Your prompt word this week is
LABEL
My mind settled on this week’s prompt word when I was cutting out an uncomfortable label from a top. It kept digging in. The labels seem to be getting longer as there’s more information companies are required to add. But there are all sorts of labels – we put them on parcels to warn if something is fragile. We might label someone as difficult or a weak person; conversely we might label someone as an angel or studious. Then there are record labels and designer labels. 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 RICH.
Daily Bread Rich
Midas was a tad too rich
and Lazarus was not.
And I? Well, I don’t really care.
His daily bread is always there
and that is what I’ve got.
Washington’s full of bought and paid jerks
Giving their “owners” unjust owed perks.
America, it’s all she wrote
Unless we stand up and vote…
And show the rich how Democracy works!
Rich Before Time
a forgotten future stretches across the skyline of our skin
perhaps
we were once
stars
rich
bright
laughing
before laughter
learned of time
how many
breaths ago
did we leave
our names
upon the wind
(or did the wind
leave us)
we were - we are
only a moment
held between
remembering
and a world
which forgot
The Pleasant Day
During my 4-day March holidays this year, me and my family planned to have fun outside the house. We decided to go to the downtown in my city so that we can start shopping in a big mall.
During our trip to the downtown, I saw a beautiful scenery of two mountains from both sides of the road, with slanted heights. However, it wasn’t an ordinary scenery, as the mountains were rich in yellow flowers. The scenery looked very pleasant in a spring season noon as they were really gorgeous.
As we went further, the river was also very amazing, as the water was flowing quickly through its path. It was really refreshing, as the fast flow of water gave a lifelike scent, even if the cold weather didn’t finish yet.
Afterwards, we were in a big mall where we went to a supermarket. Inside, it was rich in useful things, such as cleaning products, tools, some kitchen appliances, poultry, perfumes and deodorants, fruits and vegetables, and many goodies. We enjoyed shopping there, and got ourselves some of them.
Afterwards, we explored the mall for some fashion, and there were restaurants, too. It was a small but memorable joy. At the end of our journey, it was a windy night, but we went back home peacefully. The whole journey was, therefore, a very wonderful experience.
A rusty lamp in the sand. One rub and a genie floated out with the promise of a wish to be granted.
“I want to be rich.”
“Done,” he said.
“Where’s the money?”
“What money, Richard?”
“My name’s Jack.”
“Not any more Rich.”
Most people think of money first.
A full bank account.
A large house.
Expensive cars.
The kind of wealth the world can count.
But I have learned there are riches that never appear on a balance sheet.
I feel rich when my family gathers around the table, laughter filling the room.
I feel rich when Bella rests her head on my knee and my cats curl up nearby, each convinced they own the best spot in the house.
I feel rich when I look up at the night sky over Fuerteventura. The stars ask for nothing, yet they give so much.
I feel rich every time I write. Every poem,
every story, every song is another reminder that creativity is a gift no one can measure.
And I feel rich whenever kindness appears unexpectedly—
a smile,
a thoughtful comment,
or someone taking a few moments to say,
“Your words meant something to me.”
Those moments stay with me far longer than anything money could buy.
Money can make life easier.
But love, friendship, health, hope, and purpose…
Those are the treasures that make a life truly abundant.
In the end,
being rich is not about what we own.
It is about what fills our hearts when we have nothing left to prove.
And by that measure…
I am richer than I ever imagined.
We may not be rich in the monetary sense, but we are rich in other things.
Most of all we have each other, and that is beyond riches.
Abundant Form
Rich, a nickname
Could have been Rick, or even *Dick
For a youngster; Rickie or Richie.
