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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: humorous poetry

  • Noon Is Loud by Rowan Evans | A Humorous Free Verse Poem About Ego, Imagination & Absurdity

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems arrive in the middle of the night carrying emotional truths.

    This one showed up in broad daylight carrying absolute nonsense.

    The idea started with a simple contrast: if four in the morning is where my most honest poems seem to live, then maybe noon is where my imagination completely loses supervision.
    So I let it.

    Every claim in this poem becomes more ridiculous than the last. Ghostwriting the Ten Commandments. Inventing fire. Starting sci-fi fandom wars. Building the pyramids. Handling first contact with aliens.

    It’s satire, exaggeration, and the kind of storytelling that knows it’s lying while inviting you to enjoy the ride anyway.

    At its heart, though, there’s a small observation hiding beneath all the absurdity.

    Sometimes the stories we tell ourselves depend entirely on what time it is.

    At four in the morning, we confess.

    At noon, we become legends.

    This poem belongs to the latter.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal midday scene featuring floating notebooks, ancient monuments, spaceships, and mythic imagery under a bright sun, sy1mbolizing imagination and exaggerated storytelling.
    When noon gets too loud, every impossible story suddenly feels true.

    Noon Is Loud
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    If four AM is the time of truth—
    I guess it’s all lies at noon.
    Do you remember when—
    I was topping the charts
    and breaking the hearts.

    And what about the time
    that I had to save the planet—
    I had to be the one to stare
    down the barrel of a laser gun.
    But I handled first contact like a G,
    that’s why the Aliens are cool with me.

    I created Star Treks and Star Wars,
    specifically to start beef in sci fi fandoms.
    Nobody knew, I was the phantom menace—
    the creator of the lore, everyone wanted to Klingon.
    And Dune? That was me too.

    I’ve gone to war with Gods
    over migraines and frowns,
    but never my own—
    I’ve talked about it in other poems.

    And yes, I am a sports expert—
    I know everything there is to know,
    it’s all stats, no narrative.
    Formations, players and defensive schemes.
    These are all words that I know what they mean.

    The pyramids? I built those—
    the Eiffel Tower too.
    The Hubble Telescope?
    Inspired by the childhood glasses that I wore.

    The Ten Commandments?
    I was the ghost writer—
    I was also the inventor of fire,
    the wheel and combustion engines.

    Anyway—
    that’s what I remember.

    But noon is loud,
    and the lies come easy—
    so I’ll stop here
    before I rewrite the universe again.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [More Afraid Than the Ink]
    Some confessions are easy to write but impossible to speak. More Afraid Than the Ink explores fear, dreams, recurring symbols, and the quiet realization that the page has always been braver than the poet.

    [When the Veil Is Thin]
    Some truths wait until after four in the morning to make themselves known. When the Veil Is Thin explores insomnia, longing, quiet vulnerability, and the thoughts that become impossible to ignore before dawn.

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

  • Content Warning | A Humorous Poetry Roast of Bad Storytelling and Bad People

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem wasn’t planned.
    It wasn’t outlined.
    It wasn’t even politely invited.

    It showed up at 6:58 AM, unannounced, fully formed, and absolutely determined to be written. I was trying to go back to sleep, but the first nine lines kept repeating in my head like a notification I couldn’t clear. So I got up, opened my notes, and twenty‑two minutes later this entire piece existed.

    It’s not deep.
    It’s not symbolic.
    It’s not part of a series.

    It’s just what happens when my brain decides to roast someone using the language of literature and refuses to let me rest until I write it down.

    Most of my recent work has been heavy, reflective, rooted in longing and transition. This one is… not that. This is me having fun. This is me letting the metaphorical knife out for a morning stroll. This is me, writing the poetic equivalent of a one‑star Goodreads review for a person who deserved it.

    If you’re here for emotional devastation, don’t worry — I’ll get back to that soon.
    But for now, enjoy this brief intermission of petty, poetic chaos.

    — Rowan Evans

    An edited manuscript covered in red proofreading marks on a writer's desk with a fountain pen and scattered pages.
    “Some stories deserve five stars. Others deserve a content warning.”

    Content Warning
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m going to tell you like it is,
    if I don’t like you—
    I’m going to say it quick.

    I read you like a book,
    the moment you entered my view.
    I read you like my favorite series,
    finished in a day—

    but you’re a book, full of plot holes.
    Your narrative is flawed.

