The hotter the flame
— the brighter the light
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
hair sweats
paper fans flail
low-decibel sighs
elude altar boys
inspiration
drenches the pews
Fahrenheit in Blue
David J Walker
The place of sons and
Sons of daughters
A sky unwilling
to rend its lights
Blue is its morning pallor
A rusted yarrow
Of Fahrenheits
Blue lens and leans in clear
Blue blocked in
Eyes and ice
Blue washed in murky waters
Of Rectitude
and sacrifice
The blue night reveals its stars
the moon is blue
on certain nights
the moons hue
reflects in waters
blue is gray at certain heights
and gray is black
and black in whites
The place of sons and
Sons of daughters
And far beyond
in certain lights
the murky day
in mothers and fathers
And far beyond
In blue tinged plights
Have you wondered why the sun's so far away
Coz any closer, on a Florida beach, you'd use words profane
You'd fry like a lobster
Like a deep red monster
The heat at 120º Fahrenheit gives one inexplicable pain
F ire desire lovingly aspire delicious degrees
A s if a heated arousing embrace is not enough
H as a heart beat ever been an entrusted agreement
R eflections of a haunted passion
E ncrusted in mint
N othing I need more except the warmth of her bosom against my cheek
H ot as the evening is in this 500° embrace BABY, it's cold outside!
E excessive excitement is all we need, thermostats explode
I instant explosion of mercury intimate secrets revealed
T ouch me now ouch I feel my destiny next to me I breath
---away from you I expire DESIRE I'M FIRE
The high (?) today was minus seven Fahrenheit
That's ridiculous, it's a matter of fight or flight
To some place more civilized
Where my body's not paralyzed
From November to May it's a constant fight
Now, books made of pulp are amusing antiques;
We people who buy them are all hopeless geeks.
We don't need to waste any wood when instead
We can access the Web whilst we lie there in bed.
So, why are we still killing trees without end
When all that a writer must do is press "send"?
I don't understand lumber mills of destruction
For products that could go instead for construction.
Just why do we keep subsidizing those crooks
By shelling out money for overpriced books?
They know very well that they're robbing us blind,
But the joke is on us 'cause we don't seem to mind.
And we ruin our vision by squinting so much
To the point where we might have to live just by touch.
So why don't we just look for an alternate way
To enjoy all those novels and not have to pay?
A much better approach, if the truth's to be told,
Is to listen to stories as in Days of Old.
In our modern parlance it is called, "Audio",
But don't ask how it works, 'cause I surely don't know.
The lyeberry's a place where you borrow for free
The recordings on tape, not to mention C.D.
Their collections grow huge as the years roll on by,
So you'll never run out 'til the day that you die.
This verse has syllables: 4, 5, 1
(Pattern of syll.’s: 4, 5, 1, 4, 5, 1, etc.)
Firemen burning
Books without a care
Hmm…
Four fifty one
Degrees burn its proof! –
Naught!
The books, priceless
With knowledge and words
Typed,
But left unread,
In a creative…
Way
Guy Montag is
A unique fireman…
He
Worked for ten years –
WATCHED
The pages scorch
Aflame with pleasure –
He’s
Bad to the bone…
But, he will be a
Grand
Hero soon…Hence,
He meets a weird girl
Who
Teaches him lessons
She’s age seven-
Teen
What is her name?
Oh! It is Clarisse!
She…
Influenced him
To reflect upon
Life
Guy Montag sees
His role differently
Hmm…
He sees his life
In another light –
Good!
He played with fire
He explores the world –
Burned!
451 degrees Fahrenheit
The temperature at which paper burns
The flaming fire
The orange, red, and yellow colors blazing
The smoke that surrounds the flames
The same flames that are burning the pages of books
Along with the houses they are in
The people just standing there
Doing absolutely nothing
Watching their possessions turn to ashes
And their house burn to the ground
As the firemen feel no remorse
The citizens are happy
They know the rules
Therefore they have no books
But they also have no life
No thoughts
No cares
Unlike these brave people who read
And suffer for doing so
As they watch their books burn
At a temperature of 451 degrees Fahrenheit.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.