Generationally handed down
From father to son; thrice
enriching
family tradition
passing names
Roses Have Thorns
they say roses have thorns
for a reason.
i should have let mine
grow stronger,
sharper.
maybe then
i could have spared myself,
shielded my heart
from your rich illusion
your intoxicating presence,
your effortless disappearance.
you arrived
like a promise,
and left
like a wound
that refused to close.
the kind of hurt
that made me want
to take the sharp edge of a knife
and sever every thread
that still led back to you.
instead,
i reached for my pen.
i let the ink
bleed what the blade never could,
and with every line,
i walked farther away.
still carrying
thorns in my back,
and blood on my hand,
proof that loving you
was never without a price.
but wounds become scars,
and scars become reminders.
i no longer need your garden
or your poison.
i have grown my own thorns.
and at last,
i am free
from the monster
you chose to be.
Susan Batten:
Masters of Colour
The word “rich” plunged me into the medieval world of great artists and their techniques and challenges, for not only did they use their talent to paint stunning and immortal masterpieces, they also became highly knowledgeable when it came to their materials. If we paint, in whatever medium we use, we can buy everything we need with just a “click”. The tubes or packets arrive at our door, ready to go. Not so for the artists of the past. They, and their assistants, had to be chemists, too, choosing and mixing pigments to produce the effects we so admire today. The colours had to glow – and be durable and affordable: it was a costly, tricky business before they even started on the painting itself. When you next visit a gallery, take a moment to marvel at the rich panoply before you and reflect on all the work that went into it behind the scenes.
There was a golfer named Mitch Hit his golf ball into the ditch When all was said and done He thought golfing was now not fun So he knew he’d never get rich
Now the golfer we know as Mitch
Gave up golf and learned to pitch
Baseballs were larger
But they didn’t go farther
And again he’d never get rich
Rall:
if you are rich
you will always have friends
if you are poor
you will know if you really do
Cathy Cade:
When I'm Rich
“When I’m rich, I’ll dance all day,
buy new clothes, have holidays.
New house, a garden, wider scope,
room to move, more space, new hope.”
“It sounds alright. When will that be?”
“When I win the lottery.”
“Which ‘lucky draw’ site will oblige you
of the many you subscribe to?”
“When I’m rich, I’ll ditch this rotgut,
drink champagne all day, not this muck;
best malt whiskies, fine cognacs
and gourmet meals, not ‘due-date’ snacks.”
“Fine wine can still get you addicted
and still needs to be restricted.
You can’t trick a breathalyser.”
“So, call a cab. Don’t be a miser.”
“You haven’t won your fortune yet.
My gee-gees are a better bet.”
“Gambling can be addictive too.”
“Now that is rich, coming from you.”
Thomas Wikman:
Super Rich - Super Facts
Superfact 120: The amount of wealth owned by the billionaires is roughly double as much as the poorest half of the world’s population. The amount of wealth owned by the 12 richest billionaires is more than the wealth of the poorest 50% of the world’s population. The richest 1% of the global population owns approximately 38% to 45% of the world’s total wealth.
There are at the moment of this writing 3,428 dollar billionaires in the world worth 20.1 trillion dollars together. For comparison the poorest 50% of the world’s population holds between $9 trillion to $12 trillion dollars of wealth (about half). According to this report the amount of wealth owned by the poorest half of the world is less than the amount owned by just the 12 richest billionaires. By the time you read this the numbers have probably changed (likely upwards). You can also read more in Wikipedia. I am specifying that it is in dollars and not let say in the Iranian Rial. With respect to the Iranian Rial, I am also a billionaire, and you are probably too (if you own a phone or computer). One dollar can buy roughly 1,300,000 to 1,600,000 IRR. You just need $700 to be a billionaire in the Iranian Rial.
To read on and to see charts and illustrations, click here
The Elephant's Trunk:
In Stitches
Mister Jones in his manor, so rich,
Found his gardener stuck in a ditch.
He pulled with great might,
Gave his trousers a fright ….
And tore every seam at the stitch!
