Made of Water

Overview

When I wrote this book, over a period of about 5 years, I wanted to communicate something of my experience to the reader. Most importantly, I wanted to convey a view of English that the reader may not be familiar with, that it can be an object of play. In writing the book, I forced myself, stretched myself, to play with English, to expand its potential. I took something of an inspiration from Shakespeare, that one can smith words into English to allow it to breathe more freely, and more jocularly. I find myself ...
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Made of Water

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Overview

When I wrote this book, over a period of about 5 years, I wanted to communicate something of my experience to the reader. Most importantly, I wanted to convey a view of English that the reader may not be familiar with, that it can be an object of play. In writing the book, I forced myself, stretched myself, to play with English, to expand its potential. I took something of an inspiration from Shakespeare, that one can smith words into English to allow it to breathe more freely, and more jocularly. I find myself deeply attracted to the succinctness and clarity of Old English. In extensive use of alliteration, I tried to draw from the oldest poetic source of English.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781481700702
  • Publisher: AuthorHouse
  • Publication date: 1/4/2013
  • Pages: 112
  • Product dimensions: 6.00 (w) x 9.00 (h) x 0.27 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Made of Water


By Stephen Emerson Haire

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2013 Stephen Emerson Haire
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0070-2


Chapter One

    Stars fall


    In the night,
    stars fall lighted.

    In all the subtlety and silence, as they fall:

    We all know they fall.

    Autumn on Earth,
    not unlike fall.

    Stars fall in silvery, silken grace.

    Into the arms of the upreachers.

    Stars fall across her face.

    Frailty falls
    into the arms of amber-another.

    Bliss's kiss with her, the first and
    only time.


    A Tree Had Fallen Down,

    Somewhere, the tree had stood for a while,
    young, green, standing.

    That is where she had fallen asleep,
    underneath the tree.

    Like sap out of a sycamore,
    there she had slept.

    Then it began to rain,
    and she awoke to find
    that the tree still stood.


    The Old Oak Tree

    Fell down, somewhere in the country
    where I grew up. And somewhere there
    it rose up. From a sapling.

    One night, it swayed in the wind.
    One day, it grew most beautifully.
    It had a brown and tan rugged bark.

    The sap ran down its leaves.
    Its rich, supple, faded food and drink.

    Fodder to sit underneath, and while
    away the time. Lying under the leaves,
    upon the earth.

    Looking at the stars, I realized, that
    sitting there may not have been so wise.
    But I did it anyway.

    The sun then came up in the afternoon,
    and I was wet through from the night's dew.

    And there I wrote a poem.


    The Pond Where I Grew Up

    Where I grew up,
    got overgrown:
    with frogs, fish and dragonflies.

    For green, the frogs didn't much care about where
    the dragonflies went.

    Or where the fish went,

    Or where the dogs went.

    Or how we walked down a dusty lane,
    just to see each other,
    every summer.

    Kissing beneath the persimmon tree.


    Rolling Balls Run into Suns,
      Moons and Raccoons


    Went away,
    into today, as though it had wept with wind.

    The suns ate them,
    although the moons did bore them.

    Although we often eat them too much,
    too much eating, too much time, too much thought.

    The suns often did eat
    the moons too much.

    Water went down the pipe, down the thought,
    down the drain, cellared, ceiling, seeking mythologies,
    without its knowledge.

    Almost as though I did love you.
    And I did love you, too.


    Fall Trees Turning Upwardly

    Fall trees turn,
    turning from orange to green for winter's water.
    Water from mountains colors oaks to ochre, to orange-yellows again.

    Reds burgeon with sap,
    into unbeknownst colors.

    Because fall trees turn, they turn a tithe,
    to live, love and breathe.

    To breathe into life again.


    The Sea

    How it rolled up,
    rolled, enwombed.

    Enthralled, enveloped, enraptured,
    how it sank.

    Majestic, like many times before,
    as it had before, majestically.

    In its magnitude, it had greatness.
    In its plenteousness, it had wings.

    And it rolled away, blue.


    Rain

    Falls on whales, just as it does on pluvial willows.
    Rain, sweeping into streams, making liquid, making light, and
    Lightning within rain strikes willows with light.

    Willows fall, and they take to suit's bows, woman of flowers, folk get married
    in the spring.
    They burgeon like the sun for a time, sun, rain, rainbows, and wind.

    But broken streams.


