A few poems by Miguel F. Aznar



Our generation is not marked by years in these bodies,

but by evolution through many lives.

Our common thread, an awareness

bringing fire to certain topics and ideas.

Secret sign binds us:

a common gnawing,

a common emptiness,

a common joy,

a common fullness.

Overcoming a hurdle,

we find others facing the same threshold.

Then share,

safely, trustingly, supportively, openly, courageously.

If the challenge is beyond words,

speak from the heart

with poetry

of dreams and fears

of discovery and the unknown

of self and God,

speaker and listener coevolving.


They Met Like This


They met like this

One atop the other.

His face red and dripping

Driving him to scream

And jump up

But not escape.


She screamed, too,

Helpless on the ground.

Unable to move

Until he escaped

But he wildly repeating

The same failed palsy.


They met like this

In the way they did not wish to meet.

In the nightmare of fish

Plucked from stream to flap

And slap on thirsty ground.


They flailed and screamed

The same few words again & again

The meaning coming from

The strength of their voices

Echoing in the

Tunnels of their vision.


They met like this

Neither learning the others name

Or seeing the others face

Or seeing dozens swerving

Around them in flashes of

Silver & yellow, blue & green.


I unhooked him

And threw him back.

I helped her aside the

Relentless cascade where

She drew knees to chest

And shook and cried.




Subordinate monkey

Generations gone by

You are the one

That bows when I cry.


Serotonin brew

Swirls in my head

Euphoria comes when

You’ve done what I said


I control you

My will—your reliance

I control you

My decision—your compliance


Mobile above my crib

My first interaction

I reach, you move

My first satisfaction


My thoughts become action

For this I will strive

Control is my feedback

So I know I’m alive


I control you

My will—your reliance

I control you

My decision—your compliance


Don’t make me angry

Accept my suggestion

It’s a much better way

No need to question.


Don’t disappoint me

I’ll fill you with guilt

For you I have

My whole life built


I control you

My will—your reliance

I control you

My decision—your compliance


Control hides

Behind many faces

Supporting ego

It is the basis.


My view confirmed

Of our duality

Importance affirmed

Not of you, but me.


I No Longer Go With Him

By the middle of winter
Ferns poke hopeful green
Among their freeze-dried forerunners.

My father waits for the frost
That will sap the last juice
From that passing generation.

He and I open the year
With rhythmic swings of blade
To clear the field for fresh growth.

I no longer go with him to cut down,
Stomp flat, and haul away the dead fern.
Our time together has become too precious.

I still cut, stomp, and haul,
But now I go with him
To be with him

That shift of intent
Changes everything.
I no longer wonder why
We can’t leave the old fern standing.
Or cut it and leave it in place.
Or lug up a lawnmower.
Or at least take a rake.

Those questions had caught me
Like a burr in my sock.
Now they are irrelevant
Because I no longer go with him
To cut down, stomp flat, and haul away.