Your new prompt word is
CROSS
There are so many different meanings to this word. It’s a feeling – we can feel cross. It’s also a game – noughts and crosses, for example. If we think about Jesus, we can’t neglect the cross. We can use it as a warning – Don’t cross their path. Or for luck – Cross your fingers. And of course the chicken infamously crossed the road. What does this week’s prompt word mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt SHOWER.
Lou Holmes:
You can shower me with affection
Fill me with expectation
Bathe me in love
Wash over my imperfections
Turn me on endlessly
Heat me up
Cool me down
Drain me of all energy
Then start all over again
Modifier Messaging
A sprinkle … a shower … a downpour … a cloudburst, the modifiers we use make a difference in conveying a message. A weather report needs to use them wisely when trying to be “correct”.
Misspoke… mistaken … misled …. lied, the modifiers TV pollical analysts use make an influential difference too. They are well aware of that. But “correctness” isn’t nearly their top concern.
The shower catches me before I can enter the building. My umbrella is in the car so, there is no protection from being drenched. The interview for the position of strategic planner may be a problem.
I recently went to a baby shower with my friend. It was odd being in the house of complete strangers, yet they made me feel welcome.
We have had so many rain showers in the past week that our ground is saturated and water is still pooled on the ground.
Beth:
Nothing better than a shower of blossoms from a tree floating down on us
A boat that is 6 feet 11 inches wide and 41 feet long is not a lot of space for two adults and a dog.
Even though that boat is fully fitted, has central heating, a full size cooker and fridge, and a bathroom with flush loo, basin and shower.
The marina had a shower block which was free to use and provided unlimited hot water.
Maggie needed a bath but there was no way we could use the shower on the boat, so under cover of night we used the marina’s facilities.
It was late so no-one was about when we went up to the shower block and Hubby took Maggie into the gents. She was pretty co-operative, but the floor was flooded and she shot out of the shower room like a rocket. I had to chase her with the towel while Hubby mopped up with an entire roll of cheap industrial clean up roll.
Then came the fun with the hairdryer hooked up to the power supply, also free, in the laundry room. Maggie always loved it, and fluffed up like a black Pink Panther. We only had to do it the once, and as far we know, nobody knew.
National Shower with a Friend Day
Now this is an interesting national day for sure. And I am all all for it. I’ve purchased and used an eco-friendly shower device as well as this method for saving water. I can wrap my head around the concept. And it gives new meaning to the term “great shower head.”
It’s a great “Save The Planet” gesture!
And Environmentalists might conjecture
It conserves H2O,
And when you go with the flow…
It’s more than a romantic adventure!
Spring Fatigue
Bright sunshine
between heavy showers
awakens spring
Blinding bright sunshine
in between rain showers
spring is waking up
Heller Sonnenschein
zwischen starkem Regenfall
awaits the Frühling
Le soleil brille fort
entre les averses de pluie
le printemps s’éveille
Bright sunlight
between heavy showers
of rain is immediately awakened
Shower of Blessings
Blessings shower on those who
have heard the Spirit’s words and do
what they were told, with boldness, too.
Living waters flow!
A shower can mean many things.
Rain falling soft against the earth. A sudden storm that arrives without warning. Or simply a few quiet moments behind a closed bathroom door, where the world finally goes silent.
For me, showers have often been places to think.
Some of life’s biggest thoughts arrive there —between steam and warm water, while the mind finally slows enough to listen.
Sometimes a shower washes away more than dust or tiredness. It rinses off heavy days. Worry. Tears no one saw.
I think many of us have stood under running water,pretending we are fine,while quietly trying to gather ourselves back together.
And then there are the joyful showers.
April showers feeding flowers. Meteor showers reminding us how small and magical the universe really is. Laughter when you get caught in unexpected rain and stop caring about getting soaked.
A shower is not always about being clean.
Sometimes it is renewal. A pause. A chance to begin again.
To stand still for a moment and whisper:
Right… let’s try again tomorrow.
Can People Change?
Shower me with anger
Shower me with guilt
Do you sense the danger
Of the life
That you have built?
Shower me with favour
Shower me with love
Can you be a saviour
Of your life;
A step above?
Record Breaker
When I was a freshman, I rented a room in a fraternity house on campus. In the spring of that first year of college, the guys in the fraternity were looking for some way to raise awareness for the fraternity and money for charity and I overheard a bunch of the brothers brainstorming. I had just read an article in the newspaper about a Canadian kid who set a new world record for the longest continuing shower by standing beneath a running showerhead for 100 consecutive hours.