Suzette B's Blog:
Epiphany
watching the same moon
Our ancestors near and far saw—
rich epiphany
Lisa A Paul:
The quiet of the woods
A little hand in mine
Spoonfuls of ice cream
Full-bodied, hot coffee
Laughter around me
Breeze on a hot day
The sound of rolling waves
Orange and blue sunset
Brightly colored birds
Words that land kindly
A strong, warm hug
A real day off
That first bite
Beautiful artwork
A line that grabs my heart
Songs that make me smile
Songs that make me cry
Someone dear sitting near
A kiss
Furry friend cuddled close
Sound of a train
Driving with the windows down
Walking barefoot in soft grass
Receiving a letter
Rain falling on a tin roof
Thunder growling in the distance
Air conditioning and heat
Flowers
Deer strolling across the lawn
Exploring
A sunrise filled with hope
Family
Memories
These are the gifts that make me RICH.
Boomcha:
The prompt word is rich, which makes me smile because that’s The Mister’s name. You can’t out‑kind Rich. He’s the best. Not rich in money, but rich in the way he shows up, listens, steadies, softens the edges of a day. If richness is measured in goodness, then he’s the wealthiest man I’ve ever known.
Dawgy Daddy Responds:
To like or dislike this post is completely left up for you to say
But in the meantime I want to tell Ivor HAVE A HAPPY BIRTHDAY
In the corner of my mind, something kept trying to bloom
A rich response left here from the peaceful-threads loom
In the land of WordPress I hope this challenge answer is okay
Thru Violet's Lentz:
Regarding Rich
There was something peculiar about my new neighbor, Rich. Something that didn’t add up. And since he kept every curtain closed, every blind drawn- I knew I’d never find out what it was unless I followed him.
Let me back up. Starting there might make me sound like a sicko stalker, and I assure you, that’s not the case.
After Mrs. McMurtry died, the house next door sat empty for two years. Then last October, Rich showed up with a moving truck on a Tuesday, which struck me odd right off. I mean, who moves on a Tuesday? Then it was the gray boxes, all identical, no labels. He stood on the porch in a wool coat too warm for the weather, directing the movers with small motions of his hand, never raising his voice.
He introduced himself once, at the mailbox. Just Rich, no last name. I could tell by the expression on his face he was not enjoying the chit chat- so I made up some lame excuse and went back in the house. Every time I saw him outside after that, his expression- still the same- flat, unreadable, disinterested.
He rarely if ever went out. Had his groceries delivered. Called a car service for pretty much everything else. Hardly ever had any trash either- so light the can only needed rolling out every couple of weeks.
So when I saw him leave on foot one gray Wednesday, dressed like a man with somewhere to be, I followed. Twelve blocks, keeping well enough behind him so he wouldn’t notice me if he turned around.
He stopped at a squat brick community center. Went in a side door. I gave it two minutes, then followed. In the hallway, there was a folding sign: GRIEF SUPPORT WEDNESDAYS 4:30 RM 114 Facilitator: Rich Calloway.
Through the door’s narrow window I saw him sitting in a circle of folding chairs, coat still on, listening to an old man with his elbows on his knees. His face was doing something I’d never seen it do before- something soft, tired, entirely unguarded.
It took a week of asking around to learn the rest. Rich had lost his husband to cancer, and their son to an overdose eighteen months later. The gray boxes were a packing service- that specialized in packing up the belongings of the recently deceased- everything sorted and stored so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of that, until he was ready.
And when I finally pieced it together- although my patience in following him had in fact paid off- I have to admit I wasn’t proud of myself. I mean here I am following around a grieving widower who recently lost his only child- and he still has the wherewithal to head up a grief support group?
Needless to say, I’ve never mentioned to him that I had followed him, but every Thursday I do roll in his trash can with my own- I mean it feels like the least I could do.
Gratitude has become one of the most meaningful ways I choose to look at life. It reminds me that even on ordinary days, there is an extraordinary amount of beauty surrounding me. It is so easy to become caught up in what is next, what is missing, or what could be better, but when I pause and truly reflect, I realize that my life is filled with blessings that deserve to be noticed and appreciated. The more I focus on them, the more I understand how incredibly rich my life already is—not because of material things, but because of the love, experiences, and simple gifts that fill each day.
