Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

I’ve always had a difficult time describing what music actually does to me.

People often say a song makes them feel happy, sad, nostalgic, or energized.

That has never felt quite specific enough.

Music feels physical.

Some songs settle over me like fog.

Some arrive like thunderstorms.

Some feel like walking outside after rain when the air still smells different.

And then there are the songs that somehow collapse time.

They don’t simply remind me of childhood.

They return me to it.

Not through memory alone, but through sensation.

The warmth of pavement beneath bare feet.

The way summer evenings seemed endless.

The strange certainty that tomorrow would always have enough time.

That’s what fascinated me while writing this piece.

Not the songs themselves, but the environments they create inside us.

The weather of memory.

The emotional climates we revisit every time a familiar melody begins.

I’ve always believed that poetry and music are close relatives.

One speaks through rhythm.

The other through silence between the notes.

Both have the remarkable ability to transport us somewhere we cannot physically return to.

This poem is my attempt to describe that journey.

Not through genres or artists.

Through atmosphere.

Because sometimes music doesn’t just soundtrack our lives.

Sometimes it changes the forecast within them.

— Rowan Evans

Where Music Becomes Weather
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I put my headphones on,
hit the button—
noise cancelling.
Then I let the music play,
let it lead my emotions
whatever which way.

I drift through different soundscapes—
crossing borders in sound,
watching emotion mix with ink
like paint on the canvas.

Certain songs
feel like humidity.
They put a heavy feeling
in your chest,
it almost makes it hard
to catch your breath.

Other songs
feel like clouds.
The way they hold me
in soft hands.
And I feel safe,
because they hold me close
but in motion—
like a slow dance.

But then
there are those songs—
the ones that feel
like warm concrete
on bare feet.
Like time travel,
I’m back in my childhood.

Back when summer felt endless,
and every day was measured
by the position of the sun.

Before I knew what nostalgia was—
only that certain songs
felt familiar before I’d ever heard them.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[A Heart That Echoes in Another Language]
A poetic journey through music across Japan, Korea, China, and the Philippines, exploring how sound becomes identity, memory, and emotional geography.

[Sound as a Vessel]
“Sound as a Vessel” is a free verse poem about music as emotional architecture, exploring how international artists and soundscapes shaped identity, creativity, memory, and poetic voice.

[The Music Holds Me Upright]
A reflective free verse poem about using music, writing, and rhythm to navigate anxiety, depression, and emotional overwhelm.

[Global Takeover]
What if home isn’t a place—but something you build from the music you love? Global Takeover blends sound, culture, and identity into one borderless space.

[I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise]
Love has never come easily to me. This poem explores the fear, vulnerability, and quiet courage required to stay emotionally present when connection begins to matter deeply. “I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise” is about choosing love despite the risk of heartbreak—and promising to remain long enough to witness someone fully.

If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]