So I told the guys about that Canadian, and said, “Why don’t you bring that world record back to America?” And then I said, “You can turn it into a charity drive with the tagline, ‘A Dollar and Hour for the Guy in the Shower.’ People would pledge money and for each dollar raised, someone would spend an hour in the shower.” I explained that their fraternity would be associated with raising money for charity as well as bringing the world shower record back to the good old U.S. of A!
They loved the idea. “But who would do it?” they asked. “What idiot would volunteer to stand under a shower for more than 100 straight hours?” they wondered.
I honestly don’t know what I was thinking when I suddenly raised my hand and yelled out, “I’ll do it.”
About a week later, I stepped into a long, three-man shower stall on the third floor of the fraternity house and started that record-breaking shower while the fraternity posted fliers all around campus about the fund raising event.
By the time I had reached the 48-hour mark in my marathon shower, some local newspapers had gotten wind of it and started sending reporters to interview me in the shower. I was wearing bathing trunks, by the way.
Okay, long story short, I did set a new record — 102 hours — for consecutive hours in the shower, but it was broken about two months later by a couple of guys at another college who logged 125 hours standing under running water. I think they were Canadian.
Easy come, easy go, as they say.
A shower of rain is nice
As long as it doesn’t come with ice
Warm sprinkly drops
Is always tops
A treasure at any price
Various Degrees Of Cloudbursts
false sprinkle
mini sky shower
early morn
Rising heat causes humidity, rain due this afternoon – with thunder!
garden plants
seek more to drink – a
good soaking
Thunder rumbles half three, rain will follow soon, golfers must leave the course.
cloudy sky
no sun lit shower
temps decrease
My Shower Couldn’t Decide if it Love Me or Hated Me
Having a shower today felt less like personal hygiene and more like surviving a hostage negotiation.
One second the water was a lovely spa temperature. The next second it was so hot I started confessing to crimes I haven’t even committed.
Then, without warning, it switched to Arctic Ocean mode. Suddenly I’m standing there like a penguin who made some terrible life choices.
The shower wasn’t washing me. It was training me for all four seasons in under 10 minutes.
Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.
At one point I wasn’t sure if I was cleaning myself or being selected for military special forces.
Who designs these things?
I stepped in as a human and stepped out as a medium-rare, flash-frozen emotional support chicken.
Anyway, I’m clean now. Physically.
Mentally, I’m still in the shower waiting to see what temperature comes next.
In Reality
Showing you my minds useless power
Finishing before sunrises golden hour
I don't claim these will be bad or good
In reality I don't believe that I should
I guess I need to go jump in the shower
Rohini:
Shower Shutdown
My shower has filed a formal complaint. Last Tuesday my shower quit.
It wasn’t broken. It wasn’t leaking. It hadn’t developed a plumbing issue.
It had simply had enough.
As in, “Thank you for the opportunity, but I’ve decided to pursue other flows.”
I discovered this at 6:45 a.m. when I turned the tap and was greeted by a laminated notice hanging from the showerhead.
EMPLOYEE GRIEVANCE REPORT
To Whom It May Concern,
After years of service, I regret to inform you that I can no longer continue working under these conditions.
Regards,
The Shower
I blinked. The shower remained silent. I turned the tap again. Nothing.
“Is this a joke?” I asked.
A small printer emerged from somewhere behind the tiles and produced a second document.
No.
At first I was offended. Then I read the attached evidence.
Apparently my shower had been keeping records. For years.
There were photographs. Witness statements. Graphs. One hundred and forty three pages documenting workplace abuse.
Page one was titled:
UNAUTHORIZED CONCERTS
The shower accused me of performing nightly concerts using shampoo bottles as microphones. It claimed I had attempted to sing notes “not legally available to the human voice.”
In fairness, this was true.
Page twenty seven detailed multiple incidents involving interpretive dance.
Page forty two contained a transcript of me giving an acceptance speech after successfully removing shampoo from my eyes. I had thanked my family, my optometrist and the Academy.
The shower had recorded everything.
The next section was worse.
RECKLESS TEMPERATURE MANAGEMENT
The report accused me of repeatedly turning the water from Arctic glacier to volcanic eruption and then acting surprised by the outcome.
One paragraph read:
“Employee has witnessed the user shriek, jump backwards and blame management on seventy two separate occasions.”
Honestly, the shower had a point.
Then came the complaint that hurt most.
EXCESSIVE PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSIONS
According to the report, I had spent an average of twenty three minutes per shower asking questions nobody could answer.
Why do we park in driveways and drive on parkways?
Who was the first person to look at a cow and think, “I’ll drink whatever comes out of that”?
If tomatoes are fruit, why has nobody ever eaten fruit salad with ketchup?
The shower claimed these conversations created a hostile work environment.
The final straw came when I attempted negotiations.
“What will it take to get you back?” I asked.
The shower immediately emailed a list of demands.
