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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Hip-Hop Poetry

  • Kaio-ken with a Pen & Zenkai (Stronger Now) | Dragon Ball-Inspired Battle Poetry

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I originally wrote these as two separate pieces, but once I stepped back and read them together, I realized they were having the same conversation.

    Kaio-ken with a Pen is the attack: speed, confidence, exaggerated battle-rap energy, and the idea that my mind can move faster than the people trying to keep up with it. The pen becomes the weapon, and Dragon Ball becomes the language I’m using to describe that creative intensity.

    Then came Zenkai (Stronger Now).

    That one felt like the natural aftermath. In Dragon Ball, a Zenkai is the idea of becoming stronger after surviving a near-death experience. That concept fit perfectly with the way I think about resilience: sometimes you get pushed to the edge, you survive the fight, and you come back with something you didn’t have before.

    So together, these poems became something of a two-part battle sequence:

    I attack with the pen.
    I survive the fight.
    I come back stronger.

    Neither piece is meant as a literal threat toward anyone. They’re me having fun with battle-poetry, Dragon Ball references, ridiculous power scaling, and the sheer joy of seeing how far I can push a metaphor before it explodes.

    Basically: Battle Rowan went Super Saiyan.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet holding a pen stands surrounded by explosive golden and crimson energy, symbolizing creative power, battle, and becoming stronger after adversity.
    One poem is the attack.

    Kaio-ken with a Pen
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I can go Super Saiyan easy,
    the way Chi Chi teached me—
    taught me, I forgot you see
    I’m the best, yes,
    don’t want to step to this—
    you don’t want to fought me—
    fight me, I mean—bitch bite me,
    you’re not like me.

    My mind is terrifyingly quick—
    thoughts comes, instant transmission—
    from my mind to the page
    in a Final Flash attack—
    Kaio-ken with a pen, is this the end?

    Fin.

    Kaio-ken with a pen, I’m at it again,
    this is my battle to win.
    It’s going take you, a Kamehameha
    and Kaio-ken times ten just to test me—
    but it won’t be enough to best me.

    A poet holding a pen stands surrounded by explosive golden and crimson energy, symbolizing creative power, battle, and becoming stronger after adversity.
    The other is what happens when you survive it.

    Zenkai (Stronger Now)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m Goku after a fight
    and a Senzu bean,
    you know what that means—
    I’ve gotten stronger now,
    you pushed me to the edge—
    took me to the brink,
    but you couldn’t end it—
    you couldn’t finish me.

    So do your little dance,
    put on the Potara—do it—
    put your minds together,
    just know, even two as one—
    you won’t get the job done.
    I won’t borrow strength from no one,
    don’t need no spirit bomb
    to drop bombs—

    No Kamehameha—
    just ha-ha, I’m laughin’ at you.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • Don’t Push Me | A Playful Battle-Poetry Piece About Standing Your Ground

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Don’t Push Me is another exercise in letting my battle-poet voice stretch its legs.

    This isn’t meant as a literal threat or a callout toward any particular person. It’s playful bravado—the kind of exaggerated, cartoonish toughness that happens when I take an ordinary insult, run it through my sense of humor, and see how far I can push the rhyme.

    The opening starts with something I’ve genuinely heard for most of my life: being called “four-eyes.” From there, the poem turns that insult into ammunition. If you’re going to give me material, I’m going to make something out of it.

    And then, naturally, my brain couldn’t resist sabotaging the intimidation.

    I’m not— (shhh, nice kitty)

    Because apparently even Battle Rowan has an editor.
    Sometimes the strongest thing you can do with anger isn’t explode.
    Sometimes it’s turn it into a punchline.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet wearing glasses stands on a dark stage with swirling ink and a mischievous cat silhouette behind them.
    Sometimes you don’t have to throw the first punch—you just have to know what to do with the material they give you.

    Don’t Push Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You called me four-eyes?
    And you want me
    to react to that?
    I’ve had glasses since I was two,
    bifocals since five—
    I’ve had four eyes,
    longer than you’ve been alive.

    What’s next?
    You gonna call me slow?

    (I’m fast as fuck, boi.)

    Physically or mentally?
    Doesn’t matter though,
    there’s something
    you should know.

    I don’t back down,
    I stand my ground—
    because every fight I’m in,
    is like a fight for my life—
    I’m scrawny as fuck, man,
    still use no weapons—
    just fists, no knife.

    So trust me—

    you don’t want the jokes to stop,
    you don’t want to know
    what it’s like, when I really talk—

    so please don’t push me,
    ’cause I’m not— (shhh, nice kitty)

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • 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]

  • Pull the Lever — Poetry, Hip-Hop, Cadence & the Music That Shaped Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve written before about how much Hip-Hop shaped the way I write, but Pull the Lever is a little more personal about that history.

    I got into Hip-Hop young—around nine years old—and artists like DMX, Eminem, Ludacris, Mystikal, and 2Pac became part of the musical landscape I grew up in. I wasn’t trying to become a rapper; I was learning cadence. I was listening to how words moved, how syllables landed, how rhythm could turn language into something physical.

    That influence never really left.

    As I got older, though, my musical world expanded beyond American Hip-Hop. I started listening to music in other languages, and eventually Korean Hip-Hop became part of that landscape too. The final section of this poem deliberately crosses that bridge: Outsider, MC Sniper, and Drunken Tiger are Korean Hip-Hop references, following the line about me mentally crossing the sea.

    There’s something fitting about that progression. The kid who learned cadence from American Rap eventually became a writer whose relationship with rhythm stretched far beyond one language, one country, or one genre.

    I may write poetry, but the rapper’s mind is still wired into the pen.

    — Rowan Evans

    A notebook and pen surrounded by Hip-Hop imagery, transitioning from an American cityscape into a Korean night skyline, with subtle tiger and rhythmic sound motifs.
    From American Rap to Korean Hip-Hop, the rhythm stayed with me—the cadence simply crossed the sea.

    Pull the Lever
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Pull the lever to find out
    what the cow says—

    The cow says, “move bitch,
    get out the way”—
    like Ludacris and Mystikal,
    don’t piss me off,
    my shit gets mythical.

    I was nine,
    memorizing every line
    that DMX spit—
    like the Ruff Ryders Anthem,
    that was my shit.

    I learned the cadence from Em,
    so when I spit, I spit like Slim—
    not a rapper, just a writer
    with a rapper’s mind wired in.

    I got into Hip-Hop
    the same year
    we lost Pac—
    that was ’96,
    in case you forgot.

    And in my teens,
    I took my love for the game
    and mentally
    crossed the sea—

    I was an outsider,
    so I found the Outsider
    that spoke to me.

    And I studied religiously—
    until my lines hit
    with the precision of a Sniper.

    Hit the bars too hard,
    got my Tiger’s heart
    feeling like a Drunken master.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Slim & Shady Series]

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