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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Rap-inspired Poetry

  • Kaio-ken with a Pen & Zenkai (Stronger Now) | Dragon Ball-Inspired Battle Poetry

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I originally wrote these as two separate pieces, but once I stepped back and read them together, I realized they were having the same conversation.

    Kaio-ken with a Pen is the attack: speed, confidence, exaggerated battle-rap energy, and the idea that my mind can move faster than the people trying to keep up with it. The pen becomes the weapon, and Dragon Ball becomes the language I’m using to describe that creative intensity.

    Then came Zenkai (Stronger Now).

    That one felt like the natural aftermath. In Dragon Ball, a Zenkai is the idea of becoming stronger after surviving a near-death experience. That concept fit perfectly with the way I think about resilience: sometimes you get pushed to the edge, you survive the fight, and you come back with something you didn’t have before.

    So together, these poems became something of a two-part battle sequence:

    I attack with the pen.
    I survive the fight.
    I come back stronger.

    Neither piece is meant as a literal threat toward anyone. They’re me having fun with battle-poetry, Dragon Ball references, ridiculous power scaling, and the sheer joy of seeing how far I can push a metaphor before it explodes.

    Basically: Battle Rowan went Super Saiyan.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet holding a pen stands surrounded by explosive golden and crimson energy, symbolizing creative power, battle, and becoming stronger after adversity.
    One poem is the attack.

    Kaio-ken with a Pen
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I can go Super Saiyan easy,
    the way Chi Chi teached me—
    taught me, I forgot you see
    I’m the best, yes,
    don’t want to step to this—
    you don’t want to fought me—
    fight me, I mean—bitch bite me,
    you’re not like me.

    My mind is terrifyingly quick—
    thoughts comes, instant transmission—
    from my mind to the page
    in a Final Flash attack—
    Kaio-ken with a pen, is this the end?

    Fin.

    Kaio-ken with a pen, I’m at it again,
    this is my battle to win.
    It’s going take you, a Kamehameha
    and Kaio-ken times ten just to test me—
    but it won’t be enough to best me.

    A poet holding a pen stands surrounded by explosive golden and crimson energy, symbolizing creative power, battle, and becoming stronger after adversity.
    The other is what happens when you survive it.

    Zenkai (Stronger Now)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m Goku after a fight
    and a Senzu bean,
    you know what that means—
    I’ve gotten stronger now,
    you pushed me to the edge—
    took me to the brink,
    but you couldn’t end it—
    you couldn’t finish me.

    So do your little dance,
    put on the Potara—do it—
    put your minds together,
    just know, even two as one—
    you won’t get the job done.
    I won’t borrow strength from no one,
    don’t need no spirit bomb
    to drop bombs—

    No Kamehameha—
    just ha-ha, I’m laughin’ at you.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • Don’t Push Me | A Playful Battle-Poetry Piece About Standing Your Ground

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Don’t Push Me is another exercise in letting my battle-poet voice stretch its legs.

    This isn’t meant as a literal threat or a callout toward any particular person. It’s playful bravado—the kind of exaggerated, cartoonish toughness that happens when I take an ordinary insult, run it through my sense of humor, and see how far I can push the rhyme.

    The opening starts with something I’ve genuinely heard for most of my life: being called “four-eyes.” From there, the poem turns that insult into ammunition. If you’re going to give me material, I’m going to make something out of it.

    And then, naturally, my brain couldn’t resist sabotaging the intimidation.

    I’m not— (shhh, nice kitty)

    Because apparently even Battle Rowan has an editor.
    Sometimes the strongest thing you can do with anger isn’t explode.
    Sometimes it’s turn it into a punchline.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet wearing glasses stands on a dark stage with swirling ink and a mischievous cat silhouette behind them.
    Sometimes you don’t have to throw the first punch—you just have to know what to do with the material they give you.

    Don’t Push Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You called me four-eyes?
    And you want me
    to react to that?
    I’ve had glasses since I was two,
    bifocals since five—
    I’ve had four eyes,
    longer than you’ve been alive.

    What’s next?
    You gonna call me slow?

    (I’m fast as fuck, boi.)