    The Mad Hatter

    Woven inside a wire,
    a flat vat of formlessness.

    Burgeoning egg, etched, devoid, forgotten
    fire that formed the wire,
    forging endlessly.

    Oscillating in strength and weakness,
    turning, wheeled, winding.

    A wire drawn out.

    The mad hatter sits under a tree,
    gathering rope, winding wire, collecting leaves.

    And singing a song to life.


    Prismatic Depth of Water

    Water-tree camels came coursing
    across the seas, within innate;
    within the thoughts, where they did fall.

    Oceans, once as thought: dry-sand, desert elements of weather,
    were not enough.

    Sun-born fineness of time, finally round and firm.
    Moon-born fineness, like fine sand, in the finest timelessness
    of final-found time.


    For a Woman

    As I led a woman
    to that place,
    where she wept out of the water, lept.

    It began to rain.
    She lept within water
    And began to swim for the soonest sun.

    And began to swim,
    Into the water,
    where into the water

    Where she swam.


    The Woman who Forgets her
      Hair on Planet L-474


    Red-dressed tress of a graceless woman,
    who forgets her wattle-bowl.

    Who tries in hardness,
    hardest;

    who was in all eyes forgotten,
    eyes drinking up the light.

    Sockets drawn into blue realms of planet-space

    Whose light lights all,
    with an ambering into auburning glow;

    Whose glove meets all
    with the approval of skeletons.

    Whose glow meets the azure
    of the sky.
    Whose tress meets the grace
    of the sky-stars.


    Web Does Spread into Thread
    (Old English language signature)


    Web doth thread,
    to spread out.
    Woven to weave its way out.

    Does weave its web thusly?
    Tempted, to find its way out.

    If it did not,
    it could not.

    And why not?

    Spider threads weave us within,
    to leave us in the within, and crawling like crabs.

    Leading the sun to the moon,
    where it had led.


    Under the Tree, Far From Stars

    Under the trees where we got born,
    was it whether or not we got born?

    Was it whether we how or had to go?
    was it whether the weather fell too far?
    Water falls
    into water.

    Tied up in trees
    monkey born, found its knees,

    Why are you here?
    we suggest too far

    is how to seek its shore?


    The Woods Through the Sun's
    Light, How It Eyed and Lept


    Woods wept, in the snow's sunny light, brittle-born,
    foregone, forgotten, and lost. Through the woods, the light had lept.
    Born, bemused, as clear; burned the light, bemused just as new.

    Strong-shining, armored, like the wind in new sun's light.
    Through the light the woods had bemusedly added, like light.
    Revised, the light rinsed the wood, as the wind whispered "newness of
    things".

    Through the trees, strong, bound beams; light escaped. Occupied,
    moored in the sun.

    Clutched in heat, clutched in togetherness, gathered, swaddled in light.
    Muddled together, tinctures twined in fibrous longing for
    something.

    Water had swum forests there, hidden to found,
    Brittle-born, like openness's mound-like, lake-like, streams frozen
    in place, upon which to walk.

    How woman enters already enthroned? How quietly brittle leaves
    once swept in orange, red, burgeoning and dying green-grown.
    The grass in fall laid dying.

    Lain on the lips of women, brittleness of born things,
    wet with the sun in fuller, dying fall, how it felt
    it must seem to you.

    Maws, brittlely, colorfully honed, opened of stars.
    Opened with eyes of fineness, blessedness-born,
    of woman's lying breathless, born under a cold moon.

    A forest, grimly, pine in thought I.


    The Way It Was Once,
    Underneath a Cold Moon


    From forests in her hair, long and flowing it
    down her back.

    Like the way it was
    Once. Beneath the moon

    the way it was once.
    Like her golden-hair, down-flowing, down from the moon
    like the way it was once.

    Beneath the stars,
    many lies and many truths

    Like the way it was once.


    Sunlight

    Obscured: the sun, the stars,
    beneath the moon;
    Beneath the sun.

    Sunlight. Wherefore?
    Why, sunlight? Wherefore?

    Beneath a portrait
    hangs her mossy, down-like hair.

    Not green, but brittle-brown.
    Oiled, like smoothness smoothes

    Beneath, in all existence.


    Prism-yellow

    Orange, the camels came,
    across the seas
    where thoughts did fall.

    Oceans thought: dry, sand-desert element
    wasn't enough.

    So fine. In time, for an electric yellow is
    So fine, for it is time.