    Your dialogue is forced,
    your motives unclear,
    your character arc
    never quite lands, dear.

    I don’t need a sequel
    to know how this ends.
    Some stories fall apart
    before the final page—
    and yours was unraveling
    from the start.

    Your thoughts are typos,
    in need of rewrite, bro—
    editor should have lost their job, too.

    How were you released to the public?

    Your plot twists fall flat,
    your pacing drags,
    your themes contradict
    every claim you make.

    What genre are you even in?

    You’re a draft
    that never should’ve passed
    the first round of edits—

    a story stitched together
    with clichés and guesswork.

    I’ve read fanfiction
    with tighter structure
    and more believable motives.

    You’re not a novel—
    you’re a warning label
    masquerading as prose.

    You should come with a content warning:

    This content blows.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Monster in the Margins]
    Drawing inspiration from horror icons like Michael Myers, Ghostface, Freddy Krueger, and Pennywise, this poem explores the darker side of creativity—where inspiration becomes an unstoppable force lurking just beyond the edge of the page.

    [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.

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

  • Raccoons in Silk Pajamas | An Absurdist Free Verse Poem About Language Letting Loose

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem started where a lot of my more playful pieces begin: with a chain reaction of absurd images that refused to behave.

    I didn’t sit down with a structure in mind. I just let the language run until it started building its own logic—one that doesn’t really care about realism, linear progression, or whether raccoons should realistically be wearing silk pajamas in the first place.

    The “Space Chickens” at the beginning weren’t planned as a motif. They became one because they felt like the kind of strange, mildly accusatory presence that only makes sense in a world where camels are in parked cars and elephants are stored in jam jars.

    From there, the poem just escalates.

    Raccoons appear. Then llamas. Then the question of pajamas becomes a philosophical problem. Somewhere in the middle, the poem realizes it is no longer interested in consistency—it’s interested in momentum.

    There’s a moment where the speaker tries to impose logic:

    “Don’t be absurd.”

    But by that point, absurdity has already won.

    What I find interesting about this piece is that it still has a kind of emotional continuity even without narrative stability. It moves the way thoughts move when you’re tired, distracted, or laughing at your own internal associations—jumping from one idea to another through sound, memory, and cultural reference rather than logic.

    Even the ending, with its sudden shift into pop culture and cinematic reference, is less about conclusion and more about acknowledgment. The poem becomes aware of itself mid-collapse and decides to lean into it rather than resolve it.

    In that sense, it’s not really about raccoons.

    It’s about the way language behaves when you stop trying to control it.

    And sometimes, that’s where the most honest writing shows up.

    — Rowan Evans

    A raccoon wearing silk pajamas rides a llama beneath a colorful cosmic sky filled with surreal creatures and absurd imagery.
    When logic leaves the room, language starts having fun.

    Raccoons in Silk Pajamas
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had to get away
    from the Space Chickens,
    they were a little too judgmental—

    always questioning what I wore,
    shouting implied curses
    spoken in cursive.

    It was camels in parked cars,
    elephants in jam jars…

    Now it’s—

    raccoons in silk pajamas,
    and they’re not alone—
    they’re riding llamas.

    “Are the llamas
    wearing silk pajamas?”

    Don’t be absurd.
    That’s the weirdest thing
    I’ve ever heard—

    llamas in pajamas?

    No, just raccoons
    and bananas.

    I was once a
    farmer on Pluto,
    a librarian on Mars—
    a poet amongst the stars.
    Now I’m just
    an astronaut in the ocean,
    rolling in the deep.

    Dude—
    you just referenced Adele.

    Like it is 2001 again.
    It’s a Space Odyssey

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    See where it all began.

    [Pluto Farmer]
    A whimsical absurdist poem about being a certified weirdo, farming space carrots on Pluto, and refusing to fit into anyone else’s definition of “normal.”

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

  • Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated) | A Poem About Overthinking Romance

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began with a simple observation:

    Violets aren’t blue.

    They’re violet.

    Which, admittedly, is not a revelation likely to change the course of human history.

    But once I started thinking about it, the entire cliché began to unravel.

    Because roses aren’t always red either.

    And then I found myself researching flower symbolism, color meanings, and all the ways a four-line nursery-rhyme structure completely falls apart under even the mildest amount of scrutiny.

    At some point, the poem stopped being about flowers.

    It became about overthinking.

    About taking a perfectly functional piece of language and pulling on a loose thread until the entire sweater comes apart in your hands.

