The Fly Swatter

December 21, 2008 § Leave a comment


Two eyes peered behind a violet.
How many people came as a threat,
looking inside its space?
Let me count till my face
turns blue.
A fly tries to survive, too.
S.W.A.T. on the thing;
Wings are nodding…
The time has stopped-
and its body dropped
to the ground.
No one heard a sound.


© Sonya Rose



December 21, 2008 § Leave a comment


They panic the rest of time.
The history of mankind
Wrapped in ordinary clothing…
Here is the thing, the mind
Calls out words
Drugs, too small
I’ll be good.
I need you…Call.

He did a lot of thinking.
I refuse to be
A hater
To me
You’re in trouble
Because you went
Too far, maybe
Every once in a while,
I’ll do…whenever I moan-
I don’t want to hear it.
This is what your phone
Is all about
I’m going to set him
Look what he did on a whim
Add a little bit of compromise
Who will struggle the hardest?
How we ended it shook…
Stand off…their
Solution is
They didn’t let go
Try hard not to kiss…
Tell us, crying, whatever
You do
He sounds like a
Nice guy I hope for you
He’s not a little
In public
Making business missy
In her hands
Porcelain dolls
In her eyes, man
Men laughing, breaking balls
Thank you.
It’s the only done
Thing that bothers
I don’t understand
I held on and didn’t
Want to let go of strife
My dream and love
I knew there was
Nothing at all
You’re fired ‘cause.
Take me to Mexico
I’ll love it there,
It’s getting pretty bare
Interesting, pretty
I’m going to fly
Its pouring…it’s raining.
Don’t ask me why…
I particularly like this guy
when I’m with him, I’m high…
So, I will try…
Not to tell this one goodbye…
It’s our time…it’s our sky.


© Sonya Rose


December 13, 2007 § 2 Comments

Her gates are sealed
And she’s all booked up till May
She doesn’t need anybody
With a row of dimes
To offer her space in time
“What’s time”, she asks?
Time is just a fantasy
What belongs to her is the sum
Of a ray of light which beams
Forth from her eyes
When looked upon
She knows she’s being watched
But she doesn’t care
She has nothing to worry
Her feet have been walking
In mud all the way to the city
Her hands are reminiscent
Of corn drawing sticks
She cannot draw or write
Or see
Without the love in her life
That she needs the most
Her face is like jewels
Worth more than she knows
Yet she hides behind closed
Gates in the night
With heavy burdens
If only she could talk to me
And tell me
She is ill
Feverish with chills
And has to pay
Now for all her sins
Everyone’s, she floats
Out of her mind across the
Brush, the thicket
And holds onto something
Something you would never
Dream of holding onto
Another kind of brush
I come closer to take a look
And she’s painting the sky
She dips her brush into her
Wounds and screams, not for…
She is not jealous or hates
No one for inflicting her with false hope
Or lingering lies
She is the extreme desire
Of truth
As I stand back to view what
She has written
She speaks me to me
Go now and so I do
But, I can’t, hey, but be curious
What she created
So I turn around
And see a blood filled sky
She’s the painter
The poet of life
Who was always there…
Walks with the Shepperd

Who threads my past,
Present, and future
The clone of time…


© Sonya Rose


December 2, 2007 § Leave a comment

Unopened doors,

passageways to the unknown-

unconscious, unaware,

still surviving.

Don’t think about dying.

In a split second,

it could happen to you;

taking a last breath

in a race never to be won.


© Sonya Rose


November 18, 2007 § Leave a comment

Hours pass
She walks on
A myrmidon
In her choice,
Some voice
Pretty bad dreams


© Sonya Rose

Letter to a Flying Queen: Sylvia Plath

November 18, 2007 § Leave a comment

In Celebration of National Poetry Month: April 2007, I had written a letter to American Poet Sylvia Plath—from here to the afterlife titled “Letter to a Flying Queen”:

Dear Sylvia,

What does an average woman talk about? What does it say about me when I’m strangely fascinated with your life? You are the Queen in the mirror flying; tumbling down heaven’s staircase is your crown, before my feet. Are you speaking finally to God? What does he say about the war? I am on this empty road together with my brothers and sisters with heavyhearted fears. I am disturbed; I am writing our pain where dreams are realized and suddenly destroyed. The rest of my letters are in a place called “nowhere”, my mind. There were others, too, who shot the blood out of my head, ripped my heart out with their hands. There is no stopping pain. It flew once through your veins; it flows now through mine and the living world.

Oh, what is “Daddy” like? Is he God? Was he disturbed as you were once with the world the way it came to pass? Why didn’t He stop you (from taking your life …) from writing more? Hey, did you know you won a Pulitzer Prize? Why weren’t you honored sooner while you lived? What is it like on the other side of life? Intense? Can you ever love too much without dying?

Well, I must get out of these sleeping clothes, out of my restless dreams, into the disorder of poetic order never to make sense.

Poet to Poet,
Sonya Rose


Letter to a Flying Queen “Sylvia Plath” by Sonya Rose {poetry video on YouTube}

Note: What I admire most about Sylvia she did live her life to the extreme, and had an intense passion for life.

dancing dandelions

November 18, 2007 § Leave a comment

i walked past…

my elementary school…

traveled through a girl and boy

classmates from the start…

the boy who I kissed

in the future….

turned around……..

to follow me…………………

onto the road to higher learning;

i am older now he sees……..

and the day is closing…

i am ice-skating…….

spinning around so much,

almost dizzy now days,

afraid of falling…

not, the boy…

man in his thirties

watched me…

as i told him to pray

for the Super natural…

and Two……….

other Things


Time and US

not really sure…

as I woke…

from a dream…

and forgot its ending…

my left wrist is hurting

this past Sunday


i am told on the highway

my industrious perseverance

will carry me to my goal

and i will receive recognition

for my work well done

it is the success…

after inexplicable delays

i can’t get discouraged

or become indiscreet……..

for winter will come again soon

and i will not freeze……………

next to the ice-laden trees

the white in the black

the light in a dream


© Sonya Rose

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