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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: contemporary poetry

  • Draggin’ (Ignis) | A Playful Battle Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are poems where I sit down with a very serious idea and carefully shape every word.

    This isn’t one of those poems.

    Draggin’ (Ignis) is me letting the pen run loose, throwing references at the page, flexing a little, and then immediately making fun of myself for doing it. It’s playful bravado with a gothic streak, a little battle-rap energy, and absolutely no intention of pretending I’m cooler than I am.

    Twenty-three years of writing will do strange things to a poet.

    Apparently, it makes them compare themselves to dragons, superheroes, and Pokémon-level fire hazards.

    Enjoy the chaos.

    — Rowan Evans

    A playful poet stands with a fountain pen as black ink transforms into a mischievous dragon surrounded by flames, ice, and motion.
    Twenty-three years of writing and this is what the pen decided to do with all that experience.

    Draggin’ (Ignis)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Twenty-three years, I’ve been doing this
    with craft in my veins and trauma in my brain—
    I’ve really been through some shit.
    Maybe that’s why I write so ruthless—
    if I spit a diss, it’d be ignis—I’d be draggin’ you,
    but I’m nice, so I’m a dragon like Toothless.
    This is stupid, silly, dumb—
    I can’t take me serious, and this is how come.

    Yeah, these might be jokes—
    but I’m cold, Bobby Drake,
    so shut your mouth
    before I turn your girl into a—

    Dragon Rider…

    That kind of killed the rhyme,
    that’s fine—

    here’s a few more lines…

    I’m too quick-witted—

    pen faster than Flash,
    I’m too quick wit’ it
    when I write lines
    to silence critics.

    I’ve been writing for years,
    double digits—
    two followed by the number
    that comes next—
    I’m not even trying to flex,
    this is just me writing facts.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)]
    A playful battle-poetry piece where confidence, wordplay, pop-culture references, and a sharp pen collide. Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) turns verbal sparring into a ridiculous little poetry showdown.

    [Kaio-ken/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [Don’t Push Me]
    A playful battle-poetry piece about turning insults into punchlines, standing your ground, and refusing to be intimidated. Don’t Push Me mixes swagger, humor, rhyme, and Rowan Evans’ signature self-aware interruptions.

    [B.S.T.F.U.]
    A playful battle-poetry exercise packed with insults, internal rhymes, punchlines, wordplay, and literary swagger. B.S.T.F.U. is Rowan Evans flexing the verbal muscles—not calling out anyone in particular.

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

  • Louder Than the Rain | A Poem About Anxiety, Emotion, and Writing Through Pain

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Rain has a strange way of making the world feel quieter.

    Sometimes that quiet gives the mind room to speak.

    And sometimes the mind doesn’t whisper.

    Louder Than the Rain is a small piece about one of those moments—when everything outside is making noise, yet somehow the loudest thing in the room is what’s happening inside your own head.

    So listen closely.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure sits beside a rain-covered window with their hands in their hair and an open notebook nearby.
    When the world gets quiet, sometimes the thoughts get louder.

    Louder Than the Rain
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sat listening to the rainfall,
    watching it hit and splash upon the ground—
    the way my tears fell,
    I was surrounded, but it felt like nobody was around.
    I was alone in a packed house—

    why was the silence so fucking…

    my thoughts were loud,
    they were drowning my thoughts out.
    I was so damn nervous,
    hands in my hair, I was pulling it—
    just wanted to scream and shout,
    it was the only way to get my feelings out.

    But I couldn’t shout loud, so I rode it out—
    translated the pain to the page.

    Yeah, I wrote it out…

    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.

    [Nobody² (No Body)]
    A minimalist poem playing with the double meaning of “nobody”—exploring loneliness, isolation, absence, and the feeling of becoming a ghost within your own life.

    [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.

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

  • Let Me Be Pacific | A Poem About the Ocean, Distance, Love, and Connection

    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

    A solitary poet sits beside the Pacific at twilight beneath a silver moon, watching its reflection shimmer across the waves.
    The Pacific may separate two shores, but poetry has never been particularly good at respecting distance.

    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]

  • My Nightmare | A Poem About Love, Distance, Hope, and Kintsugi

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some nightmares aren’t about monsters.

    Sometimes the nightmare is waking up and realizing that the person you want beside you is standing beneath a completely different sky.

