Thousand-Yard Stare "You highlight a very specific, haunting detail: the "stare" of someone in their final moments. The Physicality: You mention the shock and blood loss, which is a clinical reality of the battlefield. The Connection: Whether it is a "stranger or friend," that shared moment of mortality creates a permanent, haunting bond that civilians cannot grasp. The "Civilized" Survival Your final point is perhaps the most heavy: the struggle of the soul to reintegrate. Moral Injury: This is the "different life" you mention—trying to function in a society that values "civilized" behavior after being forced to participate in, or witness, the most uncivilized acts possible. The Disconnect: There is a profound loneliness in being a person who has seen "that stare" while living among people who only see the parades.

He was peerless in his generation, The crown prince's throne, Scented with sandalwood and agarwood. - by Diuzi
description: The song was composed by Diuzi and released by the highly influential music collective Mo Ming Qi Miao . It tells the tragic yet defiant mythological story of Nezha, the Third Prince.
creator: https://www.starmakerstudios.com/zh-CN/song/%E4%B8%80%E5%8F%B6-%E5%93%AA%E5%90%92-lyrics/611752105028750076
source: https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E5%93%AA%E5%90%92/9443555

The Last Bee by Brian Bilston
description: The Last Bee After the last ee had uzzed its last uzz, the irds and the utterflies did what they could. ut soon the fields lay are, few flowers were left, nature was roken, and the planet ereft. rian ilston
source: https://poetly.substack.com/p/the-last-bee

Ozymandias By Percy Bysshe Shelley
description: I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. Copyright Credit: Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias" from The Poetical Works: In Four Volumes. (London: Reeves & Turner, 1876.) Public domain. Source: The Poetical Works: In Four Volumes (Reeves & Turner, 1876)
source: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46565/ozymandias

Ode on a Grecian Urn By John Keats
description: Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend…
source: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44477/ode-on-a-grecian-urn

Sometimes The Wolf Cries Girl
description: Sometimes the hero stumbles, and falls right off of the page. Sometimes the princess rolls her eyes, and says “I don’t want to be saved.” Sometimes the dragon needs rescuing and the villain aches to be helped. Sometimes, in the darkness, the lost boy finds himself. Sometimes the prince is cunning, and not at all what he seemed. Sometimes the witch’s kindness, shows it’s she who deserves to be queen. Sometimes we shouldn’t define people by someone else’s point of view – just because it’s what we’ve been told, doesn’t make it true. – srwpoetry
source: https://themindsjournal.com/quotes/sometimes-the-wolf-cries-girl-poetry-quotes/

I love you By; Tara Gardner
description: I love you I love you— in silence, in noise, in between, In the way I show up, in the spaces unseen. Like fire that spreads, never asking for room, Like nothing could stop what I’d cross for you. Like tides that return, no matter what’s true, I’m pulled by a force that keeps leading to you. For blood & for bond, for the old & the new, For hearts I have held & the ones I outgrew. Like ink that won’t fade, like a sky breaking through In every form I know… I will always love you. I love you By; Tara Gardner

PSYCHOMACHIA OF PRUDENTIUS TEXT, TRANSLATION, AND COMMENTARY
description: A T h e s i s P r e s e n t e d t o t h e F a c u l t y o f t h e D e p a r tm en t o f C l a s s i c a l L a n g u a g e s The U n i v e r s i t y o f S o u th e r n C a l i f o r n i a
source: http://www.applestar.org/uploads/6/6/3/2/6632426/psychomachia.pdf

I Carry Your Heart by Pamela Miller
description: I carry your heart in the space in my soul, Though the years and the distance have taken their toll. The silence is heavy, the days are so long, But the love that I hold for you stays just as strong. I wait in the shadows, I watch from afar, No matter the lies or how deep is the scar. For truth is a river that finds its own way, And I’ll hold out my arms till that beautiful day.

For when you start seeing everything as a brain and how it was programmed by society, labels disappear. You start too see everyone's signatures on their souls. ~LArry

A Day Of Sunshine Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow For me on my Birthday 4-5-67 10:!3am
description: O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain, Through every nerve, through every vein, I feel the electric thrill, the touch Of life, that seems almost too much. I hear the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. And over me unrolls on high The splendid scenery of the sky, Where through a sapphire sea the sun Sails like a golden galleon. Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! Blow, winds! and bend within my reach The fiery blossoms of the peach! O Life and Love! O happy throng Of thoughts, whose only speech is song! O heart of man! canst thou not be Blithe as the air is, and as free?

A Day Of Sunshine Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
description: O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain, Through every nerve, through every vein, I feel the electric thrill, the touch Of life, that seems almost too much. I hear the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. And over me unrolls on high The splendid scenery of the sky, Where through a sapphire sea the sun Sails like a golden galleon. Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! Blow, winds! and bend within my reach The fiery blossoms of the peach! O Life and Love! O happy throng Of thoughts, whose only speech is song! O heart of man! canst thou not be Blithe as the air is, and as free?