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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: humor

  • Director’s Commentary | A Meta Poem About Writing, Metaphors & Creative Habits

    Rowan Evans

    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

    A writer's desk covered with poetry pages, recurring symbols like moons and oceans, and film director notes critiquing the creative process.
    “Every writer has recurring motifs. Mine just happened to get their own director’s commentary.” 🎬🌙✍️

    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]

  • Tots, Rocks and All | A Free Verse Poem About Creativity, Humor & Quiet Longing

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems begin with an idea.

    This one began with a phrase that made me laugh.

    “Pockets full of tater tots and rocks.”

    I couldn’t tell you where it came from. My brain simply handed it to me, and I knew I had to follow it.

    That’s how a lot of my writing happens.

    One strange image appears, and instead of questioning it, I trust it. I let the poem figure out why that image belongs there.

    This piece moves the way my thoughts move—quickly, unpredictably, jumping from humor to comic books, from creative confidence to quiet vulnerability without asking permission.

    For a while, it feels like controlled chaos.

    Then, almost without warning, it settles.

    Because beneath the jokes, beneath the references, beneath the absurd image of someone carrying tater tots and rocks around in their pockets, there’s a simple truth waiting to be spoken.

    I spend a lot of time thinking.

    A lot of time creating.

    A lot of time turning emotions into language.

    And underneath all of that, like it is underneath so many of my poems, is the same quiet hope:

    To find someone willing to hold my heart with the same care I try to give theirs.

    Sometimes that’s all a poem is.

    A strange road leading to an honest sentence.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary poet stands beside the ocean at sunset with pockets full of rocks and tater tots while handwritten pages become ink in the wind.
    “Sometimes the strangest thoughts lead to the most honest truths.” 🥔🪨✍️🌊

    Tots, Rocks and All
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m lost in my thoughts again,
    pockets full of tater tots
    and rocks again.

    Take a dip in the ocean—
    emotion overflowin’
    like the ink from my pen.

    Runaway mind,
    runaway lines.

    This much creativity
    should be a crime.

    I’ll break lines
    the way Bane
    breaks spines.

    And when I get like this
    I like to speak my mind,
    but I don’t speak in vocals—
    I speak in ink and rhyme.

    Now, let’s get real for a minute,
    just a moment of your—

    hands on the clock hold time,
    and I’m looking for a love
    that’ll hold mine.

    I guess that’s the truth of this—
    tots, rocks and all.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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.

    [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.

    [Caller ID: Destiny]
    Sometimes the places we visit in our dreams feel more like home than the places we wake up in. Caller ID: Destiny explores longing, belonging, and the quiet feeling that life is calling you toward somewhere new.

    [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.

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life.

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

    [Bonus Track]

    I’ve got tater tots in my pockets,
    buried inside with two tickets
    to the Houston Rockets.
    They’re underneath all the rocks,
    it’s kind of insane.

    But I’m trying to sell ’em,
    ’cause I don’t watch sports—
    I watch narratives
    and stories unfold.

    I like the underdog—
    when their story gets told.

  • PokéDevotion – A Playful Love Poem for the Bold & the Legendary

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes love is tender.
    Sometimes it’s ridiculous.
    Sometimes it’s equal parts devotion, lust…
    and, well… Pokémon references.

    This one’s for the bold, the playful, and anyone who knows that love can be legendary.
    Read it aloud.

    Laugh. Blush. Feel.

    A vibrant illustration of two lovers framed by glowing Pokémon shapes in a dreamy, neon atmosphere, symbolizing playful devotion.
    Sometimes love is ridiculous. Sometimes, it’s legendary.

    PokéDevotion
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    My devotion is true,
    just like my love for you—
    I won’t whisper it quietly,
    I’ll scream it out, Loudred.

    Everything that comes to me,
    I’ll give to you—
    that’s the Plusle of being Minun.
    We’ll dance to our own Volbeat,
    carefree, spinning in our rhythm.

    I’ll shift with your emotional weather—
    your personal Castform.
    I won’t ask you to change or transform,
    just be.

    If you’re ever stressed or tense,
    spread them wide—
    I’ll rest my head between ’em,
    and give you a Lickilicky.

    If you say you’re not ready,
    I won’t ask, Wynaut?
    We can go slow,
    we can Spheal it out together.

    But I must ask,
    Relicanth—you see
    what you mean to me?
    You’re my Latias,
    so I’ll never say Latios to you.

    You’ve been with idiots and assholes,
    but you see clearly—
    you know I’m Rhyperior.
    I’ll wrap you in devotion, Swadloon;
    if they think there’s room to come between—
    they’re wrong. I won’t Leavanny.

    I promise—
    I won’t let harm touch your life.
    I’ll protect you until my last breath;
    I’ll keep the Shieldon.

    And if you choose me,
    I’ll be your starter, your best friend.
    The Pikachu to your Ash,
    you and I until the very end.

    I am sorry for this poem and the one linked below…

    [Vaporeon Drip, Flareon Bliss]
    A wild, playful, and shockingly romantic Pokémon-inspired poem exploring devotion, desire, and every Eevee evolution.

  • Shuddup, Fuckboy | Feminist Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This one’s for the ones who think their ego gives them a crown. A little feminist sermon in C minor, sharp, funny, and unflinchingly honest. Consider it a poetic mic-drop for all the Fuckboys out there—because sometimes silence really is golden… especially when it’s his.

    "Fierce woman standing confidently with abstract musical notes and shattered crowns, symbolizing poetic defiance and empowerment."
    A visual representation of ‘Shuddup, Fuckboy’—a feminist mic-drop in poetry form.