One of my greatest blessings is my mom. Her love, support, and unwavering belief in me have shaped who I am. She has been a source of comfort during difficult moments and someone who celebrates every success, no matter how small. Her kindness, wisdom, and strength inspire me every day. Knowing that I can always turn to her is a gift that I never want to take for granted.
I am equally grateful for my sister. There is something special about the bond we share. Through laughter, conversations, memories, and even challenges, she has been a constant presence in my life. Having someone who understands where I come from and who walks beside me through different seasons of life is a blessing that brings me great comfort and joy.
My friends are another incredible gift. They bring laughter into my life, encourage me when I need support, and remind me that life is meant to be shared. True friendship is something that cannot be measured, yet it enriches every experience. Whether we are celebrating milestones, enjoying simple conversations, or simply being there for one another, I am thankful for every person who has chosen to walk alongside me.
I am deeply grateful for my health. It is easy to overlook until we are reminded of how precious it truly is. Being able to move, think, breathe, laugh, and experience the world is something I never want to take for granted. Every healthy day is an opportunity to live with purpose, to grow, and to make meaningful memories. I know that good health is one of life’s greatest blessings, and I am thankful for it every single day.
Each morning when I wake up, I am reminded that a new day is a gift. Every sunrise brings fresh possibilities, new opportunities, and another chance to learn, love, and become a better version of myself. Waking up is something that can seem ordinary, but it is one of the greatest miracles we experience. Each day offers hope, and for that alone, I am incredibly thankful.
There is also joy in the little things that brighten my days. A warm cup of coffee in the morning gives me a quiet moment to pause before the day begins. It is more than just a drink; it is a comforting ritual that invites peace and reflection. Those few moments of stillness remind me to appreciate the present instead of rushing toward the future.
Books have also been a wonderful blessing in my life. They open doors to new ideas, different perspectives, and endless adventures. Through reading, I have learned valuable lessons, found comfort during difficult times, and discovered inspiration that continues to shape my thinking. Every book carries the possibility of growth, and I am grateful for the wisdom that comes from turning each page.
Music is another gift that speaks directly to the heart. It has the power to lift my spirit, calm my mind, and express emotions that words sometimes cannot capture. There are songs that remind me of special memories, songs that motivate me, and songs that simply make me smile. I am thankful for the way music fills life with beauty and meaning.
I am grateful for my home—a place where I feel safe, comfortable, and at peace. It is more than walls and a roof; it is a place where memories are made, where I can rest, recharge, and simply be myself. Having a place to call home is a blessing that provides security and warmth, and I never want to overlook how fortunate I am to have it.
Beyond these blessings are countless others that often go unnoticed. I am thankful for laughter that lightens difficult days, for quiet evenings that allow me to reflect, for nature that reminds me of the beauty of creation, and for every season that teaches a different lesson. I am grateful for opportunities to learn, the freedom to pursue my dreams, acts of kindness from strangers, meaningful conversations, moments of peace, and the ability to love and be loved.
Life will always include challenges, disappointments, and uncertainty. Yet gratitude changes the way I experience them. It shifts my attention from what I lack to everything I have already been given. It reminds me that blessings are often found in the simplest moments, waiting to be recognized. Every smile, every sunrise, every conversation, and every act of kindness becomes a reminder that life is filled with goodness.
As I continue my journey, I hope to carry this spirit of thankfulness with me each day. I want to appreciate the people I love, treasure the experiences I am given, and never lose sight of the countless blessings that surround me. My prayer is that I always choose gratitude, because when I do, I see the world with greater joy, deeper peace, and a heart that is full of hope.