    Physically or mentally?
    Doesn’t matter though,
    there’s something
    you should know.

    I don’t back down,
    I stand my ground—
    because every fight I’m in,
    is like a fight for my life—
    I’m scrawny as fuck, man,
    still use no weapons—
    just fists, no knife.

    So trust me—

    you don’t want the jokes to stop,
    you don’t want to know
    what it’s like, when I really talk—

    so please don’t push me,
    ’cause I’m not— (shhh, nice kitty)

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • B.S.T.F.U. | A Battle-Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    B.S.T.F.U. is me flexing.

    There isn’t a real target hiding behind this poem, no specific person I’m trying to call out, and no secret literary feud happening behind the scenes. I wrote this because sometimes I like to take the battle-poet side of my voice out for a walk and see what it can do.

    This piece is deliberately over-the-top. It’s swagger, insults, wordplay, internal rhyme, punchlines, and a little bit of absurdity thrown into the blender. The goal wasn’t to make a serious accusation—it was to practice the mechanics of verbal combat while having fun with the language.

    And honestly, that’s part of why I love writing: sometimes I want to write something vulnerable, sometimes I want to build mythology, sometimes I want to make conspiracy theories about fish, and sometimes I just want to look at the imaginary competition and say:

    Where are you on the ladder?

    Below me.

    It’s not that serious.

    But the pen game?

    That part is serious.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet stands in a dark battle-poetry arena holding a fountain pen beside a towering ladder symbolizing literary skill.
    No target. No feud. Just a poet flexing the pen and climbing the imaginary ladder.

    B.S.T.F.U.
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Bitch, shut the fuck up—
    what’chu talkin’ about?

    Don’t think I haven’t heard—
    how you’re runnin’ your mouth.

    You thought ’cause I don’t talk a lot,
    I was open season, you should be scared—
    let me give you a reason, I’m a big dog—
    all bite, no bark and a license to write still.

    I write with precision, I write kills—

    you’re not a writer,
    you’re the one who steals—

    plagiarizing those with skill.

    It’s stolen lines
    and stolen rhymes—
    the only thing keeping you
    holding on to borrowed time—

    it’s not yours—

    it’s whoever writes for you.

    It’s me and it’s them—
    it’s the wielders of the pen.
    Those with skill,
    with lines that kill
    and lines that heal—

    we know—

    you don’t write, bitch—
    be so for real.

    You don’t know what a metaphor is—

    and a stanza?
    You hear that and you’re like—
    isn’t his first name Tony?

    Bitch, you’re a phony…

    if you were
    to try and write—
    baloney.

    All that to ask—

    when it comes
    to writing—
    where are you
    on the ladder?

    Below me.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Across the Page-cific]
    A playful, autobiographical journey through the strange places poetry can take me—from sandwich heartbreak and pasta diss poems to gothic monsters, mythology, ravens, ghosts, and storms across the page. Beneath the absurdity is something deeply personal: the realization that writing gave me a way to rebuild myself, piece by piece.

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

  • Slim & Shady IX: Gods & Monsters – Epic Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Slim & Shady IX: Gods & Monsters is a reckoning—an apex of myth, chaos, and lyrical ferocity. In this piece, Olympus trembles beneath the weight of words, monsters roar, and gods are challenged not by force, but by rhythm, rhyme, and raw audacity.

    This installment celebrates the audacious collision of legend and rebellion, a tribute to the voices that have inspired my craft while marking the evolution of my own. It is a hymn for those who revel in chaos, who understand that power is not only in the divine, but in the sharpness of syllables, the precision of cadence, and the courage to rewrite the canon.

    Read it as you would a storm: let it crack the sky, let it shake the ground, let it echo in your bones. Here, I am both the shadow and the spark, the sinner and the saint, and the lyric that laughs while Olympus falls.

    — Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans-inspired bard confronting gods and monsters atop a crumbling Olympus in epic fantasy style
    Step into the storm—Rowan Evans’ Slim & Shady IX: Gods & Monsters merges myth, rap, and chaos in poetic epicness.