    Shuddup, Fuckboy
    (A Feminist Sermon in C Minor)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    “Because silence is golden — especially when it’s his.”

    Oh, you talked to a woman once
    and now you think you know it all?
    Shuddup, Fuckboy.

    Every picture you send is a dick pic,
    because you’re a dick, bitch.
    Foreplay?
    You think that’s texting “u up?”
    at 2am
    like a horny raccoon in the DMs.

    You quote Jordan Peterson,
    have a podcast no one listens to,
    and think “emotional labor”
    is a kink.
    It’s not.
    Grow up.

    Shuddup, Fuckboy.
    You say you’re “sapiosexual”
    but can’t spell it.
    You call yourself a feminist
    just long enough
    to get her clothes off.
    Then it’s
    “Well, not all men…”
    Cue the sirens.
    We found the problem.

    You’re the human version
    of an unsolicited voice memo—
    loud, unnecessary,
    and somehow
    still managing to mansplain
    her own trauma back to her.

    You think “being nice”
    entitles you to a throne.
    But baby,
    you’re not a king—
    you’re a court jester
    in H&M joggers,
    still waiting on that SoundCloud career
    to take off.

    Shuddup, Fuckboy.
    You call her crazy
    after gaslighting her for months,
    then cry when she leaves
    like you didn’t hand her the matches
    and beg her to dance
    while everything burned.

    You ghost, then breadcrumb,
    then ghost again—
    a Scooby-Doo villain
    of romantic incompetence.

    “Sorry, I’ve just been really busy.”
    Right.
    Busy re-downloading Tinder
    because one woman
    had standards.

    Shuddup, Fuckboy.
    Even your mirror rolls its eyes.
    Even your shadow
    doesn’t follow you anymore.

    And me?
    I don’t need revenge.
    I’ve got receipts,
    growth,
    and a front-row seat
    to your slow-motion
    emotional bankruptcy.

    Enjoy your echo chamber
    of “not all men.”
    And those crusty gym selfies.
    You’re not misunderstood—
    you’re just mid.

    Shuddup, Fuckboy.
    And maybe
    for once in your life—
    just listen.

    Shh—
    Shuddup, Fuckboy.

    If you liked this, you might like some of my other pieces. You can find the archives [here].

  • Respectfully | Erotic Gothic Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Respectfully is a playful exploration of desire, boundaries, and the contradictions that exist within intimacy and expression. It fuses humor, Gothic sensibilities, and erotic confession, embracing both the feral and the polite aspects of human longing. The poem isn’t just about lust—it’s about intent: how even the most untamed impulses can coexist with consent, respect, and self-awareness.

    In crafting this piece, I wanted to explore the tension between saying exactly what you feel and maintaining decorum, the duality of a poet’s boldness and manners. Each “Respectfully” is both a comedic punctuation and a manifesto: you can want what you want, but you can also honor the boundaries of others—and yourself.

    This poem celebrates the audacity of voice, the wit of language, and the sacredness of choice—where grammar and desire meet in an unapologetically Gothic, confessional way.

    — Rowan Evans

    Illustration of a candlelit gothic study with ink-stained papers and shadows suggesting intimacy, capturing the sensual yet refined mood of the poem Respectfully.
    Where feral desire meets impeccable manners—Respectfully, poetry by Rowan Evans.

    Respectfully
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been known to say
    some incredibly feral things—
    and I always mean them.
    I would let you absolutely ruin me.
    Respectfully, of course.

    I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,
    I just have no filter—
    a poet’s curse, you see.
    I speak in impulses and italics.
    You could hold me down and choke me.
    Respectfully, for real.

    I would let you do unholy things to me.
    Respectfully.
    I would let you tie me up with rope—
    You could bruise and break me.
    Respectfully, I hope.

    It’s not that I’m trying to shock you,
    it’s just that desire sounds better
    when it’s proofread with manners.
    Like—yes, I’d sin,
    but I’d also say please and thank you.
    A gentlethem of chaos, if you will.

    Every filthy line I write
    is sealed with consent and courtesy.
    That’s the difference between vulgar and art.
    I say “I’d ruin your life,”
    then I spell-check it for tone.
    Respectfully.

    If I ever send you a message that makes you blush,
    know that I meant it—
    but I also meant no harm.
    It’s the duality of lust and decorum.
    Saint in the streets,
    Sinner with impeccable grammar.

    So when I say,
    “I’d let you wreck me in ways
    that require a safety word and a sonnet,”
    you’ll know it’s not a threat.
    It’s a prayer with boundaries.

    Because that’s who I am—
    a walking contradiction in lipstick and ink,
    a poet of piety and profanity,
    who loves like a cathedral on fire
    and means it…

    Respectfully.

    You Might Also Enjoy…

    [Muse of Mayhem]
    “She is fury made flesh, a witch with war in her hips, and I— I volunteer as tribute.”

    Muse of Mayhem explores the intoxicating pull of chaos, desire, and surrender in Rowan Evans’ signature Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism style.

    [My Red Flags]
    “You told me you had anger issues. But I’ve only seen you furious in defense—a saint of righteous fire.”

    ‘My Red Flags’ is a confession disguised as a love spell. In this dark romantic poem, Rowan Evans turns every warning sign into worship—an ode to danger, devotion, and the art of loving without fear of burning.

    [Retribution in Shadows]
    A shadowed vow, a vigil in the dark, and a voice that rises for the unheard. ‘Retribution in Shadows’ is a dark Gothic poem about imagined justice, written with the intensity of protective love and raw emotion.

    If you want to check out the full archive, you can find it in [The Library of Ashes]…