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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: humor poetry

  • 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]

  • It’s Just Me but Super | A Poem About Imagination, Creativity & Becoming More Yourself

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece exists because my brain occasionally grabs a pun by the throat and refuses to let go.

    It started with a single phrase:

    “Wanda the Cosmo.”

    The moment I realized it sounded like wander the cosmos, the entire poem became inevitable.

    From there, it turned into a collision of things that shaped me growing up: cartoons, superheroes, imagination, ridiculous wordplay, and the habit of taking a joke far beyond the point where a reasonable person would stop.

    The references are intentional, but they aren’t really the point.

    What interests me is the thread connecting all of them.

    Timmy Turner. Doug Funnie. Quailman.

    They’re ordinary people living inside worlds that are a little bigger, stranger, and more magical than everyday life.

    And in some ways, that’s what writing has always felt like to me.

    A blank page is ordinary until imagination gets involved.

    Then suddenly you’re wandering the cosmos. Building constellations out of language. Turning metaphors into transportation.

    The speaker in this poem never actually becomes a superhero.

    Nothing supernatural happens.

    No powers. No cosmic upgrades. No secret destiny.

    Instead, the final line reveals the joke that was hiding in plain sight the entire time:

    “It’s just me but super.”

    Because that’s what creativity often feels like.

    Not becoming someone else.

    Not transforming into a different person.

    Just becoming a more exaggerated version of yourself for a little while.

    A little louder.

    A little stranger.

    A little more willing to follow an absurd idea all the way to the stars.

    And honestly?

    That’s where some of my favorite poems come from.

    — Rowan Evans

    A whimsical poet standing beneath a galaxy-filled sky surrounded by glowing constellations, notebooks, and symbols of imagination.
    Sometimes creativity isn’t becoming someone else—it’s becoming a more imaginative version of yourself and following the idea all the way to the stars.

    It’s Just Me but Super
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They say I’m fairly odd—
    call me Timmy Turner.
    Watch me Wanda the Cosmo,
    a trip across the stars—

    Get it…
    Wanda the Cosmo?

    I am saying, watch me
    wander the cosmos—
    it’s a trip across the stars.
    Every stanza a constellation
    shaped in star dust,
    inked in the space between.

    And when I come back,
    re-entry will have me feeling Funnie—
    I’ll write about it like
    “Hey, journal, it’s me, Doug.”
    I cannot fail, man—
    like my alter ego is Quailman.

    It’s just me but super.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [100 Grand and a Book Deal]
    A playful collision of candy bars, comic book heroes, basketball legends, and cosmic metaphors. Beneath the jokes lies a reflection on twenty-three years of writing, creativity, and the dream of building something lasting one line at a time.

    [Copy of a Copy]
    A sharp, self-aware poem about originality, imitation, and the search for an authentic creative voice. What begins as a diss gradually reveals itself as a meditation on authorship, influence, and the things that can never truly be copied.

    [Lone Wolf Theology]
    A philosophical pop-culture poem exploring freedom, identity, and self-authorship through the lens of superheroes, antiheroes, mythic archetypes, and personal rebellion. A declaration of autonomy in a world determined to write your story for you.

    [L Words & Heart]
    A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.

    [Just Beyond Waking]
    A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.

    [Twin Suns, Sister Moons]
    A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

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

  • Pluto Farmer: A Whimsical Poem About Being a Misfit

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Pluto Farmer is a playful meditation on otherness, absurdity, and the quiet rebellion of refusing to contort yourself into someone else’s idea of “normal.”
    Sometimes resistance looks like fire and teeth.
    Sometimes it looks like space carrots, judgmental space chickens, and cultivating joy on a planet no one else bothered to visit.

    This poem is for the weirdos, the outcasts, the artists, and anyone who has ever been told—explicitly or otherwise—that they don’t belong.
    If “normal” is a box, I’m farming on Pluto.

    Illustration of a whimsical farmer on Pluto surrounded by space animals, glowing vegetables, and surreal cosmic elements, representing absurdity and embracing being a misfit.
    Cultivating joy where “normal” doesn’t apply. 🪐

    Pluto Farmer
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m the twisted
    insane misfit.
    Outcast. Exile.
    Certified weirdo.

    The farmer
    with a ranch on Pluto.
    Two camels in a parked car,
    elephants in jam jars—

    gravity folded in coat pockets,
    constellations mislabeled,
    common sense left on read—

    and somehow
    I’m the problem
    for not fitting neatly
    into their tiny little box
    called “normal.”

    So I—
    just spend
    my time,
    cultivating—
    space carrots,
    raising space cows,
    milking starlight,
    counting moons like loose change,
    gathering space eggs
    from suspiciously judgmental
    space chickens.

    “Oh my god, you’re wearing that? Ew, what the—b-GAWK?!”

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