Read an Excerpt
Made of Water
By Stephen Emerson Haire
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2013 Stephen Emerson Haire
All right reserved.
Chapter OneStars 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.
into the arms of amber-another.
Bliss's kiss with her, the first and
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,
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,
Kissing beneath the persimmon tree.
Rolling Balls Run into Suns,
Moons and Raccoons
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.
How it rolled up,
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.
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,
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,
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?
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
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
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.
Obscured: the sun, the stars,
beneath the moon;
Beneath the sun.
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.
Orange, the camels came,
across the seas
where thoughts did fall.
Oceans thought: dry, sand-desert element
So fine. In time, for an electric yellow is
So fine, for it is time.
O brittle born, please kiss again,
in loving surprise.
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,
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,
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,
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
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
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.
unfurl their longing
for something more.
Curling into tides, salt seas spread
Longing for something with their self
without lips, without voices, without selves.
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
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,
Not too much so.
The minstrels, whatever they are,
were overcome, singing in chorus with grief
at having mentioned anything at all about
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
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 ...
the ship had died.
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.
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
in the ocean.
Why did it leave us hungry?
We tested the salt as it left the completely shelled-out
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,
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.
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.
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
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.
Beneath the blue,
Greens coursed, converged, kept mixed in
born, died in colors.
Three times threaded, worn and born
beyond, between each other.
Beneath the blue,
Beneath the blue,
Beneath the blue,
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
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.
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.