No singing before sunrise.
No motivational speeches to the mirror.
No pretending shampoo commercials were documentaries about my future.
No testing the water temperature with my entire body instead of a single finger.
The demands seemed unreasonable. Then I remembered my behavior. They seemed generous.
Word spread quickly. Soon it emerged that showers everywhere were striking. One refused to work until its owner stopped practising job interviews under running water.
Another demanded compensation for listening to dramatic breakup speeches delivered to nobody.
A third requested therapy after being forced to hear someone rehearse imaginary arguments they had never actually had.
The crisis escalated. Governments intervened. Experts appeared on television.
One shower representative stated:
“We clean you daily. The least you can do is stop re-enacting award ceremonies.”
Public opinion shifted immediately. We had all done it. Every single one of us. Eventually a compromise was reached.
Humans agreed to improve workplace conditions. Showers returned to service. Peace was restored. Mostly.
My shower works again. But every morning I feel its judgement.
The water pressure changes slightly whenever I sing. The temperature drops whenever I start an imaginary interview.
And last week, after I spent ten minutes explaining my brilliant business idea involving self-folding laundry, the shower abruptly turned itself off.
Apparently, management still reserves the right to end meetings early.
michnavs:
if i could shower the world with kindness,
i’d make a forever-rain of it
a warm, golden downpour
drifting from cloud to cloud,
washing over rooftops,
running through alleyways,
sliding beneath front doors,
gathering in the cracks of forgotten places.
i’d let it fall on every home,
every community,
every neighborhood,
until kindness streamed through the streets
like rivers after a storm,
until every porch light glowed a little brighter,
until every empty table found a meal,
until every lonely room filled with laughter.
i’d shower the world so completely
that no one is mobbed by hatred,
no one is bruised by cruelty,
no one is left standing in the cold,
watching life pass by from the shadows.
the rain would keep falling
soft as a mother’s hand,
steady as a heartbeat.
and wherever it touched,
hunger would loosen its grip,
fear would fade like mist at sunrise,
and people would look at one another
not as strangers,
but as shelter.
Cathy Cade:
Baby Shower
Mum had reservations from the start.
“We didn’t have baby showers back when you were born, Emma. Sounds to me like a bid for people to give you presents.”
“Course it isn’t, Mum. People don’t have to bring presents. It’s a celebration of the fact I’m going to be a mother. Have some Prosecco; you’re going to be a grandma.”
“It must be costing a fortune to hire this hotel meeting room. Is that your guest list?” She sipped from the wineglass her daughter passed her. “Here, I recognise some of these names from that hen party. And you know how that ended…”
Emma sighed. “Mum, you know I’ll be eternally grateful that you bailed us out, but I’m not drinking, am I? Not while I’m pregnant.” She paused, as this sunk in. “Look, the girls are arriving… can you finish putting up these baby pics? The guests will be bringing more – it’s for one of the games.”
The prosecco flowed more copiously than the fruit punch and the games descended to chaos. After a while Emma gave up trying to organise things. Her friends were becoming shrill, and Mum was laughing a lot.
Hearing a cheer behind her, she turned to see her oldest school friend clearing one end of the bar and mounting a bar stool.
“Ginny, you can’t–”
Two guests caught Ginny as she toppled, grabbing at the banner draped across the bar on her way down. The hanging supports came with it, clearing the bar of all remaining glasses and plates.
First aid was summoned and administered. By then, most of the guests had trickled from the room. Emma was still apologising to the manager and undertaking to pay for all breakages while Mum tried to pack up the gifts for transport, and hotel staff began clearing debris.
Ginny, limping out to the hotel garden, was greeted with a chorus of, “For she’s a jolly good fellow.”
Emma went to help with the gifts.
“Are you alright, Mum? You seem a bit… unsteady.”
Mum started a giggle which turned into hiccups. She just nodded towards the singers outside until she could manage to say, “What a shower, eh?”
Lisa Paul:
String Happiness
O my days, please be kind –
string happiness along
with golden light and laughter
and a melancholy song,
with whispers of the yesterdays
and dreams of things to come.
O days, shower me with life
and living before I succumb
to the end that follows us –
to the day when silence falls,
when souls are snatched from this earth
when our last adventure calls.
Rall:
showers
april showers come to mind
april love pat boone
i know
no one on here could be that old
Lily's Corner:
The cost of water can be so high especially when my sons’ take hour-long showers. My plan is to buy a timer.
Susan Batten:
The Shower
A shower of golden sparks rained down, quite harmless, to the ground. They laughed to see the bright display – what danger could be found? But they were wrong to be content, delighted with the sight, for one amongst them was struck blind, that glittering, golden night.
