Wordmaker

Wordmaker
What are we called?
Wordmakers.
What are we born of and what do we craft?
Words.
What do they call us?
The Inkweavers, The Invisible Mouths, The Faceless Voices
Do we speak?
No.
Do we dance?
No.
Do we sing?
No.
What do we do?
Fill the silence.
And what do we fill it with?
Words.
What is our sleep?
The rustling of pages.
What is our food?
The unblemished sheets.
What is our drink?
The ink of the printers.
What is our song?
The words that form the worlds.
What are we called?
Wordmakers.
What are our souls of and what do we breath?
Words.

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yeah, I know nothing about poetry and you already know what I think of this one, but I just had to say it. I LOVE this. I'm going to tinker it into a paint document and stick it on my desktop. Yeah. Props for gyrfalcon.

Overuse of the word ...erm..."word"

Some parts were cliched, but nice idea. Good job!

the idea is fantastic, it kinda reminds me of the plot of the next novel i'm planning to write.

i loved the style and the odd but excellect flow of the verse.
an interesting and mysterious poem and it makes me want to know more about the wordmakers.

just a note, guys: WE are the wordmakers

I really like it! A good description of authors!

Towards the end it started to sound like a cheerleader's chant. But maybe that's just me

The 'no' questions got a little repetetive, but you do have some really beautiful imagery. 'Rustling of pages', 'unblemished sheets', and 'ink of the printers', to name a few. But mixing up the format a little would improve it, I think.

Gyrfalcon you have achieved what I have tried to for SO long. Literally. I do agree that it does start to sound a bit like a cheerleader's chant, though. . .and lose of this little kid's thing I used to do

what's your name?
Mary Jane
Where fo you live?
Down the lane.
What do you eat?
Pig's feet.
What do you drink?
Pink ink.
What do you where?
Mommy's dirty underwear. [/b]

*shudders*
bad memories.

This is odd.

And much like a chant..."Who are we? The Knights! What are we going to do? Win! How are we going to do it?" ...etc.

I personally did not like this, as poetry anyway. I can't really tell you why...I've never seen anything like this called poetry.


Meg

I like it. I kept imagining little elves writing in big books, like the shoemaker's elves only the bookmaker's elves, crossed with the Borrowers, singing out this chant like slaves on the plantations sang as they worked, as they wrote in a dimly lit, dusty old shop. That was just the image that came to my mind, but it had a very mysterious, and at the same time cozy, feel to it. Sort of an exclusiveness. I liked it.

Do we sing?
No.

Here you say we do not sing.

What is our song?
The words that form the worlds.

But here you indicate that we do sing. Which is it ?

Cameron