A Poem

[ThatBluePerson]

Inside out Stoichiometry

I remember the funny word that I could not pronounce
Stoichiometry… I’m not sure if it’s spelled correctly
But it lingers in my memories as I sit and announce
Remark how difficult it seemed
The students struggled to understand
They screamed
In fear they walked into class
Attempting to recall the last lesson
It all accumulated into a mass
The students believed that mass was,
A forgotten concept from the past.
Somehow it related to the new topic at hand.

But we all agreed that to remember we must first collect.
We studied Stoichiometry
Inside out, day and night, week after week.
Elements and measuring,
Stoichiometry came to exist.
Through the process we all realized that it is a mass,
A rather proportionate concept
Somehow like carbonate monoxide gas.
However the students held their clenched fists.
The law of conservation of mass.
They sat there converting molar mass to grams
Grams to molar mass, they reminisced.
The old days of chemical formulas were brought back.
At the same time they waited to be dismissed.
From the pain, the suffering, the torture, the heart attacks.
Inside out Stoichiometry, a cyst?

In the end the light shone through
The sac concealing the wonders of the science
Burst open and filled the students with analytical review
Of all that composes chemistry into an alliance
Molecules, atoms, mass, grams, ratios, moles.
But what, who?
Stoichiometry inside out filled the holes,
The holes in our brains that lacked the knowledge of the chemistry
Making of the students masters in the arts of the library of science.



-------------
So we have to do some random project for my chem class, and i decided to write a poem about stoichiometry.im not a poem writer as you can see. can you guys read this and then tell me if it's decent, horrible, suggest?

[Crowley]

I'm no expert, but it doesn't seem very poem-like, if you know what I mean =\

[ThatBluePerson]

I'm no expert, but it doesn't seem very poem-like, if you know what I mean =\

yeah ... is procrastination work so idk...

[Ashikiheyun]

Dude that's awesome. Brought back repressed memories of chem last year lol. It was actually a pretty good poem as far as I'm concerned.

Stiochiometry....I don't miss it one bit, er mole.

[evilpeta]

doesn't seem like a correct poem structure, or a poem at all. sorry lol

[Ningyotsukai-san]

Interesting read, but I'd have to agree with the people above me, it doesn't quite seemingly fit poetry.

Doesn't really have rhythm or a set meter(s). There's a small bit of rhyme and alliteration, though didn't really notice any instances using assonance.

Hm...you could possibly consider the bunching of the lines, a.k.a stanzas, to be verse paragraphs...just for the ,,small bit of rhyme and alliteration''.

Does seem a lot like a narrative...at least, poetry wise.

As for the Form...eh, could probably slap ,,free verse'' over it and call it good.

[Vinyl]

Eh, not a poem-life structure. Maybe shorter would be better.

[lavapockets]

I would play with your punctuation a little to give the second stanza more flow. When you read/write poetry, periods represent a full stop. Keep that in mind and use them to guide your reader not hinder them (i.e. balance out those choppy sentences.) As far as I'm concerned, this has quite a bit of potential. I think with some more evocative word choices, especially in these sentences, a little repetition, and some polishing this could be really good Repetition in the sense that some common description or theme ties the whole thing together, not just a word or sentence that you repeat. Good luck!!

"But we all agreed that to remember we must first collect."
"However the students held their clenched fists"
"They sat there converting molar mass to grams"

[.Banshee]

doesn't seem like a correct poem structure, or a poem at all. sorry lol

Poems don't have a structure to follow. It's called poetic license. But this is more songlike.

[ThatBluePerson]

Well i turned it in like that lol. thanks though

[inky]

I'm no expert, but it doesn't seem very poem-like, if you know what I mean =\

Lol it doesn't have to look like Haiku for it to be a poem. You would know this if you've ever read ee cummings or Allen Ginsberg. For one, it's a lot better than most of the angst-ridden "poems"/bitching written by myspace-dwellers these days. I liked the poem - very...empowering. Not the best but it's good enough to keep me reading.

Here's one of my "doesn't-seem-very-poem-like" poems - it was Emulated from Ginsberg's "Howl"

Spoiler!