    My Nightmare comes from that place—the uneasy space between memory and hope, between what once felt shared and what now feels impossibly far away. It is a poem about distance, but not only the physical kind. There is distance between perspectives, between hearts, between the lives we imagine and the lives we are actually living.

    Still, even nightmares have endings.

    Sometimes you wake up before they become permanent.

    And sometimes, even while dreaming, you can still see a little gold threaded through the cracks.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two distant figures stand on separate shores beneath different moons, connected across the dark ocean by faint golden and platinum threads.
    Two shores. Two skies. One horizon—and enough gold left to believe they might meet there.

    My Nightmare
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is my nightmare.

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we see is different—
    your moon from my sky
    is missing—
    the sun no longer shines,
    it’s dimming—

    I don’t see the spark anymore—
    don’t see the light in the dark anymore.
    What do I even I write for?
    I lost my purpose—think I did it on purpose,
    it’s like I can’t rhyme anymore,
    no clock, no watch, can’t tell time anymore.

    This is my nightmare.

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we see is different—
    my moon is sickly pale,
    but yours seems fine though—
    the sun doesn’t provide light,
    it’s gotten real low—

    in times before, this is when
    I would Kintsugi the heart—
    but there’s not much heart left,
    it’s all gold—soft metal,
    softer soul—stayed warm,
    when the world grew cold.

    This is my nightmare.

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we see is different—
    when we used to be,
    two pieces the puzzle
    was missing—
    the sun in the sky was fine,
    but it dimmed in our shine—

    I’ve spent time doing Kintsugi
    on your heart too—it was hard not to,
    gold and platinum weaved through—
    I really did see you, flaws and all—
    and all I saw was a gift from God.

    I still don’t think—
    I was wrong.

    But that was my nightmare…

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we saw was different—
    but I still see the gold threads that connect,
    the platinum hope on the horizon,
    that one day the distance will close—
    and we’ll walk the same shore,
    it won’t be—

    mine and yours.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Dreaming Wrong]
    A familiar dream becomes unsettling when the ocean becomes a pond, the tide disappears, the moon loses its reflection, and nothing feels quite like it belongs. Dreaming Wrong explores the uncanny feeling of finding yourself inside a dream that looks familiar—but feels like someone else’s.

    [Poet’s Curse]
    Poet’s Curse explores the painful side of falling too deeply: giving pieces of yourself away freely, taking accountability for your own heartbreak, and realizing that learning to let go can be harder than learning to love.

    [Beach to Beach]
    A dream becomes a journey between familiar shores and unfamiliar cities in Beach to Beach (How I Get There), a poem about imagined travel, ocean crossings, longing, and the places we hope to someday reach while awake.

    [Where the Metaphors Lead]
    Some truths are easier to write than they are to say aloud. “Where the Metaphors Lead” explores the quiet space between dreams, confession, and the courage it takes to let another person know how deeply they’ve become woven into your inner world.

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

  • No Stupid Questions — A Poem About Listening, Curiosity & Frustration

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem doesn’t need to be profound.

    Sometimes it just needs to say, “Please fucking listen.”

    No Stupid Questions came from that particular kind of frustration—the kind that happens when someone asks something that has already been answered, interrupts the flow of a conversation, or throws a question into the room without stopping to consider whether the information they want is already sitting right in front of them.

    The old saying goes, “There are no stupid questions.”

    I don’t completely agree.

    Questions aren’t inherently stupid. Curiosity is valuable, and asking for clarification is often exactly what we should do. But there is a difference between genuinely wanting to understand something and simply asking whatever crosses your mind without listening to what was already said.

    This poem is intentionally blunt because the frustration is blunt.

    It’s conversational, a little sarcastic, and unapologetically irritated. There are times when I want my poetry to dress an idea in metaphor and symbolism. Other times, I just want to point at the problem and say exactly what I mean.

    No metaphor.

    No elaborate mythology.

    No moon, tide, raven, or rose to hide behind.

    Just:

    You already got your answer.

    Listen.

    — Rowan Evans

    P.S. – The end of this piece is entirely a joke.

    A writer at a desk surrounded by chaotic question marks while a clear answer sits untouched in an open notebook.

    No Stupid Questions
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You know—

    the person that said,
    “there’s no such thing
    as a stupid question,”—

    probably asked a lot
    of stupid questions,
    just like you—

    Not trying to be rude
    or give attitude—

    but dude,
    you asked that question
    out of the blue.

