The Dance of the Pharaoh’s Daughter

Her bare feet
kiss brown earth
Black coal eyes glitter
before the crackling fire
Her head is high and proud
for history sings
She raises her arms to heaven
Zill laden fingers reach for the stars
She surrenders
herself to the gods
They are her masters
her inventors
They are the music of her soul
Sleek and supple
she dances across sand
plays among the pyramids
extends a hand
that will lead you through
the winding labyrinth of fear
Acutely aware
she stares at far horizons
Lilting spice
vision of wisdom and passion
this spiritual illusion
of raven hair free in mystic winds
flounced skirts flying, exotic, abandoned
Her soul takes flight
a journey
into the promised land
She is innocence
She is grace
She is daughter of both earth and heaven
Beside the crackling fire
she sways on distant mountains
Let the music
take you there.

Willowdown Memorial on Wordflair

I was amazed at the kindness shown by so many when I posted the request for help in finding the family of Willowdown.  It is a joy to share with you that his family has been found.  His friends in England, Wales, and in the online writing communities all worked hand in hand to accomplish that.

We have put together a memorial that I wanted to share with you. You will find it at

My thanks again to all.



My thanks to all,


Featured Wordflair Poet and Artist, Peter Crossland, aka Willowdown, has passed away in Thailand. He was born in Liverpool, England. He was a talented writer, poet and artist, and well loved by the Internet writing community but he was a very private person.  He was 62 years old at the time of his death. Because no one has been able to locate his family we posted a plea for help in locating them.  That, along with the concentrated effort of friends in England has now led to communication with his family.  My thanks to all who contributed to those efforts.

Willowdown will be sorely missed by the Wordflair Community of Poets and Writers and by the family of poets and writers at The Peaceful Pub as well as the poets and writers on the many communities where he shared his work.



So Even While

To be a poet in capitalistic America is a rebellious act. When it comes to manifestos, I change the subject. Does the poem care whether you have expectations or not? Today I didn’t invent my reader. My reader invented me. Functioning, charging, exploring every crevice of a poem’s musicality and barraging its camouflage with questions. […]

Source: So Even While