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My commitment is to write (or excavate from my archives) an original poem to feature here once a week. 

meditation hands.jpg

Featured Poem:


Not the laid-back,

But love

in every fiber, every muscle,
unconditional, wide-ranging, absolute,
tangible, no bullshit, excluding no one,
not even my next-door neighbor
who never lets their dog out.

Love, even the old woman screaming
at her barefoot grandchild outside of Target,
yanking him to her used car by his little arm.
Unconditional love for how hard she tried
and how badly she failed at getting
where she thought she was going.
How completely fucked and without
resources she feels right now.
Real love for her.

And for him.

May you be safe from inner and outer harm.
May you be free from guilt, shame and hatred.
May you enjoy physical and mental well being.
you, old lady, may you live

with the ease of an open heart.
And may you awaken to your true nature,

which is an inexhaustible source of love,

compassion and wisdom.

That blessing is for everyone.
Can I give it to you through my tears from

the dank, finished bottom of the well that swallowed

my wellbeing? Can I still, from that place,

remember that blessing for you? For everyone?


Today, love —
-on-the-field love.
Unreasonable, extravagant, all in, all out love —
is the practice.


Love even for me in my shut down,
sour-faced, negative state,
even for me.


Love even for *him.* (Everyone has one)
Yes, I mean it. Even *him.*

The world is devolving into
an obscene circus of catastrophes
where anguish is entertainment
and caustic contempt masquerades as courage,
passes for comedy...

while love, the bloody, beating heart of love,
naive, stubborn and without end,
pumps its crazy tenderness into the world
regardless of the odds


and we are all still here because of it.

If we do not use this muscle,

it dies.

So today
this ridiculous, infuriating miracle of love

is the practice.

Tina Lear is like a truffle pig for poetry. From Walmart to privilege, needlepoint to dementia, Lear finds poetry where the average eye sees only mud. Playful in her language but relentless in her assessment of the world, Tina writes exceptionally on many topics, but where I find she excels most is in her rendering of the complicated love of families, stating, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but it bruises.” Imaginative and unflinchingly honest, Lear’s is a voice you can trust.
Megan Falley, author of Drive Here and Devastate Me [Write Bloody Publishing, 2018]
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Once posts are published, you’ll see them here.
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