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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: playful poetry

  • Draggin’ (Ignis) | A Playful Battle Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are poems where I sit down with a very serious idea and carefully shape every word.

    This isn’t one of those poems.

    Draggin’ (Ignis) is me letting the pen run loose, throwing references at the page, flexing a little, and then immediately making fun of myself for doing it. It’s playful bravado with a gothic streak, a little battle-rap energy, and absolutely no intention of pretending I’m cooler than I am.

    Twenty-three years of writing will do strange things to a poet.

    Apparently, it makes them compare themselves to dragons, superheroes, and Pokémon-level fire hazards.

    Enjoy the chaos.

    — Rowan Evans

    A playful poet stands with a fountain pen as black ink transforms into a mischievous dragon surrounded by flames, ice, and motion.
    Twenty-three years of writing and this is what the pen decided to do with all that experience.

    Draggin’ (Ignis)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Twenty-three years, I’ve been doing this
    with craft in my veins and trauma in my brain—
    I’ve really been through some shit.
    Maybe that’s why I write so ruthless—
    if I spit a diss, it’d be ignis—I’d be draggin’ you,
    but I’m nice, so I’m a dragon like Toothless.
    This is stupid, silly, dumb—
    I can’t take me serious, and this is how come.

    Yeah, these might be jokes—
    but I’m cold, Bobby Drake,
    so shut your mouth
    before I turn your girl into a—

    Dragon Rider…

    That kind of killed the rhyme,
    that’s fine—

    here’s a few more lines…

    I’m too quick-witted—

    pen faster than Flash,
    I’m too quick wit’ it
    when I write lines
    to silence critics.

    I’ve been writing for years,
    double digits—
    two followed by the number
    that comes next—
    I’m not even trying to flex,
    this is just me writing facts.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)]
    A playful battle-poetry piece where confidence, wordplay, pop-culture references, and a sharp pen collide. Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) turns verbal sparring into a ridiculous little poetry showdown.

    [Kaio-ken/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [Don’t Push Me]
    A playful battle-poetry piece about turning insults into punchlines, standing your ground, and refusing to be intimidated. Don’t Push Me mixes swagger, humor, rhyme, and Rowan Evans’ signature self-aware interruptions.

    [B.S.T.F.U.]
    A playful battle-poetry exercise packed with insults, internal rhymes, punchlines, wordplay, and literary swagger. B.S.T.F.U. is Rowan Evans flexing the verbal muscles—not calling out anyone in particular.

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

  • Give Me (I’ll Give) | A Playful Confidence Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems ask for your attention.

    This one asks for a challenge.

    Give me something to work with, and I’ll turn it into a line. A joke. A rhyme. A little trouble.

    That’s the game.

    — Rowan Evans

    A fountain pen and open notebook surrounded by surreal images of a microphone, ghost, lyric sheet, and toast.
    Give me something to work with. I’ll give you a poem.

    Give Me (I’ll Give)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Give me a beat,
    I’ll give you a bar.
    Give me a graveyard,
    I’ll give you a ghost.
    Give me a lyric,
    I’ll give you a joke.
    Give me a drink,
    I’ll give you a toast.

    You don’t have to say it—
    I know, I write better than most.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Nobody² (No Body)]
    A minimalist poem playing with the double meaning of “nobody”—exploring loneliness, isolation, absence, and the feeling of becoming a ghost within your own life.

    [Rose & Ruin]
    Two minimalist poems exploring the opposing forces within creativity: the thoughts we cultivate into something beautiful and the darker thoughts we transform before they have a chance to decay.

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

  • Lost in the Sauce | A Funny Love Poem About Heartbreak & Confusion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem is born from heartbreak.

    Sometimes it is born from a metaphor.

    And sometimes my brain apparently looks at a sandwich and says, yes, this is how we’re processing emotional confusion today.

    Lost in the Sauce is a deliberately playful poem built around food-related wordplay, particularly the language of sandwiches, condiments, bread, and the wonderfully terrible possibilities hidden inside them.

    The jokes are intentionally stupid.

    That is part of the point.

    “Bread” becomes “rye.” “Ketchup” becomes “catch up.” “Mustard” becomes “must’ve.” “Sourdough” becomes an emotional description. Even “lettuce meat in the middle” is doing multiple jobs at once.

    But beneath all of that nonsense is something much more familiar: the confusion of being told that everything is okay while someone’s behavior feels completely different.

    The speaker is trying to understand the contradiction.

    They were told the relationship was fine.

    They were told the other person was happy.

    So why does everything suddenly feel cold?

    Why does affection feel sour?