    O brittle born, please kiss again,
    in loving surprise.


    Highest Pinnacle-Rocks,
    Stones Reflected in the Sea


    Water-pinnacled, rock-strewn, fog-facing:
    stone rising the rock-face.
    Sea-fire pinnacles of longing, secret wanting.

    For pinnacles of rock, principled,
    are left wanting by ether-amber,
    green-swept sea-grass;
    the gloss of the sun.

    Immaculate, immediate past of longing
    found sea-side strewn;
    swimming there just beneath the stars.

    Somewhere beneath the afternoon sun.
    Almost forgotten. Together.


    Owl-Flying, Lost and Old,
      Coming Winter


    Silver-touched, for the owl I saw, surfacing, swimming in the air:
    flying, at once settled. Resting, at rest on a house wire,
    near my home, Indiana.

    "Why come to me", I had thought.
    I have done nothing of note, or so I had thought. Or did I, she said, asked,
    head askew.

    I, having said nothing, watched as she talked about three shooting stars
    she had seen
    on the way here, to my small river town. Those were just Geminids, she
    said, laughing, cajoling,
    chiding, cooing. She had nothing to say of pain, or progress from
    former progress.
    Just one thing, about the future . . . as she trailed off....

    Within herself she had grown old, told of some blood-pain. Of herself,
    ways, why, moods
    come through woods, where she'd flown on a wing.

    "Come from the moon," she smiled faintly, last night.
    All this in one morning-night.


    Ocean Swept the Sand with
      Blue and Green Color


    Hawaiian tide-turquoise sand, left us.
    Turtle-bound crabs swept us up, laughed, jumped in.
    "What kind of bliss can we find here today?" they
    must have asked?

    Paralled, skitting close-parallel to tide-surface,
    leader-born-crab said, "I know, but I can't tell you."

    Skitting the surface into a salt full of tide, ocean swept,
    swept again, sweeping in turmoil, in motiveless, motionless
    movement.

    Crabs spoke to each other. Is this notion, mixture of notion, or some
    other, they thought together? Is this dizzying, or just fun?
    What else can we do, they collaborated?

    "Nothing", said leader-crab. But we must have been born here.
    That, or not? Here, they thought together, on the first day of the sun.
    Or the first day of the moon, as it relaxed, died.


    The Ocean

    Waves curl,
    unfurl their longing

    for something more.
    Curling into tides, salt seas spread
    into longing.

    Longing for something with their self
    without lips, without voices, without selves.

    Without this
    they would be lost.


    Obese, the Sun, the Moon

    Down in the dump, obese
    where all is found

    I found a star, sounded, sounding
    I found a sound.

    Down in the moon,
    I found her stressed tresses, threaded

    Sunken ocean, and undress
    the sun: for the sound is
    Down in the sun
    where all things are.

    I found her sunken eyes
    staring at the sky.

    I seem to see all sunken in size
    the biggest things, for a coin can buy

    Down beneath the wind in her twined dress

    I saw brittle things in a state of dreams and diress.


    Moon-ocean-fine-fire wire forming:

    A hidden moon moves,
    in lucid sequestering of herself, breath of a snow-covered, hidden oval
    within,
    not without knowing that this process will end.

    Tragically, thankfully giving birth to reddening color,
    a sailor lost on the sea,
    even a blissfulness, forgottenness woman.

    Blessed to shed the very form she forgot
    in the largest smallness:

    in the carcass of a smoking, dead snake. Or merely in the heat.


    Minstrels to a Telling Orchard

    The crab of pearls
    lept, crept out of the womb.

    Crumbs adorned its facing lips,
    as were her red, coming-pregnant lips.

    Extrusion of face,
    expression and connection,

    Seem irrelevant,
    Not too much so.

    The minstrels, whatever they are,
    were overcome, singing in chorus with grief
    at having mentioned anything at all about
    this.


    Moorless-tree Meadow

    As the water seeped in, it found a shadow,
    of selfless sequesterment. Fog drifted beneath:

    It found a flowerless woman, cut bald, shorn of hair,
    an anvil-woven, flesh-emaciated broken-ness, back into woven to be born.

    Born out of point of planet, her hair resumed,
    Burgeoned to the point of flowering,

    Fulness golden in color, but broken in theme.


    For the Love of a
    Machine (3335 A.D.)


    In the blue-ocean on Earth, she traveled slowly, swimming:
    The woman-android wondered,
    at his lack of love.

