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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Nature Imagery

  • When the Moon Answered the Ravens | A Gothic Dream Poem About Healing and Belonging by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some dreams begin in darkness, but not all darkness is empty. Sometimes, the things we recognize by instinct—ravens calling, roses blooming, the pull of the tide, the quiet presence of the moon—become the only landmarks we need.

    This poem wanders through an abyss where absence becomes invitation, where questions lead deeper than answers, and where the familiar waits beyond the silence. It is a journey through the spaces between fear and comfort, memory and discovery, nothingness and belonging.

    And perhaps the moon was never truly missing. Perhaps some forms of light simply require us to keep walking until we’re ready to see them.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet kneels beside moonlit crimson roses in a dark abyss as ravens circle beneath a returning moon and distant ocean waves.
    Even in the deepest abyss, some light knows how to find you.

    When the Moon Answered the Ravens
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had a dream last night—

    a line I’ve written too many times,
    but this one was different—

    there was no moon, no tide—
    no shoreline—it was pitch black,
    an abyss—just me and nothingness.

    Then I heard the raven’s calls—
    and it didn’t feel bizarre at all.

    It felt oddly—

    calming—

    I stumbled further into the dark,
    listening to raven after raven call—
    it was weird, this unkindness
    didn’t feel very unkind at all—
    I tripped on something,
    which was odd—
    because there was nothing
    to trip on.

    I fell—

    hit the ground—

    the ravens didn’t make a sound.

    Slowly, I rose to my feet—
    surprised to see, a rose at my feet.
    Illuminated by a single sliver
    of silver light—
    it caught my eye,
    so I knelt down—

    as my eyes scanned
    the surrounding abyss—

    I saw them.

    Roses,
    a dozen of them—
    each lit by its own sliver
    of dedicated lunar light—
    which told me,
    it was night—

    but something didn’t feel right—
    where was the moon at?

    What was the source of this light?

    The questions didn’t stop me—
    I kept walking—moving further,
    deeper into the abyss—
    when suddenly the taste of salt
    hit my lips—
    and the ground begin to shift,
    it moved like waves—

    now I couldn’t stop,
    something was pulling me—
    something I couldn’t see,
    but could feel it—
    a thread tied to my heart,
    pulling me along.

    It was guiding me—
    but at the same time,
    there was something
    pushing me—
    and I dropped a hint
    five lines back—

    what could that be?

    And as I let the thread
    pull me along—
    I began to notice
    the light—

    an image trembling—

    it was shimmering,
    across the top of the abyss—
    eyes lifted, I saw it,
    the thing I missed—
    hanging high above,
    it was my favorite witness—
    the one I could always sit with.

    Finally—

    after what felt like
    an eternity of silence—
    the ravens started
    to speak again—

    and the moon
    answered them—

    that’s when the world came alive.
    I could hear the ocean waves,
    feel the mist on my face—
    taste the salt on my lips,
    ocean kissed—

    the smell of roses
    perfumed the air—
    it’s like the world
    suddenly became aware
    that I was even there—

    I was on my knees,
    watching the waves—

    smile on my face—

    because in the back of my mind,
    I knew…

    the moon would never abandon—
    the tide would never
    refuse to guide—
    the ravens
    would never leave my side,
    while everything I feel—

    an ocean deep, an ocean wide—

    the roses grow in a garden shaped by
    all the beauty and pain in my life.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [You Still Pop Into My Brain]
    Sometimes, someone from your past still wanders into your thoughts—not because you want them back, but because they once held a place in your everyday life. A reflective poem about disappointment, growth, and the strange persistence of memory after moving on.

    [Louder Than the Rain]
    A short confessional poem about the overwhelming noise of anxious thoughts, the strange silence of feeling alone in a crowded room, and finding a way to translate pain into words.

    [Let Me Be Pacific]
    A lyrical poem about sitting beside the Pacific Ocean and discovering that an enormous body of water can become a bridge between distant hearts. Through ocean imagery, wordplay, and reflections on California and the Philippines, Let Me Be Pacific explores how love and poetry can cross even the greatest distances.

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

  • All for Me | A Humorous Weather & Self-Confidence Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    All for Me began with the idea of nature behaving like an overly enthusiastic audience—thunder applauding, lightning taking pictures, and rain rolling out the red carpet as if the sky had organized a celebration in my honor.

    The joke is that I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of being worth celebrating. I know I have my own value. I just don’t think the weather needs to turn that acknowledgment into a full-scale natural disaster.

    This is a playful little collision between self-confidence, reluctant attention, and the absurdity of taking the universe’s behavior personally.

    Sometimes the sky needs to understand that not every standing ovation requires a flood.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet posing beneath a storm as lightning flashes and rain floods a red carpet in an exaggerated celebration.
    I appreciate the applause, but the sky really needs to chill.

    All for Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit beneath the open sky,
    watching as clouds roll in,
    listening as the thunder claps—
    it’s a round of applause,
    a standing ovation,
    but I don’t know—
    what we’re celebrating.

    Then the lightning flashes,
    and I strike a pose—
    ready for my picture to be taken,
    why? I don’t know—
    couldn’t get an answer,
    when I asked for it.

