Author’s Note

Some poems come from a single voice.

This one comes from the argument.

Iron Sharpens Iron is about what happens when every version of my creative mind sits down at the same table: the gothic romantic, the absurdist comic, the mythmaker, the battle-poet, the joke creator, and whatever other voice decides to kick the door open halfway through a line.

The notebook becomes the sparring ring. One thought throws a punch, another throws a punchline, and sometimes Batman apparently gets involved.

I don’t always plan where the thread is going. Sometimes I just follow it until the poem lands somewhere that makes sense.

Maybe that’s the point.

I don’t need to silence the contradictions. I need them to sharpen each other.

— Rowan Evans

Iron Sharpens Iron
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sit by myself—
alone in body,
crowded in mind—
it’s a constant battle of wits,
moon-fed goth kid
versus the battle-poet
turning pens to WMDs.

The notebook—
just a test site,
where I drop bombs.
It’s constant—
the scream of the alarms.

I write so much
because my mind
fights too much—
a gothic romantic,
an absurdist comic—
opinions, opinions,
too many opinions—
constant contradictions.

Is this a joke?

Are the emotions sincere?

What the fuck— (Batman!)
is that reference doing here?

That’s just how my mind is sometimes—
I write a line and follow it, (Stalker.)
I don’t plan it—I just follow the thread,
guide the ship and land it.
But sometimes I get lost—
I’ll orbit the planet,
or drift in my dreams—
and they say to make the dreams work,
it takes team work—
well, I became my own team,
every version of me.

Gothic romantic, absurdist comic,
mythmaker, joke creator
and professional hater— (Jokes. Love ya!)
a battle-poet raised on battle rappers
and comedians—
how I learned to land a punchline,
can’t fight with my fists—
but can fight with my mind,
and I do it all the time—
with myself, I spar,
iron sharpens iron, after all.

Journey into the Hexverse

[Blindfolded & Still Winning]
A playful battle-poetry freestyle about shutting off the inner editor, letting instinct take over, and discovering that sometimes the pen writes best when you stop watching it.

[Literarily Speaking]
They think silence means weakness. They should probably have paid more attention to the pen. Literarily Speaking turns gothic imagery, raven feathers, rose-petal ink, and absurd fictional geography into a playful battle-poetry flex about dismantling your enemies with words instead of hate.

[The Playground]
What happens when mythology stops being something to hide behind and becomes architecture for the imagination? The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) explores Rowan Evans’s relationship with language, symbolism, metaphor, humor, and twenty-three years of turning the page into a place where anything can happen.

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