    Am I somehow inferior (to her)....
    .... she thought?

    What is inferior, as she guarded herself
    with machine-words against the truth.

    The words smiled through her mind
    into her face, waking up human.


    Leaf Along Water

    An exercise in guided flight,
    glitter-flitting the colors of lost chlorophylls.

    Old sun came around once,
    graced the green, and refilled a supposed color.

    But the deep, dank cold was
    so warm

    in her arms.


    Landscapes Somewhere Found

    Within her winded mind, multi-flowing, fluid ways of waves,
    green-golden, like the glowing-bound wind on sunlit days,
    like the womb unbidden, to be uncovered, by or within endless days.

    Or time itself, swum into time itself;
    sun-swinging, or sunning itself

    in the tan-ridden tide.

    Smiling, sunning and sailing
    into time, the tide of itself
    Running out of the wind
    into the tide, sun-lit.

    Red-lit tide of sunlit days,
    of the roguish looks, blissful ways, things.

    The wind had wept at her look,
    talking and taking time into a book.

    The blissless things we took for granted,
    While sunning ourselves beneath the lantern,

    beneath some sun, some star.


    How the Moon's-Death
    Sought to Eat the Sun


    Death's-skull fought itself
    irreligiously: white, false light
    could cold-climb no higher in
    the face of real power.

    the essence of the problem was
    lack of morality,
    so the animals did gather, thinking.

    And gathering was good.
    Then came a cold breeze,
    to sweep all thought away.


    For Gated-downed, the ship:

    That down, fibrous, in any wildest flower,
    or face-like blossoming of fineness

    opened from the flower's faces,
    in faces of brilliance.

    The ship opened its gaping maw:
    into spaces in between.
    In the star-maw, three colors coruscated into equal
    brilliance, exploding ...

    Thrice, colors;
    the ship had died.


    Form

    Found: saw it itching to break from its egg.
    Shattering its graceless, finely mirrored-universe.

    Intertwining with sore threaded, some other, graceless soul
    out of, of something, in nature, found foundling bound

    In green-hewn leaved trees. Twined, encoded, locked in the substance
    of longing for life, for even a formal death, as it once had,

    before it saw itself.


    Folded Ocean Longing

    In the folded ocean,
    folded Earth found,
    found for itself.

    Food, and itching of longing
    Contains a dream of folded ocean.

    The content was not longing,
    but bliss of longing.


    Flowering and face

    Led into a blue vase,
    of fire, stemmedness, sustenance and longing.

    Led into fineness' fire,
    Led into form.

    Led into fineness again
    for form's fineness
    again leads into

    Form, as is again.
    as fine as could be
    found within flower's form.


    Ascending Fire-ball

    Wild, wild fire, running to water,
    while it ran into water.
    Headress bombs, bubbles of flame.

    Running the course of the hair of the body.

    Water and volcanic writing, water and flame, courting fire and extinction.

    Emerges nature, emerges woman,
    out of the voided place of forgetfulness

    In fine, orangish description.


    Fire Began to Crawl-like, to Creep

    Crawling crab of fire, crawler, creeping:
    How long was it, its length?
    how long to take her mind into blueness: redness, rent fire?

    How buying, to take,
    tokened into 3 parts, 4, or 5, parted:

    How long does she take, to cleave

    Fire itself?


    Early-fall ocean

    Broken opalescence
    in the ocean.

    Why did it leave us hungry?

    We tested the salt as it left the completely shelled-out
    pumpkins.

    Bathing sharks left fields of mossy Hawaiian glass and blown-gaseous and
    sea grass behind.

    Frost of breath that never comes, leaving an annoying winter
    within the womb of winter.

    And never to be born
    here or there.

    Dragon Light-Show Water,
    While an Ounce of Water


    "Come in", said the dragon:
    "come with me, but do come in", same, similar song,
    for anyone.

    Cutting, the sound of simplicity's, sequined seller,
    dancer cut sound. Sound of simplicity's simpleton finding fire, with
    out the dance into which we found.

    Sand, at the loss of water.

    Forest-fur, furs bought and sold,
    while I smile at one ounce of water.


    Decaying Leaves

    The tulips gathered, slaughtering,
    like so much ill-wed, winded wind, like so much ill mal-feasance,

    Like, within, with the death of the tall-niss, talk
    on their lips.