    Rain begins to fall,
    like confetti thrown—
    and the floods rush in,
    like the red carpet rolled—
    the sky keeps insisting
    I’m someone worth announcing,
    and I keep insisting—

    I’m not.

    Not that I don’t think
    I’m great—

    I do—

    I just don’t want nature to
    celebrate me too—
    because nature doesn’t know
    how to keep a party in check,
    it always gets out of hand.
    The water gets displaced—
    more ends up on land.

    And somewhere overhead,
    the thunder claps again,
    like it’s trying to convince me—

    this was all for me.

    I mean…

    I appreciate the gesture,
    but the sky really needs to chill.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing]
    A self-aware reflection on nearly three decades of writing, discovering how rage became rhythm, pain became poetry, and comedic timing became another tool in the poet’s arsenal.

    [Lessons Without Kindness]
    A reflection on learning self-respect from a relationship that changed—the lessons hidden in manipulation, silence, and loss, and the realization that you don’t have to shrink yourself to make someone else feel tall.

    [Hell’s Protégé (Remix)]
    Rowan Evans revisits Hell’s Protégé, originally written in 2024, and reshapes the dark, infernal persona through a newer voice. The remix keeps the fire, darkness, and diabolic ambition of the original while allowing the poem to breathe differently.

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

  • Did You Really Think This Was About Trees? | A Playful Love Poem

    Rowan Evans

    Every now and then, affection shows up wearing bark and leaves. Today was one of those days.

    A romantic couple beneath palm trees on a summer beach with a whimsical wooden castle nearby.
    Did you really think this was about trees? 🌳

    Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Birch, I’m in a mood—
    but I’m feelin’ pretty Oak today,
    oops, I mean, a-o-k—
    especially with my Rose Wood beside me,
    open my eyes, so I could Cedar—
    her fingers in my hair,
    like the breeze through the leaves.

    Did you really think
    this was about trees?

    It’s just me and her
    by the summer seas,
    just us with Palms in the sand—
    castle and a plot of land,
    where she is royalty—
    a Queendom built
    off the back of loyalty.

    And that’s something I don’t lack,
    I got it in stacks—packed to the rafters,
    stick with me and you’ll have a life full of laughter—
    you’ll never get board like a lumberyard,
    and I work hard—
    to prove my words have meaning,
    even when they are weird
    or absurdist leaning.

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes I write a poem because I have something profound to say.

    Sometimes I write one because my brain looked at a bunch of tree names and apparently decided they needed to become flirting material.

    This is the latter.

    Did You Really Think This Was About Trees? is a deliberately ridiculous little love poem built almost entirely around wordplay. Birch, oak, rosewood, cedar, palms, lumberyards, boards—I’m taking language that belongs to the world of trees and woodworking and forcing it into a completely different emotional landscape.

    And yes, the title is absolutely part of the joke.

    The poem starts by making the reader think they’re about to get some sort of nature poem. Then I reveal that the trees were never really the subject.

    The subject was her.

    The forest is just the camouflage.

    I also wanted the poem to feel conversational and slightly chaotic. The little correction from “Oak” to “a-o-k,” the exaggerated promises, the lumberyard imagery, and the final admission that the whole thing is leaning toward absurdism are all intentional.

    There is something freeing about allowing a love poem to be stupidly playful.

    Not every expression of affection needs to be solemn.

    Sometimes love looks like poetry.

    Sometimes it looks like devotion.

    And sometimes it looks like spending an entire poem making increasingly terrible tree puns because you love someone enough to make yourself laugh while writing about them.

    Honestly, I’ll take all three.

    — Rowan Evans

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Blended Hardware]
    A playful, absurdist poem where step-ladders, garden hoses, Star Wars, teenage memories, Gothic imagery, and the poet’s own self-interrupting commentary collide. Blended Hardware is a celebration of letting language wander.

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

  • Sunflower Eyes: A Poem of Devotion, Longing, and Love by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem is a reflection on devotion, longing, and the quiet strength of love that stretches across distance. Using the imagery of a sunflower—rooted yet reaching, bending yet unbroken—I explore the way our hearts orient themselves toward those who bring light into our lives. It’s a meditation on hope, patience, and the silent pull of someone who becomes our constant, our compass, and our sunlight.

    Golden sunflower in a sunlit field, petals bending toward the sunlight at sunrise.
    Sunflower Eyes — rooted in hope, reaching for the light, a meditation on love and devotion.

    Sunflower Eyes
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Like a sunflower,
    always searching for golden rays.
    My eyes move, always,
    in search of your face.

    Even in the quiet moments,
    when petals fold in sleep,
    my gaze drifts across the distance,
    finding you in the small sparks
    that linger at the edges of the world.

    My roots sink deep,
    anchored in the soil of memory and hope,
    but my head, my heart,
    will always sway toward you,
    bending and bowing, yet never breaking.

    I yearn for the warmth
    that only your presence gives,
    each glance a sunbeam
    piercing through the shadowed field
    where I sometimes forget my own strength.

    Seasons shift and skies fade,
    but I follow the orbit of your light,
    spinning in silent devotion,
    even when the sun hides behind clouds.

    I bloom in the hope of your eyes,
    and in the quiet ache of waiting,
    I stretch ever upward,
    a golden blaze against the sky—
    your face, my sunlight,
    my constant, my compass,
    my forever.

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