The Mango Theory of Wealth
There was once a gentleman in our neighborhood who owned three houses, four cars, and a lawn so immaculate that even the weeds seemed afraid to appear without permission. Children rode their bicycles more slowly past his gate, partly out of respect and partly because the gravel driveway looked expensive enough to invoice them for tire marks.
Everyone agreed he was rich.
Curiously, the man himself seemed unconvinced.
Each morning he stood outside in immaculate golf shirts, discussing stock markets, property values, and the alarming rise of people who had become wealthier than he was. There was always someone further up the mountain. A larger yacht appeared in a magazine. A grander villa emerged on a hillside. A billionaire launched himself into space merely because Earth had become too ordinary.
The neighborhood children, meanwhile, were conducting a different kind of accounting.
One summer they discovered that Mrs. Fernandes, a retired schoolteacher who lived alone in a modest yellow house, possessed an astonishing abundance of mangoes.
A sprawling tree in her backyard produced more fruit than one woman could reasonably consume without becoming part mango herself. Every afternoon she invited children through the side gate and handed them ripe fruit wrapped in old newspaper.
Her wealth was measured in sticky fingers and stained shirts.
No one called her rich.
The word itself has always suffered from a public relations problem. It tends to arrive carrying briefcases, investment portfolios, and photographs of kitchens large enough to require their own weather forecast. Yet, history is cluttered with stranger forms of abundance.
The ancient Romans collected exotic fish with the seriousness of military campaigns. Victorian gentlemen amassed cabinets full of butterflies. During the Dutch tulip craze, perfectly sensible adults traded fortunes for flower bulbs. Somewhere in England there is probably a collector who owns six hundred antique teapots and feels wealthier than any hedge fund manager while dusting them.
The novelist and essayist Jorge Luis Borges once imagined paradise as a kind of library. Not a bank vault. Not a palace. A library.
That seems absurd until one remembers the sensation of wandering through secondhand bookshops where forgotten worlds sit quietly on shelves for the price of a sandwich. Entire civilizations can be purchased for less than a parking ticket. A person carrying two dollars and curiosity may leave richer than someone carrying two thousand dollars and boredom.
I think about this whenever I visit old railway stations.
The stations themselves are not wealthy places. Paint peels. Benches wobble. Loudspeakers produce announcements that sound as though they have traveled through three wars and a thunderstorm.
Yet, they are crowded with riches of another kind: conversations overheard only once, strangers inventing temporary friendships, vendors selling tea with the confidence of master sommeliers, grandparents carrying stories that have outlived governments.
Economists would struggle to chart any of it.
Neither would they know what to do with my grandfather’s workshop.
Officially it contained little of value. Rusted tools hung from nails. Coffee tins stored mysterious screws. A radio from another century occupied a shelf despite having retired from broadcasting several decades earlier.
Yet, he could identify the history of every object. A cracked hammer was not a cracked hammer; it was the hammer used when repairing a gate during a monsoon in 1968. A dented lantern carried three generations of power outages.
The place resembled a museum curated by memory.
Visitors often mistake wealth for quantity. They count, measure and compare. They produce charts. But some possessions become larger than their physical dimensions. A recipe card. A ticket stub. A fountain pen that leaks slightly and therefore cannot be trusted, except with important thoughts.
Years ago, I met a fisherman who owned almost nothing beyond a small boat, a transistor radio, and a dog with questionable respect for authority.
He spent his evenings watching sunsets over the harbor while listening to cricket commentary distorted by static. He complained frequently about taxes, weather, politics, and the dog. Yet, he possessed the unmistakable air of someone who had misplaced the habit of envy.
I have wondered about him ever since.
Perhaps richness is one of those peculiar things that becomes harder to identify the more loudly it announces itself. Like perfume, it is often strongest in passing. A crowded dinner table. A dog asleep at your feet. A library card. A mango wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper.
Or perhaps it is waiting somewhere in an old workshop, tucked inside a coffee tin full of mismatched screws, where nobody has thought to look for it.
***
Image credit: Pinterest
Esther Chilton 
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