    (And it was dumb,
    it was a stupid question…
    I had to break the flow to tell you,
    you asked a stupid question.)

    I already told you—

    I already answered back,
    if you need the information
    then listen—I already gave you that.

    Do you even think
    before you speak,
    or do you just
    let your thoughts fly?

    You don’t have to ask
    every question
    that comes to mind.

    I don’t care
    if you are a child.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [You Are Perfect]
    A gentle reminder that your worth isn’t determined by your flaws or by the opinions of others. You Are Perfect is a poem about resilience, self-acceptance, and standing tall even when the world tries to make you feel small.

    [Human Rorschach]
    Sometimes we’re less a fixed person than an inkblot—our meaning changing with every set of eyes that looks at us. Human Rorschach explores perception, identity, and the ways our own experiences shape what we believe we see in others.

    [A Rose in the Ashes]
    Lost within a forest where every leaf becomes a memory, the speaker follows darkness instead of fleeing from it, discovering that healing isn’t found at the end of the tunnel—but in facing the past long enough to notice a single rose blooming through the ashes.

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

  • One Honest Sentence | A Confessional Poem About Vulnerability, Love & the Fear of Being Seen

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are two versions of every poet.

    The one who can write about anything, and the one who struggles to write the one thing that matters most.

    This poem begins with confidence—almost arrogance—as the speaker celebrates the ability to write in any voice, on any subject, from any perspective. But beneath that confidence is a question I’ve wrestled with for years: if it’s so easy to write about everything, why is it so difficult to write one completely honest sentence?

    Humor, metaphors, references, and wordplay are some of my favorite tools. They help me explore ideas, soften difficult emotions, and make heavy subjects more approachable. But they can also become places to hide.

    One Honest Sentence is about recognizing that difference. Sometimes the greatest challenge isn’t finding beautiful language—it’s finding the courage to stop decorating the truth long enough to simply say it.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary writer sits before a blank page while countless handwritten pages float around them, symbolizing the struggle between creativity and emotional honesty.
    Writing beautifully is a skill.

    Writing honestly is a different kind of courage.

    One Honest Sentence
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I don’t usually like to do this, but
    I’m going to do it anyway, because
    I’m tired of pretending—

    why should I lie and say
    I’m not that guy,
    when I know I am.

    Give me a pen,
    and I can write anything.

    If a person can think it
    or have an experience,
    I can turn it into poetry.
    I do it by stringing ink
    into so many pretty lines—

    but I don’t bother to try
    and rhyme, most of the time.

    I wrote poem after poem—
    I can write a poem about the search for home
    while feeling alone in a crowded room,
    talking about how this house feels like a tomb.

    I can write island hopping epics—

    I can silence skeptics,
    put their opinions in the septic—

    they don’t know
    shhh—

    it’s no wonder they talk a lot,
    their minds are empty, got no thoughts.
    So the verbal diarrhea doesn’t stop—

    and when I read what they write,
    I call them Watson
    ’cause their lines are elementary.

    I’ve written thirty lines of flex
    and after thirty lines,
    you’re probably wondering—

    what’s next?

    Well—

    how about we pivot
    from flex to truth?

    Earlier I said—

    give me a pen and I can
    write anything.

    I can take the joy, the pain,
    the sun, the rain
    and write a whole damn series—

    it’s even easier
    if it didn’t happen to me,
    I can write about it for days—
    poem after poem,
    different angles of the same thing.

    Because it’s easy
    writing about just anything—

    what’s hard is writing
    a single truth,
    without burying it in jokes
    and misdirection.

    And maybe that’s the joke—

    I can write whole worlds,
    but not one honest sentence
    without my pulse stuttering.

    Like what would happen—
    if I just said it?

    If I turned 1-4-3 to letters
    and I just meant it?

    Would the world cease to be?

    I guess I’m just afraid—

    because once I say it,
    I can’t unsay it.

    Once I write it,
    it becomes real.

    And real things
    can be lost,
    can be rejected,
    can be held—

    and I don’t know
    which scares me more.

    So again I ask—

    what would happen
    if I just said it?

    Maybe you’d laugh.
    Maybe you’d freeze.
    Maybe you’d say it back.

