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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: experimental poetry

  • The Metaphor Machine | A Meta Poetry Experiment by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    The Metaphor Machine is a poem about the machinery behind my own poetry. I wanted to pull back the curtain and show what happens when a single line starts generating connections: moonlight becomes tide, tide becomes ocean, ocean becomes shoreline, shoreline becomes city streets, and suddenly the poem has wandered somewhere entirely different.

    The joke is that I’m explaining the process while actively doing it. The poem breaks its own lines, interrupts its own thoughts, calls attention to its metaphors, and then circles back to reveal that all those seemingly wandering pieces were connected by the same machine.

    Sometimes I don’t choose the metaphor. I just follow where it takes me.

    — Rowan Evans

    An open notebook whose poetic imagery transforms from moonlight and ocean waves into a shoreline and city streets.
    One metaphor becomes another, and the machine keeps running.

    The Metaphor Machine
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ll write a line in a way
    that’ll make you pause—
    then I’ll take that line
    and break that line,
    to break the thought—

    then I sprinkle in the metaphors,
    and this is really what I get meta for—

    I talk about the moon
    and the silver light,
    the way it shimmers—
    its image trembles
    across the top
    of dark water—
    that’s one I’ve said before.
    And I’ve said it lot,
    but I’m not going to stop.

    This is where the tides comes,
    and there the tide goes—
    because that’s how the tide works.

    And the ocean—

    this is a poem, I wrote…
    you didn’t think
    we were going to skip this one,
    did you?

    And the ocean,
    it’s so polite—
    the way it waves,
    every time it sees my face.
    It’s a familiar place,
    I sit on the shoreline, often—
    not in reality, but in my mind—
    that’s where the thoughts soften.

    Now, for the city streets—
    the heat, and god—
    that humidity, the way it clings.
    You’d think I’d dream of…
    somewhere less…
    humid? But I digress,
    it’s always love that I express
    for the islands I haven’t touched yet.

    If you’re following along—

    I wrote a line
    that made you pause—
    then I took that line
    and I broke that line—

    and that broke the thought.

    Then that’s where the pivot came,
    I told you what I really went meta for.

    It’s the metaphors.

    Moon to tide,
    tied to the ocean—
    a shoreline or two,
    next to the ocean blue—
    then beaches to city streets,
    it’s the same ones I walk in sleep.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Welcome to the Hexverse]
    Step into the Hexverse—a poetic world where mythmaking, humor, rage, creativity, and confession collide, and darkness becomes something that can be reshaped into art.

    [High Tide]
    A short reflective poem about leaving, returning, and accepting the forces that pull us back—like the tide guided by the moon.

    [Let Me Pacific]
    A lyrical poem about sitting beside the Pacific Ocean and discovering that an enormous body of water can become a bridge between distant hearts. Through ocean imagery, wordplay, and reflections on California and the Philippines, Let Me Be Pacific explores how love and poetry can cross even the greatest distances.

    [Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?]
    A playful love poem disguised as a forest of terrible tree puns. Beneath the birch, oak, cedar, palms, lumber, and absurdist wordplay is a poem about devotion, loyalty, laughter, and building a life with someone you love.

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

  • A Conspiracy to Rave in Treachery & Unkindness | Gothic Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem starts with an image that is just too good to leave alone.

    A gathering of black feathers. A suspicious little chorus. A feeling that something is happening around you, even if nobody bothered to send you the invitation.

    So, naturally, I had to turn it into a conspiracy.

    Welcome to the middle of it.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands surrounded by crows and ravens as black feathers cover the ground in a dark forest clearing.
    Just me, minding my business, while the birds hold a very suspicious meeting around me.

    A Conspiracy to Rave in Treachery & Unkindness
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s just me, no party,
    standing in the middle—
    with a rave all around,
    just feathers of darkness
    covering the ground—

    it’s no mystery
    when you’re stuck in the middle
    of a conspiracy,
    listening to the treachery—
    inspiring the unkindness.

    They are poetic in their darkness—
    unlike the violence
    of the Mob & Murder—

    those crows can’t be trusted.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Roses & 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.

    [The Crypt]
    A mysterious man watches from a crypt as a woman enters the graveyard and kneels before an unnamed grave. In this compact gothic poem, fascination, death, and possession blur together beneath the shadows of the cemetery.

    [Homecoming]
    Homecoming is a return to the Gothic aesthetic at the heart of Rowan Evans’s poetry, blending Poe, mythology, horror icons, moonlight, ravens, and darkness into a meditation on artistic identity and finding your way back to the voice that feels like home.

    [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.

    [The Monster in the Margins II]
    The Monster in the Margins II transforms Rowan Evans’s Seven Deadly Sins mythology into a horror story written between the lines, where Lust, Wrath, Sloth, Greed, Pride, Envy, and Gluttony become monsters growing from pain, grudges, and scars.

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

  • 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]

  • Give Me (I’ll Give) | A Playful Confidence Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems ask for your attention.

    This one asks for a challenge.

