Author’s Note
Every writer has a toolbox.
Mine just happens to contain an alarming number of moons, oceans, ravens, comic book characters, sports references, cartoons, and entirely too much ink.
People occasionally notice that I return to the same imagery over and over again. They’re right.
The funny thing is…
I’m usually the first person to notice.
This poem came from imagining an overly critical director sitting just off-camera, pausing every scene to point out my habits.
“Another moon?”
“Really? The ocean again?”
“We’re doing ravens today?”
It’s the internal voice every creative person develops after making enough work. The one that starts recognizing your patterns before anyone else does.
Sometimes it’s helpful.
Sometimes it’s insufferable.
The joke, of course, is that the director isn’t entirely wrong.
I do write about the moon a lot.
I do return to oceans, tides, dreams, and ravens.
I do compare things to comic books, cartoons, sports, horror movies, and whatever random piece of culture my brain decides belongs in the poem that day.
Because those things aren’t decorations.
They’re the language my mind naturally speaks.
The final section—”Music—10/10. No Notes.”—is probably the closest thing to surrender in the entire poem.
Apparently my inner critic has limits.
Music gets a free pass.
Everything else is fair game.
Including me.
— Rowan Evans
Director’s Commentary
Poetry by Rowan Evans
The Moon—
Here we go again,
another moon metaphor.
What is it this time?
The moon shimmering
above the bay?
A stand in for her beauty—
Ocean—
My favorite metaphor.
The one I’ve used
thousands upon thousands
of times before—
written in thousands of lines,
in a thousand different rhymes.
Hyperbole.
The Tide—
Yes, there it is—
the final piece
of this overused metaphor chain,
you say it’s different
but it’s all the same.
Same moon.
over the same bay,
and it shimmers
in the same way.
It’s almost like the moon,
ocean, and tide
are all that exist
inside that little mind.
Ravens—
So spooky.
So gothic.
You write ravens
like you shop
exclusively at Hot Topic.
They’re messengers.
They witness.
And once upon a time
you even made them a centerpiece.
You took that way too seriously
back in your “modern-day Poe” era.
A modern-day Poe?
Ridiculous.
Sports—
You don’t even watch those.
Why are you writing
metaphors for the bros?
You think you’re great?
Yeah, you’re The Babe.
23 years and a Jordan joke—
okay, Shohei.
Random Cartoon Reference—
Which character are you
going to grab this time?
Which bit of nostalgia
are you going to try
and exploit?
Random references,
litter the page—
Powerpuff Girls,
Doug and Dexter.
So what’s next?
Something more obscure,
or more mainstream?
Comic Books—
Tropes.
Superheroes and capes.
Random character grab,
used in a metaphor
that barely makes sense—
like Bane
for line breaks?
What the “#%@$”
was that?
I’ll give you
Two-Face for fakes
and snakes, because
that one makes sense.
Music—
10/10.
No Notes.
Journey into the Hexverse…
[Pointing Me Home]
The final poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind trilogy explores dreams, hope, and belonging. Through moonlight, ocean tides, and quiet conversation, Pointing Me Home reflects on carrying hope long before reaching the place you call home.
[Chemical X]
Chemical X explores the rapid, associative way one creative mind moves—from cartoons to sports, comic books to music—revealing that inspiration isn’t linear, but a collision of memory, humor, rhythm, and intuition.
[Crossing the Sea]
A deeply personal poem about relocation, longing, and the realization that some truths naturally arrive through metaphor—even when we try to leave it behind.
[Danny Phantom Theology]
What begins as a metaphor borrowed from a childhood cartoon becomes something deeper: a reflection on existing between survival and possibility, exhaustion and hope, the life we have and the life we long for. Danny Phantom Theology explores what it means to keep moving toward a future that feels worth living.
[Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor)]
Some poems are built to make a point. Others are built to reveal the mechanism. Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor) explores associative thinking, creative chaos, and the strange process of stitching disconnected ideas into something alive.
[Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
A moonlit shoreline, a rowboat full of ducks, a piggybank with no cents, and a confession hidden in plain sight. Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) explores how humor, wordplay, and absurdity can become a side door to vulnerability when the truth feels too difficult to say directly.
[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.
[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.
If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]
