Lemonade, Ice and Poetry

The Colour of Chemistry (For Charlie.) (This is supposed to be a poem with lots of different voices. I dunno if there's a specific name for it.)

"Chemistry.
Chemicals.
Experiments and explosions.
Chemistry, such a wonderful thing.
What is it's colour?"

"Chemistry doesn't have a colour!
That's ridiculous, you know?
It's a subject, not an object.
It's colour can't be told!"

"I hate to disagree,
but I must, sadly.
Chemistry has a colour,
It's a... a peaceful white!"

"Nonsense, you hear me?
That's nonsense, I say!
Chemistry isn't white!
It's a dull, dull gray!"

"Preposterous!"
"Rubbish!"
"Rot!"

"Chemistry's not, it's just not,
the colour dull gray!
It's a mix of all colours,
and explosions, I say!"

The Badgers

Charlie has badgers,
and such baws badgers are they!
They are experts when it comes to chemistry,
and such amazing scientists,
that can play croquet!

When they get hungry,
they breathe fire that may very well,
cause a badgercalypse!
So run for your lives, everyone,
because Charlie didn't feed them today.

Misty, Heart Rate, and Alligators

Misty's got some Biology work,
related to heart rate, I believe.
She's got to conduct an experiment,
without alligators, and so she grieves.

It would have been easy for her,
to simply cover a person in 'gators.
But whose heart rate would be more?
The person's? Or the 'gators?

Misty's not very happy,
that she can't use the 'gators.
But she throws them anyway,
on unsuspecting Chat-ers.

Smoke billows,
and whistles blow.
The crowd is noisy,
and waiting to go.

The train station's full,
and nobody can see,
a little girl with a teddy bear,
crying for her "Mommy".

Hush child,
for soon you will meet,
your flustered and anxious mother,
who's as white as a sheet.

She'll carry you in her arms,
and make you stop crying.
She'll give you a big hug,
and everything will be fine.

NaPo's so much fun,
when you do it with everyone.
You prompt and you rhyme,
and finish it on time!

---

I need to sleep,
so I'll count sheep.
The clock ticks,
and I munch on cake mix.
It's better than cake,
and it's easier to make.
But it's almost midnight,
and I've got to hurry and write!

---

Tick Tock,
Tick Tock.
I look up,
and stare at the clock.
Time's running out,
and he's still not here.
I have fifteen minutes,
to talk to him.
Where is he?
I'm waiting.
And yet again,
he isn't here,
it's same as everyday.