I’m moving across
into the slow lane
for a better view
from an incredible angle
of life at its epicentre.
I want to earn the burn
of the incredible shine of an elder
away from the nervous waters
that are sometimes a part
of occupying the superior kingdom
of one’s mature years.
This feels like a wise move.
Like a flower in the wind
I strike the pose
of the might warrior
to make maximum impact.
In spite of the limited scope
of one’s senior years
I endeavour to become
upwardly mobile
the invincible woman
the prime mover
into the future
a rising spirit
heading through God’s gate
to the universal penthouse.
I am the diamond-tipped ghost writer
the alter ego in velvet shadow
scripting the rest of my life
creating the new blueprint
to do it my way.
My plan is to tilt my head skyward,
follow the milky way,
draw on the desire of spirit
and embrace this cosmic fortune
coming out of the wilderness
under a flamingo moon.
This has become my mojo rhythm.
So I play it again,
exultantly aware
I am the divine feminine.