Chatter
distant car doors thud
footsteps chatter umbrellas swoosh
— summer’s free shower
When I see this word, I always think of the shower that we were forced to have at school. I went to a Grammar school, but it was very strict especially when it came to Games and PE. We were all thirteen and fourteen years old, and after every one of those sessions we simply had to have a shower. There were quite a lot all in one place. There boy’s and girl’s showers. All of us were. Very self conscious as you are at that age. There were no doors on the showers and you were open to everyone’s view including the rather perverse P.E. Teacher. She oggled us. We all attempted to keep ourselves private but it wasn’t possible. We all absolutely hated it and got out of it if we culd. She used to keep a tally on the dates on which we said we could not have a shower.
I don’t know what it is like at schools today but that experience is one that I do not like to remember.
Beautiful Paris
beautiful Paris bursting with spring colours
tulips in shades of purple pinks and yellows
greet flocks of tourists whose eyes graze greedily
on floral enchantments after lean winter
gold embellished marble fountains sing lyrics
of praise and joy for Sun King who sprinkles them
with fiery confetti of platinum shards
that jump over and through foaming water jets
showering down as millions of bright jewels
creating rainbows that delight spectators
beautiful city of passion and young love
Paris adventure
technicoloured memories
in shapes of tulips
Communion with Nature
nature showers,
cleanses from the outside in,
rinsing hard days from my skin
a trickling torrent
runs its deep rhythms
beneath my feet,
earthy scents rise
lifting my mood
I drink petrichor,
like sweet camomile
diluting my viscous blood
to flow with ease
each pulse beat
translates lost lyrics
into natural hymns,
enchanting my soul
as water falls
demanding I listen
freshly awakened - I tingle,
life hums renewed within
as clarity greets
my inner eye
poetisinta:
The Prophet of Swagger Castle
A prophet wearing dungarees,
Recited the future to bumblebees,
At Swagger Castle later that day,
He taught three pigs to dance ballet,
He then took a shower in a sack,
And seven white mice scrubbed his back!
Fiona Brown:
The gentleman strode past with a swagger, having purchased the last brolly at the Castle Fayre. The Prophet wished he’d heeded his own advice and bought it himself. These dungarees won’t be much help in the shower.
Thru Violet's Lentz:
The Thief
Following yet another weekend’s worth of unanswered calls and text messages, Eli resurfaces Monday night.
Not with an explanation. Not with accountability. With chocolates.
He sets the box on her counter like a magician revealing the final card in a trick he’s performed too many times. The ribbon is deep red, the brand luxuriant. He always brings something- flowers, wine, even a necklace once- as if affection can be itemized, as if gifts can patch the holes he keeps tearing in her.
His smile is warm. His voice is smoother than the soft centers in the chocolates. “Tamara, baby, I’m sorry. I’ve just been overwhelmed lately. I should’ve returned your calls. I know that. But, hey, I’m here now, and that’s what counts.”
Textbook. Almost elegant in its construction.
But Tamara has just come off of yet another weekend alone.
A weekend without his curated charm, without the gravitational pull of his attentiveness‑on‑demand. A weekend without the subtle acrobatics of decoding his moods, his silences, his sudden tenderness. For the first time in a long while, she heard her own thoughts without having to reshape them into something he might find flattering.
She looks at him, and the strangest thing happens- nothing inside her moves.
He keeps talking, layering charm over absence, apology over avoidance. His hands gesture in that familiar way- open palms, soft eyes, the posture of a man who wants to be forgiven without ever having to change.
She used to take his half‑formed efforts and sculpt them into something that resembled love. She used to meet him more than halfway, then pretend the distance was equal.
But this weekend, she saw the truth with a clarity that felt like stepping into sunlight after years indoors- Eli is a thief.
Not of money. Not of time.
Of her peace. Her self‑image. Her quiet. Her sense of being enough.
He steals it gently, almost politely, showering her with pretty words and expensive gifts and then punctuates the good times with long disappearances that leave her doubting herself more than she doubts him.
He reaches for her now, fingertips brushing her arm. “Tam, talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”
She steps back.
“I’m not shutting you out,” she says. “I’m letting you go.”
He blinks, thrown off script. “What? Baby, come on. Don’t be like that.”
She almost laughs- not because it’s funny, but because she finally recognizes the line. He’s said it before. Variations of it. A dozen times. Maybe more.
“I’m done, Eli.” Her voice is steady, almost calm. “You disappear. You come back with gifts. You say the right things. And I’ve been pretending that’s enough. It isn’t.”
He opens his mouth, but she lifts a hand to mark the boundary she should have drawn years ago.
“I’m tired,” she says. “Of who I become when I am with you.”
For once, Eli has no words.
***
Image credit: Pinterest
Esther Chilton 
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