It could happen to you too.

At NBF, WA. DC 2006, from author priv pics

One of our writing colleagues has been after me to write this prose version of my unbelievable story.

Now that some of my poetry is being distributed to a wider audience, his position, narrowed down to a single point, “Yer never gonna earn anything writing poetry, especially YOUR poetry, which doesn’t even rhyme! But you got Medium’s attention now, so now’s the time to tell your story.”

I take his point, but counter with, “I write what I want to write, just as I always have.”

He re-buts, “Yeah but you made it as a novelist and that’s the story…

Epic Poetry

An Epic Poem of Love and Loss



Lindy felt the early tugs,
Her, womb becoming
tidal and loud,
the fetus, turning, crying out
a tiny beast. A braying sigh.

He calls to her.
He calls to her.

And his voice moves against her flesh,
an undulation,
his kick a caress.
His moment moaning,
a lover’s groan of touching,
trying to find that home, that light, he swims his
lament to be.


From the hospital room
in January,
I watch the ice,
the city in ice
sinking below us,
and I watch the strangers
in rubber gloves
slip their hands inside Lindy,
slip their fists and…

How do you say thanks to such generosity?

It’z the only’est Book I need

Wikipedia Public free use

When you think of it:

a neighbor,

so concerned for the

biblical well-being

of folks’ souls

that he’s willing

to burn their house down,

risk maybe killing

everyone inside

and a 20-years-to-life

prison sentence

for his’self

to save all them

by golly,

That’s TEXAS hospitality

r’ught ther’




(*Once you’ve opened the piece, click on the title for the full story).

Wikipedia & Encyclopedia

Also visit: Terry Trueman (@ttrueman1215) • Instagram photos and videos

And: Sheehan. An Epic Poem of Love and Loss | by Terry Trueman | ILLUMINATION | Medium

A Dead Mama’s words

Who says?

author’s pers. pics

I never realized
And never gave much
Thought to the notion
That I was considered
Mostly handsome by the ladies
Throughout most of my life.

Most of us have
Some sense of ourselves
As we grow up, a
Self-image that shifts
With our changing minds,
Maturity and body types. …


Hey there Incel’s

image by Alexander Jawfox, Unsplash

Mostly I like how much this pic suggests, “Don’t you know anything?”

Sometimes when you have sex

You get love,

And sometimes you get

Something else altogether:

Power, release, closeness, distance,

Big mixed bag of stuff;

Sometimes you get both

Sometimes you get neither,

Maybe both

Maybe neither.

So hey all you Incel’s,

Now you know

And you can stop

Throwing acid in women’s faces

And being all

Pissy all the time.


Wikipedia & Encyclopedia

Also visit: Terry Trueman (@ttrueman1215) • Instagram photos and videos

And: Sheehan. An Epic Poem of Love and Loss | by Terry…

Thinking about our words and deeds

Yeah, sure . . .

auhto’r priv pics


So you are about to open your mouth

And say something you’ve been thinking.

The person to whom you are speaking

Has been saying some things

And upon hearing these things

You feel it is now your turn

To speak, proving that you’ve

1. Been listening


2. Have something worthwhile to say back.

You might be discussing


Really, the subject matter

Doesn’t really matter,

Just so long as you

Don’t pause and ask yourself

“Why the fuck am I discussing this?

Why are we talking about these things?

What possible purpose could

This discussion have?”

I’m sorry…

Trapped on a one-way dead-end street of life

image courtesy of Yehor Tulinov, Unsplash

In this dream last night,
I was driving a gorgeous dark red
very cool Mustang GT,
one of the newer ‘hotter’
but still gently head-turning.

And there was this young, pretty blonde
a teacher, early 20’s, very “cute.”
She and I were somehow
in charge of getting
a passel of rowdy pre-teen boys
to some sporting event,
and I was supposed to
follow her (she had all the kids
in her car).

I lost track of her
and ended up alone
on this weird street
that got narrower and narrower
until finally the Mustang and I were
trapped at this dead-end
with not even…

Sometimes there’s nothing you can do but feel awful about there being nothing you can do

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I pulled my car,
loaded with groceries I’d just pick-up,
to the side of the road
to finish my cell phone chat with a fellow
writer pal who lives 3K miles away.

As we were wrapping it up
I saw it;
what looked like a tiny bird,
maybe a sparrow or a starling
flopping around on the other side
of my quiet residential street,
likely just hit by a car.

I imagined this happening
during one of the little bird’s first
efforts at flight.

If God counts all our hairs
and notices when every sparrow falls,
and all that bullshit,
you gotta wonder,

Terry Trueman

Author of Printz Honor winner Stuck In Neutral. Writer/poet Spokane,WA. Attempting to alienate the few not the many.

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