    Maybe nothing would change
    except—

    I’d finally be done
    hiding behind metaphors.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Noon Is Loud]
    If four in the morning belongs to truth, then noon belongs to impossible memories. Noon Is Loud is a playful free verse poem filled with absurd boasts, pop culture references, and tongue-in-cheek mythology that explores how easily imagination can rewrite reality.

    [Just Human]
    Just Human is a reflective free verse poem about seeing people before borders, choosing empathy over division, and finding home in our shared humanity rather than on a map.

    [Director’s Commentary]
    Director’s Commentary is a self-aware free verse poem that turns the poet’s recurring metaphors into the subject itself, exploring creativity, artistic habits, and the humorous inner critic that follows every writer from draft to draft.

    [The Answer Is (Yes)]
    What kind of writer am I? Mythmaker, confessor, comedian, philosopher, dream-architect, romantic, storyteller, and diss-poet. This self-reflective poem explores the impossibility of fitting creativity into a single category—and embraces every version of the truth a pen can touch.

    [Before We Created the Labels]
    Ancient gods return to a fractured world shaped by borders, identities, and separation. “Before We Created the Labels” explores humanity’s divisions through mythic imagery, sacred ritual, and symbolic collapse—asking what remains when we learn to see one another beyond labels.

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

  • Leave No Self Behind | A Poem About Healing, Memory & Self-Acceptance

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem grew out of a realization that getting “lost” isn’t always the same as losing yourself.

    I’ve written many pieces about dreams, memory, shifting landscapes, and wandering through places that seem to exist somewhere between reality and imagination. Over time, I realized those places weren’t asking me to escape who I was—they were asking me to revisit the parts of myself I had left behind.

    We often talk about “finding ourselves” as though there’s one true version waiting to be discovered. My experience has been almost the opposite. Every season of life leaves behind another version of us: the frightened one, the hopeful one, the grieving one, the joyful one. None of them disappear simply because we’ve grown older.

    Healing, at least for me, isn’t replacing those earlier selves.

    It’s learning to walk beside them without shame.

    This poem is an invitation to stop treating old versions of ourselves as mistakes to erase and instead see them as companions who helped us survive long enough to become who we are today.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure walking through a dreamlike hallway where each open doorway reveals a different landscape representing memories and past versions of the self.
    Healing isn’t finding one true self—it’s learning to walk beside every version of yourself with compassion.

    Leave No Self Behind
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I feel like I’ve lost myself again—
    don’t know when it began,
    but I get lost a lot.

    It doesn’t take much for me
    to get lost in thought—

    I wander off
    without meaning to,
    slipping between memories
    like loose floorboards.

    One thought opens a door,
    another pulls me down a hallway,
    and suddenly I’m somewhere
    I didn’t plan to be—

    with some version of me
    I didn’t plan to meet.

    Sometimes the hallway
    tilts into something else—

    a shoreline I’ve walked in sleep,
    a city humming with heat,
    a room I haven’t entered in years.

    The world shifts
    without warning,
    and I follow it
    the way I follow dreams—

    half-aware,
    half-afraid
    of what I’ll find
    in the scene change.

    I never know
    which version of me
    I’ll find in those places—

    the one who’s tired,
    the one who’s trying,
    the one who’s still carrying
    things I swore I let go.

    Sometimes I meet
    the versions of me
    I thought I’d outgrown—

    the one who flinches,
    the one who freezes,
    the one who still thinks
    they’re hard to love.

    And I walk with them
    for a while,
    through whatever memory
    the hallway decides to show—

    letting them speak,
    letting them breathe,
    letting them…

    exist.

    Without rushing them back
    into the dark.

    And maybe that’s
    what finding myself
    really looks like—

    not a single moment
    of clarity,
    not a sudden return,
    but walking through
    every hallway
    my mind opens,
    meeting every version
    I’ve ever been,
    and letting them stay
    long enough
    to feel seen.

    Maybe I’m not lost.

    Maybe I’m just learning
    how to carry
    all the selves
    I used to abandon
    when the world
    felt too loud.

    Maybe this time…

    I won’t leave anyone—

    behind.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Where the Metaphors Lead]
    Some truths are easier to write than they are to say aloud. “Where the Metaphors Lead” explores the quiet space between dreams, confession, and the courage it takes to let another person know how deeply they’ve become woven into your inner world.

    [Noon Is Loud]
    If four in the morning belongs to truth, then noon belongs to impossible memories. Noon Is Loud is a playful free verse poem filled with absurd boasts, pop culture references, and tongue-in-cheek mythology that explores how easily imagination can rewrite reality.