    Give me something to work with, and I’ll turn it into a line. A joke. A rhyme. A little trouble.

    That’s the game.

    — Rowan Evans

    A fountain pen and open notebook surrounded by surreal images of a microphone, ghost, lyric sheet, and toast.
    Give me something to work with. I’ll give you a poem.

    Give Me (I’ll Give)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Give me a beat,
    I’ll give you a bar.
    Give me a graveyard,
    I’ll give you a ghost.
    Give me a lyric,
    I’ll give you a joke.
    Give me a drink,
    I’ll give you a toast.

    You don’t have to say it—
    I know, I write better than most.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) | A Funny Pop Culture Poetry Diss by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes I sit down with a pen and decide I’m going to behave.

    That usually lasts about three lines.

    Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) is one of those pieces where the writing gets a little cocky, the jokes start stacking up, and the references begin sneaking through the cracks. It’s playful, competitive, and intentionally ridiculous in places.

    So consider this a little verbal sparring session.

    No hard feelings.

    Probably.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet holds a fountain pen like a microphone on a surreal stage surrounded by glowing bars made of ink and handwritten lines.
    The meet-and-greet is over. The pen has entered the battle.

    Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Oh, look at you—
    look what you can do
    with a pen—it’s cute,
    but you can’t win—
    yet you think you can?

    Damn, man—
    what was your plan?
    How were you going
    to get the best of me?

    Get in line—
    get ready for the meet and greet,
    I’ll sign your autograph,
    cause I—

    I know I’m your Idol,
    American,
    shape the ink like clay,
    ’til it’s achin’—
    I’m Stronger now,
    and not Because Of You,
    so listen quick, remember bitch,
    you’ll want to remember where you were at
    during A Moment Like This—

    that was three straight references
    to Clarkson, Kelly—
    sit down, talk show, telly.
    It’s just jokes bitch, I can get silly—
    that’s just how the mind
    Behind These Hazel Eyes works—

    jerks.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Conductor]
    A dark, intimate poem about the strange power words can have over the reader—where rhythm, rhyme, and line breaks become instruments capable of reaching beyond the page.

    [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]

  • Nobody² (No Body) | A Minimalist Poem About Loneliness and Absence

    Rowan Evans
    A translucent ghostly figure stands alone in an empty dark room, appearing almost completely hollow.
    Sometimes absence isn’t just being alone. Sometimes it feels like having no body at all.

    Nobody² (No Body)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a nobody,
    I’ve got nobody.
    I’m just a ghost—

    I’ve got no body.

    [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.

    [Conductor]
    A dark, intimate poem about the strange power words can have over the reader—where rhythm, rhyme, and line breaks become instruments capable of reaching beyond the page.

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

  • Rose & Ruin | Minimalist Poetry About Creativity and Dark Thoughts by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans
    Roses, a raven and ruins.
    Beauty/Decay

    Author’s Note

    Some thoughts arrive like flowers.

    Others arrive already carrying the scent of decay.

    These two minimalist pieces were written as companions—two sides of the same creative process. One looks toward cultivation, growth, and the strange beauty of watching an idea become something tangible. The other looks toward the thoughts that come darker, older, or already beginning to rot.

    Together, Rose and Ruin sit in the same garden.

    One grows.

    One decays.

    Both become poetry.

    — Rowan Evans

    Rose & Ruin
    Poems by Rowan Evans

    A crimson rose grows from dark soil intertwined with black ink in a gothic garden.
    Somewhere between ink and imagination, the garden begins to bloom.

    Rose
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I plant a seed and water it,
    creativity and ink, fertilizing it—
    watching masterpieces bloom
    in a garden of thoughts.

    Wilted roses decay in a dark gothic garden with black ink spreading through the soil.
    Even the thoughts that rot can still become something worth writing.

    Ruin
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I use ’em—
    before the thoughts rot,
    but I’m a gothic poet—
    I’ll still use the rotten thoughts,
    I see the world through ’em.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Conductor]
    A dark, intimate poem about the strange power words can have over the reader—where rhythm, rhyme, and line breaks become instruments capable of reaching beyond the page.

    [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.

    [Finish What You Started]
    A dark introspective poem about confronting the past, carrying old versions of yourself, and realizing that the only way forward is through the fire.

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

  • Conductor | A Poem About the Power of Words and Breath by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are poems that ask you to listen.

    There are poems that ask you to feel.

    And then there are poems that quietly reach through the page and take hold of something you thought belonged entirely to you.

    Conductor comes from that space—the strange little boundary between writer and reader, where words stop being marks on a page and start becoming something physical.

    I wanted to play with that boundary.

    So take a breath before you begin.

    Then read.

    — Rowan Evans

    A mysterious conductor directs floating pages and strands of ink through a dark, empty concert hall.
    Some conductors lead an orchestra. Others conduct the breath between the lines.

