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A String of Errors

by Daniel Hargrove

Published by Daniel Hargrove at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Daniel Hargrove

Cover art copyright 2017 Daniel Hargrove

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is published for anyone's enjoyment. Authors retain the copyright to their work. Users may read, copy and distribute the work in any medium or format for non-commercial purposes, provided the authors and the journal are appropriately credited. The users are not allowed to remix, transform or build upon the published material.

Table of Contents

A String of Errors

Lincoln's Dilemma

A Pacifist's Story

In a Rut

Down a Green Hill

The Death of Reason

A String of Errors

OK, OK, I admit

I used to play with matches

as a kid

usually when I got burned

it was another kid's fault

but now, as an adult

I play with fire

and now, when I get burned

I like to tell myself

it's my own fault

when it isn't, really

what if our whole world

goes up in flames

because some kid plays with matches?

Not too likely, you say

Well, I know better

First, the paper airplane

then, the antbed

then, perhaps, the house

Then, maybe, North Korea

Or maybe, the funny papers

who knows what burns next?

A long piece of string

the fire starts at one end

and all the way down the string

but at least I've reformed!

Lincoln's Dilemma

Leaving downtown

one late afernoon

I hailed a cab

the smell of auto exhaust

choking me, and

sticking to my sweaty skin

I hopped in

"Could you turn up the A.C.?"

I asked politely?

She did. "Thank you."

"Where to?"

My house was in Bear Creek,

a long drive

We chatted for awhile

as I watched the signs

and billboards go by

"You ever wonder why

they can advertise liquor

on billboards, but not on T.V.?"

I asked her?

"The can on cable,"

she answered.

"How true," I said

I hadn't watched any T.V.

in many, many years

I hopped out and tipped her a five.

A Pacifist's Story

I know someday these books will end

the traps, I see, my words will still

I cannot long, this ground defend

I did, the fight, the war, upend

the patriots won't pay the bill

I know someday, these books will end

The black will vault, the green will bend

the trends consume another shill

I cannot long, this ground defend

Till hell is frozen, crooked lend

yet only for some years I will

I know someday, these books will end

A place of secrets still to send

yet kept from me, a wicked trill

I cannot long, this ground defend

Lazy subjugated wind

perishing with force of will,

I know someday these books will end

I cannot long, this ground, defend

In a Rut

The wealthy moan, they whine and bitch

while we must answer nature's call

and yet we dig another ditch

I pet the cat, I scratch the itch

the mule is captive in his stall

the wealthy moan, they whine and bitch

Pairs of diceys make the stitch

but who'll be short and who'll be tall?

and still we dig another ditch

Hitler knew not which was which

and Stalin kept a wooden doll

the wealthy moan, they whine and bitch

Don't kid yourself, always a hitch

you bet your ass I took a fall

and yet I dig another ditch

Who's a chicken, who's a snitch?

and at the thought of heat, I pall

the wealthy moan, they whine and bitch,

and yet you'll dig another ditch.

Down a Green Hill

The mudslide of history, of lies, of delusion

will bury us alive, never again

to feel the truth of cultures, love, vision

the time of this silence will be longer

than the time from low tide to high

from cloudy pasts to cloudy futures

the song will stutter and wheel on up to skies

littered with illusions and machanics of switches

and there will be no telling of the long story

a hundred years from now, then a thousand

analysis will forget all about the mysteries

that once surrounded us in years past

now mostly forgotten, a serial killer on the loose

promotions, propaganda, quote unquote "liberties"

with no one wise to the man on the moon

will he fall tonight, or any night?

not until the last drop of oil is consumed,

and by then it will be too late

to avoid a vicious cycle of famines and wars

with corporate America at the helm, always

in their air conditioned homes, insulated

from the cries and pleas of those they torture

matchless, almost ageless and timeless beauty

will be kept in a bottle, dead, with dusty wings

and though caresses will live in silken beds

the names will mean nothing that anybody can see

The Death of Reason

I have nothing to say

worth saying anymore

I have been swallowed whole by propaganda

where once was weakness

now there is strength

I am pragmatic

in this evil economy

that never knew a hint of logic

goddam you all to hell

for not caring enough

to look past your noses

and consider the things

that aren't easily known


is not what you say it is, no

it is way more beautiful

than you will ever understand

I cannot have it

and they, the people who resent it

have erased any evidence

that I ever knew what it meant

I may believe in pie in the sky

I may believe in fairy tales

I may believe in castles in the air

if you say so

if you say so

I would very much enjoy your feedback! I promise you I will answer any comments.

Write me at dghargrove@gmail.com

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