    [5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back)]
    What happens when a confessional poet instinctively hides every confession behind a joke? 5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back) explores humor as emotional armor, the speed of an overactive mind, and the difficult choice between making people laugh and letting them see what’s really there.

    [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.

    [Monster Theology]
    What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

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

  • Where the Metaphors Lead | A Confessional Poem About Love, Dreams & Finding Your Voice

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems begin with an idea. Others begin with a feeling that refuses to leave.

    This one was written in the early hours of the morning, during that familiar stretch of time when the world grows quiet enough for my thoughts to become louder than everything else.

    I’ve always found it easier to write than to speak. Conversations ask for immediate answers. Poetry allows me to sit with a feeling until I understand it well enough to translate it into language.

    Many of the recurring images throughout my recent work—the moon, the tide, distant shores, dreams, and city streets—have become a personal symbolic language. They aren’t separate subjects anymore. They all point toward the same emotional center.

    This poem finally acknowledges that.

    Sometimes the metaphors aren’t hiding anything.

    Sometimes they’re quietly leading us back to the truth we were trying not to say.

    — Rowan Evans

    A lone writer journaling by moonlight at four in the morning while the moon reflects across a calm ocean beyond the window.
    Some feelings only find their voice after midnight, where dreams, memory, and metaphor become impossible to tell apart.

    Where the Metaphors Lead
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s funny how I find myself here again,
    four AM—it’s just me, the music and my pen.
    I’ve got so many thoughts with so much to say,
    my lips move but no sound comes—
    like I lost one voice, when I found the other.

    And it’s not that I can’t speak—

    it’s just that words don’t come easily,
    when they try to come verbally.

    But on the page,
    everything lines up—

    the thoughts, the feelings,
    the things I never say out loud.
    Ink doesn’t trip over itself
    the way my voice does.

    So here are a few
    truths for you—

    there is a woman
    she is on my mind constantly,
    yeah, she is simultaneously
    the easiest and hardest to talk to.

    She makes me feel like I can be me—
    completely.

    And honestly,
    I’ve never really had that
    with anybody else—

    every beautiful line I write
    about the moon in the sky,
    the ocean and tide—

    yeah, most of the time
    it leads back to her
    in my mind.

    And every dream, I translate in ink—
    the shores I walk in sleep,
    secrets I try not to keep,
    even when it’s hard to speak—

    I lay them on the page and pray
    that they’ll reach their destination one day.

    So I sit here,
    four AM again,
    writing the things
    I can’t say out loud—

    hoping one day
    I’ll find the courage
    to speak them aloud.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The World Shifted Around Us]
    The world transformed around us—beach, city streets, jungle—but we never moved. Sometimes love isn’t found in words, but in the quiet certainty of someone remaining clear while everything else fades.

    [Every Night, The Same Flight]
    Every night begins with the same flight. Between wakefulness and sleep, an airport appears, a familiar shoreline waits beyond the journey, and the same dream asks whether some destinations find us before we’re ready to find them.

    [Where I Belonged]
    A bedroom becomes an airport in the space between sleep and waking. Where I Belonged explores liminal consciousness, uncertainty, and the strange moments when reality feels suspended between two worlds

    [Opposites Coasts of the Same Silence]
    What separates two people isn’t always an ocean. Sometimes it’s the silence between everything left unsaid. Opposite Coasts of the Same Silence explores longing, distance, dreams, and the quiet hope that even across impossible divides, someone might still hear your voice.

    [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.

    [Call of the Tide]
    A poem about identity, displacement, and the quiet pull toward something beyond the shoreline you were born on. Sometimes the tide calls louder than the anthem.

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

  • Let Shuffle Steer | A Poem About Music, Emotion & Self-Discovery

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some people use shuffle as background noise.

    I use it as a compass.

    I’ve noticed over the years that when I stop trying to control what song comes next and simply let the algorithm decide, the music often mirrors something I was already feeling—or something I hadn’t admitted I was feeling yet.

    One song can pull me inward. Another can make me laugh. Another can unlock a memory I hadn’t thought about in years. It’s less about the songs themselves and more about how music has always been one of the languages my mind speaks most fluently.

    This poem isn’t really about playlists.

    It’s about trust.

