Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

There are some places that become more than places.

An ocean can be a physical distance, a horizon, a body of water stretching farther than the eye can follow. But sometimes it becomes something else entirely—a canvas, a metaphor, a meeting place between two people who happen to be standing on opposite sides of the world.

Let Me Be Pacific began with a simple invitation: let me show you the ocean the way I see it.

From there, the words wandered where they wanted to go.

Purple skies. Silver moons. Dark water. Rhymes. Trees. Wordplay.

And eventually, the Pacific became more than scenery.

It became the space between here and there—and the reminder that something can cross an enormous distance without ever needing to disappear.

So, for a moment, come sit beside me on the shoreline.

Let me paint you a picture.

— Rowan Evans

Let Me Be Pacific
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Here let me take my words
and paint a picture for you—
the sky in shades of purple and blue,
lit by the silver moon—
it lingers over the bay,
that’s where it stays—
watching over the tide,
and I sit on the shoreline—
watching the ocean’s waves.

Which ocean? Okay,
here let me try and spell it out,
let me be Pacific—
it’s off the California coast,
it touches the Philippine Sea,
sits between Japan and Me.

Now back to the imagery—
there was me, next to a happy little tree,
and the moon was shimmering,
trembling across dark water—
back on the shoreline,
having written more lines,
not less, but more rhymes.

So let me stay Pacific—
specific in the way I see the sea,
how every wave feels like a message
sent across the world to me.
I sit, I rhyme, I watch the tide—
the ocean’s big, but so’s my mind.

And if you ask me why I write
beside this ocean every night—
it’s because the tide keeps teaching me
how distance isn’t always far,
how even the Pacific can carry a heart
from California to wherever you are.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[My Nightmare]
A poem about the nightmare of loving someone across distance, seeing the world from different perspectives, and holding onto the hope that the cracks can still be repaired—and that someday two separate shores might become one.

[Rose & Ruin]
Two minimalist poems exploring the opposing forces within creativity: the thoughts we cultivate into something beautiful and the darker thoughts we transform before they have a chance to decay.

[Across the Page-cific]
A playful, autobiographical journey through the strange places poetry can take me—from sandwich heartbreak and pasta diss poems to gothic monsters, mythology, ravens, ghosts, and storms across the page. Beneath the absurdity is something deeply personal: the realization that writing gave me a way to rebuild myself, piece by piece.

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