Based on “Howl”
-D.G. (Emulated from A. Ginsberg)

I saw the best minds of my generation exiled by your gods, suppressed by the holy and the disciples of bigotry, imprisoned within the fences of the enslaved generation of our fathers,
who were indoctrinated by the faceless saints behind
the system,
who had their mouths welded shut to keep the “fuck” from escaping the angry corpse,
who were thrown into boxes and drowned with useless, unnecessary numbers
for an unnamed cause,
who had their tongues taken by the gunman to prevent any objections,
who depended on actions despite the severed limbs,
who were confined within the dread dungeons they called classrooms,
who were forced to wear padlocked chains around their cocks and pussies to keep the love and
the sinful lust from cumming out,
who were nursed fat by their god-fearing mothers to be fed to the wolves of the media,
who were reduced from playtime and a carefree life to brick cells and paychecks, diets and surgeries, mortgage and intangible sex,
who were pushed against The Wall, battered with hatred, condemned for eating, drinking, sleeping, walking, spitting,
loving, seeing,
smelling,
fucking,
who
were nailed to the cross of conformity and decapitated by the crescent of uniformed morality,
who were on trial for proposing the logical, persecuted for executing the obvious,
who escaped the turning pages of the koran, the bible, the tanakh, the avesta, the vedas,
who were stripped and violated by the judge who sat above the laws established by the deceased, fingered, jerked, inspected, molested and tasted,
violated
by the doctors, the saints, the generals and the righteous,
who waged war against their brothers and cursed their sisters’ vessels,
never faltered, never surrendered,
who were enticed with the nectar of modern technology, to be part of the mechanism, to synchronize with the clockwork, exact and precise, eternally optimistic of death,
who were forced to resist the sweet temptation of the human nature, to be wired and manipulated by she who owns the factory, and he who pulls the lever,
who were malignant to the so-called growth of the blood-shedding nations, who signified the
seven horns of the seven heads on the seventh day of the sabbath,
who were branded with the burning mark of the insane, reduced to medications and straight jackets, fluorescent white lamps to trap the florescent mind of adolescence,
who were my brothers, my allies, and my comrades,
who were devoured by the creamy jaws of a conformist nation,
who in conclusion, raised the white flag of defeat, towering, gleaming, above the black sky that
hovers along the torched bodies of countless crucified headless children,
who were here, and are here
no more.

It was my final HS poem. We were instructed to write a poem all in 1 shot, no editing, under 20 minutes.

[inky]

Spoiler!

Lol. I was cleaning up my old, old e-mail and I came across this one...
Just thought I'd share.

Howl.com
(with apologies to Allen Ginsberg)
By Thomas Scoville

March 22, 2000

I saw the best minds of my occupation destroyed by venture capital, burned-out, paranoid, postal,

dragging themselves through the Cappuccino streets of Palo Alto at Dawn looking for an equity-sharing, stock option fix,

HTML-headed Web-sters coding for the infinite broadband connection to that undiscovered e-commerce mother lode in the airy reaches of IP namespace,

who poverty and ripped Yahoo tee shirts, cubicle-eyed and wired on Starbucks sat up surfing in the virtual ether of one-million-dollar, one-bathroom condos next to the railroad tracks, skipping across the links of killer Web sites contemplating ... Java,

who rammed their brains into compilers and saw Intel angels staggering on microchips under the insane weight of investor expectation,

who blew off the search for Truth for as-yet-undreamed New Economy scams, business models hallucinating infocapitalist messiahs on clouds of market cap,

who abandoned lucid dreams of a Better Way for Shockwave fluff and RealAudio baubles dangling from the buggy venality of digital commerce,

who, while haunted by the scowling ghosts of hackers past - Stallman, Nelson, Engelbart - auctioned their immortal souls on eBay, with documentation and a full year of support included, of course,

who got busted in their spotless Nike cross-trainers traveling through cyberspace with a file of illegal crypto for Open Source,

who ate sushi in Austin or drank microbrews in Silicon Alley, jousting with bad mojo funk of layoffs, Chapter 11, or diluted company stock night after night,

who chained themselves to start-ups for the endless ride from San Jose to Wall Street on adrenaline and Evian, laptop batteries flaming out over Oklahoma, no more vegetarian entrees, sir, would you like the latex omelet instead?