Rusted, broken, strings missing, all artfully displayed in their den room. Dusty was a guitar lover and professional player. This is an artistic display for the music room, made by his wife Shannon. Unfortunately Dusty also had a drinking problem that was his demise at the age of thirty five. His family, friends and fans visit this room rarely but Shannon keeps it dust free. She sometimes listens to his recordings while relaxing in this room.
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12 September 2025
golden acorns waiting there
squirrels running for the treat
gathering for winter’s lunch
crunchy autumn love
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#Easy Peasy Writes – 9/10/25
hearing
the cage door snap
but the cheese, oh the cheese
found his long tail caught in a trap
‘twas greed
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Cinquain Poetry Prompt 17: TRAP is your inspiration.
If writing can make you in the moment, in the character’s shoes, even a paragraph is worth reading. Similarly if music moves you to move, it too is a listeners dream. But art, combines all. Seeing a painting on the wall and you are mesmerized and wonder about the artist’s intent, what story they are telling, or touching a sculpture, or feeling the cracks or bumps in a piece of pottery, admiring color choices and textures, can bring you closer to the artist.
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https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2025/09/11/reenas-xploration-challenge-398/
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Can You Tell A Story In…
My thoughts are clouded by tears because I still can’t look at photos or videos etc of that day. We got up fairly early, living in Houston in an apartment. We had to take our shitzu into the vet so we were getting ready, and I sat down on the bed and turned on the news. What I saw was incredible. I told my husband that can’t be an error, there’s another one crashing into a building! After that the sickening sounds I’ll never forget of bodies landing on the pavement as people tried to escape out their windows. I have not even seen the memorial. I’m too old and too emotional to relive it. My oldest son lived in NYC at that time and of course we were worried about him but heard from him soon. So, no I try not to think too much about it. The way Trump is going I wouldn’t be shocked again by such an event occurring.
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This Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts: September 11, 2025
It had come down to this, she thought, sadly surveying what used to be their home. Not the entire city of course, but a lovely apartment with a rooftop garden, right up there, as Susan pointed out for her husband Charlie, whose eyesight was going. And it wasn’t so long ago, either, just three years. She chided herself for her lackadaisical attitude back then.
She and Charlie had a perfect life, before, and why to heaven they were so satisfied to just sit back and ignore what was happening, she shook her head. We just turned on the Hallmark channel loud enough to deafen the protests happening beneath us. When they finally decided to face the news and actually saw faces of their old neighbors marching, it was too late. The devastation of democracy was in full swing. Later they heard bombs, and were petrified.
Charlie had a nephew Joe, who lived in the country. They packed a few essentials and decided to walk the few miles to the nephew’s home. Communications had been wiped out in the city so they hoped to find a welcoming solace with Joe and his family.
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Weekly Writing Prompt
He can be blatant, leave no surprise
They can prove falsehoods for his demise
It seems we have no backbones here
While our enemies sit back and cheer.
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Three Things Challenge #MM177
She sat in the chair, just staring off into space. It wasn’t the first time, in fact it was becoming an everyday thing! She would be working at her writing, hoping for another chapter for her publisher, and then what? She would wake up staring at nothing. She was encouraged by her friend to see a doctor, but Susan was not ready to hear what might be wrong. She needed time, time to finish her memoirs.
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Fandango’s Story Starter #217
This week let’s write an excuse poem. Whether justifying your own poor choices or attempting to explain the actions of another, describe the extenuating circumstances and mitigating evidence, real or hypothesized, anything to shift the blame. You have no excuse for not posting a poem in the comments below.
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Monday Poetry Prompt: Excuse
The Bag Lady 
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