    Within the righteous lies the bliss of the blissed, blessed of
    our nothing thoughts.

    Bliss lies within unlikened blisslessness
    or so they had thought,

    Until it came time to end.


    Carousel

    lover of bones
    Tight as air
    hones of clowns

    Air of colors.


    By-gone Woman in Nature

    A woman I forgot
    to tell of.

    A woman who had forgotten
    me, and someone, a player of a harp
    A singer of odes. Odiums or songs, or sadness

    On lost shores.
    Shorn of her last song.

    How to forget the days of longing
    or more often something forgotten.

    Her longing within a womb
    of forgotten light, darkness, sound-shorn and ferocity

    Forgetting to sing
    of the warbling night

    In the most beautiful woman
    ever known.


    Broken Fall Leaf, a Burgeon

    Wild, misguided, mitigated autumn mitosis, overcame fall, leaves fallen,
    a burgeoning, guided leaf.

    Fall became to its utmost.
    brittled, finest, farthest, found, forgotten.
    And without. Growth cannot be as fine.

    Form and formlessness, and in the mouth of gold, in
    goldlessness. Nihilistic longing for
    pleasure in meaning. Naming.

    Trodden pleasures, winds of subtlety,
    Wasted. Toad-like puffy, buffoons, clowns.

    Pleasure of faced flesh.
    Mixed in the slowest kiss.


    Blue skies

    Beneath the blue,
    bluest ocean.
    Greens coursed, converged, kept mixed in
    born, died in colors.

    Three times threaded, worn and born
    beyond, between each other.

    Beneath the blue,
    bluest ocean.

    Beneath the blue,
    bluest ocean.

    Beneath the blue,
    bluest ocean.


    Ascending Staired-fire

    Wild, wildest fire,
    running to eat water.

    Running from water:
    gurgling buttressed bombs, bubbles of flame,
    ran the cutting course of the hair of foreign body.

    Waters of oceanic bodies, water and flame, courted fire and
    extinction.

    From it urges and emerges nature, emerges woman,
    out of the voided place of forgetfulness,
    in a fire, in an orangish description.

    Gurling out of ancient, volcanic-petroglyphic design,
    urging out an answer from nature.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Made of Water by Stephen Emerson Haire Copyright © 2013 by Stephen Emerson Haire. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Stars fall....................1
A Tree Had Fallen Down,....................3
The Old Oak Tree....................5
The Pond Where I Grew Up....................7
Rolling Balls Run into Suns, Moons and Raccoons....................9
Fall Trees Turning Upwardly....................11
The Sea....................13
Rain....................15
The Mad Hatter....................17
Prismatic Depth of Water....................19
For a Woman....................21
The Woman who Forgets her Hair on Planet L-474....................23
Web Does Spread into Thread (Old English language signature)....................25
Under the Tree, Far From Stars....................27
The Woods Through the Sun's Light, How It Eyed and Lept....................29
The Way It Was Once, Underneath a Cold Moon....................32
Sunlight....................34
Prism-yellow....................36
Highest Pinnacle-Rocks, Stones Reflected in the Sea....................38
Owl-Flying, Lost and Old, Coming Winter....................40
Ocean Swept the Sand with Blue and Green Color....................42
The Ocean....................44
Obese, the Sun, the Moon....................46
Moon-ocean-fine-fire wire forming:....................48
Minstrels to a Telling Orchard....................50
Moorless-tree Meadow....................52
For the Love of a Machine (3335 AD)....................54
Leaf Along Water....................56
Landscapes Somewhere Found....................58
How the Moon's-Death Sought to Eat the Sun....................60
For Gated-downed, the ship:....................62
Form....................64
Folded Ocean Longing....................66
Flowering and face....................68
Ascending Fire-ball....................70
Fire Began to Crawl-like, to Creep....................72
Early-fall ocean....................74
Dragon Light-Show Water, While an Ounce of Water....................76
Decaying Leaves....................78
Carousel....................80
By-gone Woman in Nature....................82
Broken Fall Leaf, a Burgeon....................84
Blue skies....................86
Ascending Staired-fire....................88
And Heaven....................90
Amber-yellow is Hay-Mowed Ocean....................92
A Woman who Remembers my Touch....................94
A Poem for a Woman....................96
A Dismissal of the Moon....................98
A Being-Colonie, Colonial....................100
The Careful Completion of Ocean-tired's Rim....................102
Sunless Light Went to Capture....................104
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