    Conductor
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a conductor—

    watch me
    control your breath.
    Won’t even
    be in the room—

    you just have
    to read the words
    that I’ve left—

    you can feel
    my influence
    in your chest—

    I confess—

    you breathe the way I tell you to,
    this is what I will do—I will extend the lines,
    implement some rhymes—show you,
    that your breath is not your own,
    it is mine to control—

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Crypt]
    A mysterious man watches from a crypt as a woman enters the graveyard and kneels before an unnamed grave. In this compact gothic poem, fascination, death, and possession blur together beneath the shadows of the cemetery.

    [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.

    [Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?]
    A playful love poem disguised as a forest of terrible tree puns. Beneath the birch, oak, cedar, palms, lumber, and absurdist wordplay is a poem about devotion, loyalty, laughter, and building a life with someone you love.

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

  • B.S.T.F.U. | A Battle-Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    B.S.T.F.U. is me flexing.

    There isn’t a real target hiding behind this poem, no specific person I’m trying to call out, and no secret literary feud happening behind the scenes. I wrote this because sometimes I like to take the battle-poet side of my voice out for a walk and see what it can do.

    This piece is deliberately over-the-top. It’s swagger, insults, wordplay, internal rhyme, punchlines, and a little bit of absurdity thrown into the blender. The goal wasn’t to make a serious accusation—it was to practice the mechanics of verbal combat while having fun with the language.

    And honestly, that’s part of why I love writing: sometimes I want to write something vulnerable, sometimes I want to build mythology, sometimes I want to make conspiracy theories about fish, and sometimes I just want to look at the imaginary competition and say:

    Where are you on the ladder?

    Below me.

    It’s not that serious.

    But the pen game?

    That part is serious.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet stands in a dark battle-poetry arena holding a fountain pen beside a towering ladder symbolizing literary skill.
    No target. No feud. Just a poet flexing the pen and climbing the imaginary ladder.

    B.S.T.F.U.
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Bitch, shut the fuck up—
    what’chu talkin’ about?

    Don’t think I haven’t heard—
    how you’re runnin’ your mouth.

    You thought ’cause I don’t talk a lot,
    I was open season, you should be scared—
    let me give you a reason, I’m a big dog—
    all bite, no bark and a license to write still.

    I write with precision, I write kills—

    you’re not a writer,
    you’re the one who steals—

    plagiarizing those with skill.

    It’s stolen lines
    and stolen rhymes—
    the only thing keeping you
    holding on to borrowed time—

    it’s not yours—

    it’s whoever writes for you.

    It’s me and it’s them—
    it’s the wielders of the pen.
    Those with skill,
    with lines that kill
    and lines that heal—

    we know—

    you don’t write, bitch—
    be so for real.

    You don’t know what a metaphor is—

    and a stanza?
    You hear that and you’re like—
    isn’t his first name Tony?

    Bitch, you’re a phony…

    if you were
    to try and write—
    baloney.

    All that to ask—

    when it comes
    to writing—
    where are you
    on the ladder?

    Below me.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • Dreaming Wrong | A Surreal Poem About Dreams, Disorientation, and the Uncanny

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Dreaming Wrong came from the strange feeling of being inside a dream that looks familiar but somehow isn’t yours. The moon is still there. The path is still recognizable. The water is still waiting—but everything has been rearranged just enough to make the entire landscape feel wrong.

    I wanted to play with that feeling of dream logic: the moment when your mind recognizes the pieces but realizes they no longer fit together. The ocean becomes a pond, the tide disappears, the moon loses its reflection, and even the heavens become impossible to navigate.

    For me, the unsettling part isn’t that the dream is frightening. It’s that it feels incorrect. Like waking life has been reconstructed by someone who knows what everything is supposed to look like—but doesn’t quite understand what it means.

    Sometimes the strangest dreams aren’t nightmares.

    Sometimes they’re simply dreaming wrong.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal nighttime landscape where a person kneels beside a dark pond beneath a pale moon with no reflection in the water.
    Sometimes the nightmare isn’t frightening—it is simply familiar enough to feel wrong.

    Dreaming Wrong
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I slipped from waking life,
    drifted into night—
    but it felt different,
    like the imagery wasn’t right.

    The moon looked paler than usual,
    so I asked if she was sick—
    of course, she didn’t answer back.
    But I followed the same paths
    that I had many nights before.

    I walked along
    until I hit the edge of the—

    pond?

    Where was the ocean at,
    where was the shore—
    and why couldn’t I
    feel the tide anymore?

    Everything felt off there.

    I was on my knees,
    staring at the water—
    where was the shimmer,
    I couldn’t see the reflection
    of the moon—

    I looked straight ahead,
    and the silence seemed
    to stretch further.

    Then my eyes looked to the sky
    and I realized that I couldn’t
    map the path across the heavens.

    It’s like as soon my head hit the pillow—
    I entered somebody else’s mind,
    because nothing about this
    felt like mine—

    I was dreaming wrong.

    That’s the only thing
    that can explain,
    what was going on.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Beach to Beach (How I Get There)]
    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.

    [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.

    [The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [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]