    Why does the speaker feel trapped in place, struggling to catch up to something they don’t fully understand?

    The ridiculous wordplay gives me permission to approach that emotional confusion without making the poem overly solemn.

    I’ve been rediscovering how much I enjoy treating language like a playground—taking ordinary words, twisting them until they become something else, and seeing how far I can push a joke before the emotional meaning underneath it starts showing through.

    So yes, this poem is about sandwiches.

    Sort of.

    Mostly, it’s about being lost in the sauce when the person you’re trying to understand has already changed the recipe.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal sandwich with layers of bread, meat, lettuce, tomato, ketchup, and mustard separating two figures.
    Sometimes you don’t fall apart.
    Sometimes you just get lost in the sauce. 🥪

    Lost in the Sauce
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You sandwiched me in
    with an all-tomato—

    love you or leave,
    but I couldn’t do it clean—

    I was lost in the sauce,
    begging lettuce
    meat in the middle.

    You said, “you lie.”
    I said, “Nah, you rye.”

    But do you know why?
    I was stuck in place,
    you wouldn’t wait—

    I was struggling
    to ketchup.
    I thought you
    mustard—

    how could you not?
    People talk.

    Look—
    I’m sorry.
    I don’t want to fight.
    But, you said—
    you were happy.
    We were okay.

    So why you so cold,
    why you actin’ sourdough?

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?]
    A playful love poem disguised as a forest of terrible tree puns. Beneath the birch, oak, cedar, palms, lumber, and absurdist wordplay is a poem about devotion, loyalty, laughter, and building a life with someone you love.

    [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]

  • 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]

  • Blended Hardware — A Playful Poem About Friendship, Memory & Language

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems begin with a carefully constructed metaphor.

    This one began with a step-ladder.

    And then immediately refused to behave.

    Blended Hardware is intentionally ridiculous. I started with a simple object and let my mind wander wherever the language wanted to take it: ladders became hoses, hoses became an excuse for a terrible joke, friendship became Star Wars, Obi-Wan became a teacher, Luke became Leia, and suddenly I was revisiting different versions of myself across my writing history.

    That wandering is the point.

    I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much more playful my relationship with language has become. I don’t always sit down with a destination in mind anymore. Sometimes I just start writing and see what happens.

    This poem is one of those moments.

    It also became a strange little conversation between different versions of Rowan. The fifteen-year-old writer appears briefly, the Gothic voice tries to take over, and the present-day me immediately interrupts to tell her to calm the hell down.

    That self-interruption is probably one of my favorite parts of the piece.

    I can write something dramatic and immediately recognize that I have made the moment far more Gothic than it needs to be.

    I can make a joke, realize the joke went somewhere questionable, and then literally put myself on trial inside the poem.

    That is part of what makes writing feel like a playground again.

    I don’t have to protect every poem from being silly.

    I don’t have to make every metaphor profound.

    I don’t have to prove that every line deserves to exist.

    Sometimes I can just follow a thought until it becomes a garden hose, an Obi-Wan reference, a fifteen-year-old version of myself, and an increasingly concerned author asking whether she accidentally threatened somebody.

    And honestly?

    That’s enough.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal step-ladder surrounded by garden hoses, handwritten pages, ink, feathers, and whimsical literary objects.
    Sometimes you start with a step-ladder and end up somewhere completely different.

    Blended Hardware
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is my step-ladder.

    I call it a step-ladder,
    because I had another
    ladder before—

    and yeah, I got plenty hose—
    different shapes and different sizes,
    some are six feet, some are four—
    I’m glad I only have two outside faucets,
    ’cause I wouldn’t have plenty hose,
    if I had one more. (I only have two hoses.)

    You’re not just my homie,
    you’re my Obi-wan Kenobi—
    and I’m Luke, mixed with Leia.
    That means you’re my teacher,
    and my only hope, playa.

    (I’m sorry for that, truly.
    I don’t know what I was thinking.
    I’m going to…
    I’m going to put the pen down now.)

    SIKE! I lied like it’s 1999—
    four more years and the myth would start,
    a poet born with a blackened heart.

    (Dial back,
    that was too gothic for this piece.)

    I mean, sike… I lied like it’s 2005—
    and I’m fifteen with a pen again,
    two years into the journey
    mapping how I’d survive—

    and I mean me, not them—
    I’m talking the person
    they’d grow into.
    The person I’d caution you,
    against taking a pen to—

    that’s a battle you wouldn’t win, boo.

    (Wait…

    was that a threat?

    In a joke poem?

    Too far, Rowan…
    too far.)