    Which, if I’m being honest, describes a significant percentage of my writing process.

    What makes me laugh about this piece is that it starts as a correction and ends as a complaint.

    Not about roses.

    Not about violets.

    About the format itself.

    Because the more precise and accurate I tried to make the original cliché, the more impossible it became to actually say anything romantic.

    Eventually I arrived at the only logical conclusion:

    Roses are complicated.

    Violets are violet.

    And sometimes analysis is the natural predator of romance.

    — Rowan Evans

    Multicolored roses and violet flowers surrounding scattered handwritten notes about flower symbolism and romance.
    Sometimes the quickest way to ruin a cliché is to fact-check it. Roses are complicated. Violets are violet. Romance may never recover. 🌹💜

    Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Roses are red,
    violets aren’t blue.
    Also roses
    aren’t always red.

    Red is the classic:
    romance, true love
    and passion.

    Pink conveys
    gratitude, grace,
    joy and admiration.

    Yellow denotes
    friendship, joy,
    warmth and caring.

    White represents
    innocence,
    purity, youth
    and new beginnings.

    And there’s at least
    four more—
    Coral, Peach,
    Lavender and Orange.

    So I guess
    what I’m trying
    to say is—

    Roses
    come in an assortment of colors,
    Violets are violet—
    and this format
    makes romance hard.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [It’s Just Me but Super]
    A playful free-verse poem about cartoons, imagination, cosmic wanderings, and the strange magic of creativity. Through wordplay, nostalgia, and absurd humor, Rowan Evans explores what happens when ordinary life meets an extraordinary imagination.

    [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]

  • 100 Grand and a Book Deal | Candy Bars, Cosmic Rhymes & Building a Writing Life

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece exists because I started chasing a joke and never stopped.

    It began with the phrase “candy bars” and my brain immediately decided that if I was going to use that line, then I had a responsibility to see how many directions I could stretch it before the whole thing collapsed.

    Apparently the answer was: quite a few.

    Music bars. Candy bars. Space metaphors. Basketball references. Superheroes. Bob the Builder.

    At some point I stopped asking where the poem was going and just followed it.

    What surprised me is that beneath all the wordplay and punchlines, a theme quietly emerged on its own.

    I’ve spent twenty-three years writing.

    Long enough that writing no longer feels like something I do—it feels like part of the architecture of my life. Every poem, every story, every abandoned draft, every late-night idea scribbled into a notebook has contributed to the person I became.

    So while this piece is intentionally playful, there is a small truth hiding inside all the jokes.

    The lines about Jordan, Batman, Thor, and building aren’t really about any of those things.

    They’re about creation.

    About spending years building something that didn’t exist before.

    A voice. A body of work. A universe made from language.

    The title came from one of the many candy references, but it also captures the spirit of the piece perfectly.

    Part joke. Part aspiration.

    Because if you’ve spent decades writing, I think you’re allowed to dream a little.

    And if that dream happens to include a 100 Grand and a book deal, well…

    I won’t argue with it.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet stands in a cosmic landscape surrounded by floating candy bars, stars, books, and galaxies, symbolizing creativity, ambition, and a lifetime of writing.
    Every bar starts somewhere. Sometimes with candy. Sometimes with stars. Sometimes with a dream worth building one line at a time.

    100 Grand and a Book Deal
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    My taste in music is crazy,
    I guess you could say—
    I listen to looney tunes.

    The sound comes from
    across the stars,
    I provide out‑of‑this‑world bars.
    So when we get together
    it’s a Space Jam.

    I’m soft like nougat,
    I write candy bars—
    with a punchline
    that hits so hard,
    it’s got a CRUNCH
    like Nestle’s.

    Milky Way thoughts—
    going cosmic
    every time I brainstorm.
    An Airhead?
    Maybe—
    I keep my head
    in Fluffy Stuff clouds.

    And I won’t stop,
    won’t give in
    until the Payday hits—
    100 Grand
    and a book deal.

    Every poem’s a hit.
    I don’t miss—
    like my name’s Steph Curry.

    23 years GOAT’d,
    Jordan in his prime—
    the way I pen my rhymes.
    Did it with no Pippen.
    No Rodman—
    I am Batman, no Robin.

    I built this house myself.
    Swinging hammers,
    call me Odinson—
    Bob the Builder
    building something.

    I made this universe
    line by line—

    and every bar I drop
    is mine.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]