: About Me

Don Swearingen is a retired soldier who writes for others. He believes that writing is communicating, and if your reader doesn't understand what you are saying and what you mean, there is no communication. Too many of us hear a honking noise because we aren't listening, and we respond with a honking noise.

He is looking forward to finding a publisher for his 3d or 4th book (The others are sitting in a drawer waiting for revision) titled Trout by Skillet.

He has published numerous poems, and a number of essays and articles in local papers near his home town of Pueblo West, Colorado.

He is currently the editor of the Pueblo County Republican.

My passion is ...

My God, my family, my writing

I know too much about ...

trivia

My parents always told me ...

Can't never did anything

My childhood ambition ...

Be a hero

My favorite memory ...

A golden September afternoon

Why I write ...

I'm a gossip

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Classical music

My first job ...

Sweeping a dress shop

My best moment ...

When she said yes.

My inspiration ...

My son, who has MS

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Rage

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In the small hours of the night, I wrap myself in blankets to keep warm But even in summer heat my plight Leaves my heart cold as a winter storm, A dead chill inside me never melting Never hoping to be glad Never hearing music lilting Forever cold, forever clad In ice. Ice without a shimmer, dark And black, ice with blood streaked Through it, the ugly mark Made when last I shrieked At awful fortune for losing you. Jagged hatred. At everything. At nothing. For losing you.

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