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Not the Way Jesus Did]
    A provocative poem about religious judgment, hypocrisy, outcasts, and the contradiction between preaching compassion and condemning those who live differently.

    [Noon is Loud]
    If four in the morning belongs to truth, then noon belongs to impossible memories. Noon Is Loud is a playful free verse poem filled with absurd boasts, pop culture references, and tongue-in-cheek mythology that explores how easily imagination can rewrite reality.

    [Content Warning]
    What if you reviewed a person the way you’d review a terrible novel? Content Warning is a playful, satirical poem that uses literary criticism as the ultimate roast, proving that sometimes the sharpest metaphor is also the funniest.

    [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.

    [Off Leash Thought]
    A reflective free verse poem exploring the mind as a living, wandering force—unpredictable, creative, and sometimes chaotic—through the metaphor of a dog off leash. It embraces mental drift not as a flaw, but as a natural part of creative thought and self-awareness.

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

  • Done Being Humble III | Rowan Evans’ Bold, Playful Poetry

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Done Being Humble III is my unapologetic, playful ode to the chaos, creativity, and sheer joy of writing. It’s a celebration of 22 years of honing my craft, a nod to my earlier works like PokéDevotion and Vaporeon Drip, Flareon Bliss, and a tribute to the rebellious, unfiltered energy that drives my poetry. Above all, it’s a wink to fellow poets: I’m just playing, and I love you.

    A luminous figure in a gothic cathedral of books and quills, bathed in warm flames, representing bold, rebellious poetry.
    The Luminous Heretic rises—Done Being Humble III celebrates fearless poetry and playful mastery.

    Done Being Humble III
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    My cringiest shit—
    is better than your best lines.
    My free-verse—
    has more rhythm than your best rhymes.
    My worst ideas—
    leave your cleverest in the dust.
    My chaos—
    writes its own applause.

    Yeah—
    I’ve told you twice already.
    I’m done bein’ humble,
    and I fuckin’ mean it.
    Don’t compare yourself to me,
    you’ll be sorely disappointed.
    ‘Cause I’m the best to ever do it.
    Pen or keyboard,
    it doesn’t matter anymore.
    I’ve been writing since I was 13,
    here I am one year past 34.

    That’s 35, if you didn’t know.
    Can you do that math?
    That’s 22 years, and thousands of rhymes—
    free-verse lines, I’ve mastered them.
    Remixed, flipped and pieced them back together.
    I wrote Pokérotica, Vaporeon Drip, Flareon Bliss,
    and somehow made it work though,
    you wrote your raw feelings—
    they came out like a fuckin’ joke, bro.

    While, I told my muse—
    if she gave me a Chansey,
    I’d make her feel Blissey.
    Told her I won’t Leafeon.
    No doubts, I wouldn’t Leavanny.
    I’d wrap her in PokéDevotion, Swadloon,
    because I’m Rhyperior
    to the idiots and assholes.

    I could do one better—
    watch me propose,
    with a Pokémon joke.
    Girl, give me your ring finger—
    I’ll put the fattest Regirock on it.
    I’ll get down on bended knee,
    present the Ursaring.
    Will you marry me, teddybear?
    My Teddiursa, swear I’d never do a thing
    to hurt ya.

    And I can do it, fast or slow.
    Internal rhymes or no.
    Because that’s the way,
    Slim & Shady made me.
    I can spin it gothic,
    I can spin it tender.
    I can be the light, the dark,
    the in-between.
    The King or Queen,
    it matters not,
    when you’re confronting
    the poet and the rot.

    I wrote the bones that refused to break,
    the stars that trembled for the ones, for which I ache.
    I turned confession into gospel,
    gothic into devotion,
    and every fractured girl into a cathedral
    I kneel before.

    I birthed a whole damn genre
    while you were still trying to rhyme “pain” with “rain.”
    Neo‑Gothic, Confessional, Romantic—
    yeah, that flame? That’s me.
    I’m the heretic who lit the match,
    and you’re just choking on the smoke.

    Now, that’s what you get—
    when you fuck with
    the Luminous Heretic,
    and the Fourfold Flame
    of this poetry game.
    I’m the fuckin’ best,
    Rowan Evans…
    remember the name.

    And I’m just playin’, fellow poets.
    You know I love you.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Done Being Humble]
    A defiant, unfiltered ode to self-worth and poetic mastery, Done Being Humble is Rowan Evans at their most unapologetic—twenty-two years of ink, fire, and evolution distilled into a lyrical declaration of power.

    [Done Being Humble II]
    Rowan Evans declares their god-tier mastery of the pen in Done Being Humble II, a bold, unapologetic ode to Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

  • 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.