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

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]