    Trusting art to take me somewhere I didn’t expect to go, and accepting that sometimes the best way to understand myself is to stop choosing the destination and simply listen.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person wearing headphones sits beneath a night sky as glowing soundwaves wrap around them like a chrysalis, transforming into butterflies while surreal landscapes fade into one another.
    Sometimes the best guide isn’t a map—it’s the next song that shuffle decides you need.

    Let Shuffle Steer
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit—
    lost in my head again,
    letting the music hit.
    It carries me
    from one emotion
    to the next.
    Sometimes—
    I don’t know
    where it’ll take me.

    Shuffle’s got a mind of its own—

    and it’s like it knows
    what I need to hear,
    right when I need
    to hear it.

    It’s like—
    shuffle sees me,
    then shuffle reads me—

    oh, you want to get introspective?
    Here is a song—
    that’ll make you want to look inside.

    Oh, you need to get aggressive?
    Here is a song—
    that’ll make you want to go riot,
    take the pen and get violent.

    It’s like you need to cry,
    and take a walk down memory lane?
    Here is a song,
    and it’s fuel for that pain.

    I like to ride the soundwaves,
    I don’t fight it, I let the music hit—
    I can feel my whole persona shift
    with a change in beat.
    It’s like the music is
    a fast acting chrysalis—
    you see, the music wraps around me
    and I begin to change.
    It’s nothing strange—

    it’s just the way music affects me.

    It enters the bloodstream,
    my DNA rearranges—
    something fundamental changes.
    Not just the surface,
    but marrow deep.

    So I let shuffle steer—
    it knows the roads
    I don’t admit to.
    It makes me go
    where I’m meant to,
    even when I don’t see the map.

    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.

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

  • Through My View by Rowan Evans | A Free Verse Poem About Perspective, Imagination & Individual Experience

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Perspective is one of the strangest things we possess.

    Two people can stand in the same place, witness the same moment, and walk away carrying completely different worlds inside them.

    I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that—not as something that separates us, but as something that makes us interesting.

    This poem isn’t saying one perspective is better than another. It isn’t about claiming superiority.

    It’s about accepting that no one else can inhabit your mind.

    No one else sees exactly what you see, makes the same connections, or experiences the same emotional landscape. We can describe our inner worlds through art, conversation, and metaphor, but there will always be a distance between experiencing something and hearing someone describe it.

    As a poet, I spend much of my life trying to bridge that distance.

    This poem acknowledges that the bridge will never be perfect—and that’s okay.

    Our perspectives don’t need to become identical to be meaningful.

    Sometimes it’s enough to simply recognize that every person is looking through a different window.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal sunrise over towering mountains, a vast ocean, and a fading moon, symbolizing a unique personal perspective on the world.
    No one else can stand exactly where you stand or see the world through your eyes.

    Through My View
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s eight,
    I hear the birds chirp.
    It’s late, I’m awake—
    what’s new?

    Silence.
    It’s violence—
    the words that I choose,
    when I’m cut loose.

    Like my thoughts,
    I’m off leash—
    you can’t stop me.

    I’ve got a mind
    that stacks lines,
    mountains high,
    metaphors rise—

    higher than Fuji,
    higher than Everest.

    You’ll never finish this climb,
    your mountains will never match mine.
    You could do this for the rest of your life—

    but you’ll never cross my ocean,
    you’ll never see my moon
    with your own eyes.
    You’ll never feel the pull of my tide—

    because your mind
    doesn’t work like mine.
    You’ll never see the beauty
    in my horizon line—

    the way the colors
    shift and shine
    with the change of time.

    You’ll never see the world like—
    I do,
    you’ll never see the world through—
    my view.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Just Human]
    Just Human is a reflective free verse poem about seeing people before borders, choosing empathy over division, and finding home in our shared humanity rather than on a map.

    [Monster Theology]
    What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

    [Before We Created The Labels]
    Ancient gods return to a fractured world shaped by borders, identities, and separation. “Before We Created the Labels” explores humanity’s divisions through mythic imagery, sacred ritual, and symbolic collapse—asking what remains when we learn to see one another beyond labels.

    [No You and I, Ony Us]
    A hopeful free verse poem about empathy, borders, and imagining a world where humanity matters more than division.

    [Two Americans]
    What does it mean to share a country, a language, and still feel completely different? Two Americans explores identity, culture, and the quiet disconnect between people who should feel the same—but don’t.

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