    Slim & Shady IX: Gods & Monsters
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I step into Olympus like a burglar with a grudge,
    my words lightning—zip, crack, jagged—
    splitting the sky between divine and damned.
    Zeus blinks, Apollo spits fire,
    but I don’t flinch, I spit back in kind:
    “Your thunder is borrowed, your glory recycled.
    I’m the storm you whispered of in bedtime tales,
    trained in Multiverse & Madness, tempered in velvet venom.”

    Monsters crawl from shadows—Cerberus grins,
    Hydra heads nod,
    each spit venom in Morse code—“Bow or bleed.”
    I laugh, syllables slicing teeth like blades:
    “Bow? Please. Crowns are gutter trophies.
    Bleed? I bathe in ink, come out polished, primed, and lethal.”
    The echoes of Roses & Ruin taught me subtle cruelty; Olympus is my canvas.

    Athena steps forward, wisdom blazing, spear poised.
    I match her gaze, wordplay lacing her logic:
    “Brains without scars are brittle, goddess.
    Even Olympus cracks; silk & sin whispered the lesson—humility through surrender.”
    Her armor gleams, but I see the cracks—my verses find them, widen them, crown them.

    Hades smirks, shadows curling like smoke:
    “Child, you trespass in my playground.”
    I tip my crown, crooked, cocky:
    “Your playground is a grave. I’m here to haunt you tonight.”
    Each line a hammer, each pause a guillotine.
    Brimstone hums in my veins; Blood & Brimstone sang the prep, now I dance.

    Monsters cheer, gods frown,
    and I don’t care—
    I spit verses like bullets ricocheting off marble and bone.
    Word for word, myth for myth,
    I am the chaos in their canon,
    the question mark in every prophecy.

    Poseidon crashes oceans at my feet,
    but I rhyme tidal waves into whispers,
    turn floods into fountains that crown me in silver and ash.
    The monsters howl; the gods bite lips.
    Velvet & Venom drips from every syllable.

    “Gods of Olympus, Monsters of myth, listen—
    I am ink staining legends,
    the echo rewriting epics.
    You think in absolutes; I think in fractures.
    You worship power; I worship voice.
    You claim eternity; I claim truth.
    Bow if you must. Tremble if you can.
    I am both: shadow and spark, sinner and saint,
    the lyric that laughs while heavens fall.”

    Thunder cracks. Cerberus snarls.
    Hydra hisses in unison.
    Athena blinks. Hades pauses.
    And in the silence that follows, I roar:
    “Gods. Monsters. Try me.”

    If you are interested in reading the whole series, find it here: The Slim & Shady Series

    And if you just want to read more of my work, you can find that here: The Library of Ashes

  • Slim & Shady: A Playful Poetic Homage by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Slim & Shady represents an intentional departure from my typical Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism style. While my work often navigates darkness, devotion, and the sacred intimacy of emotional intensity, this piece allowed me to explore playfulness, wordplay, and the rhythm of language in a more extroverted, lyrical mode.

    The poem is inspired by the energy and craft of rappers like Eminem and Ez Mil—artists whose work demonstrates that poetry can exist outside the page, in beats, bars, and flow. Here, I experimented with pun-driven humor, internal rhymes, and clever metaphors, while still maintaining a personal voice and poetic precision.

    Writing Slim & Shady was an exercise in flexibility and homage: to show that my creativity is not confined to one aesthetic, to embrace influences beyond traditional literary sources, and to honor the ways that music, modern lyricism, and pop culture inform the poetry I write.

    This poem is as much a celebration of language’s agility as it is a declaration that my writing—while often dark, confessional, and intense—can also be mischievous, clever, and audacious.

    Abstract art of a vinyl record surrounded by spinning words and ink splashes, representing lyrical play and poetic energy.
    Slim & Shady spins—a tribute to wordplay, rhythm, and poetic devotion outside the ordinary.

    Slim & Shady
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m slim and a little shady, 
    but my name isn’t Marshall, baby. 
    I don’t play games—I’ll show you, 
    you’re all that matters (Mathers), maybe. 
     
    I spit bars like Morse code, 
    dots and dashes tracing your pulse in secret mode. 
    A pun dealer, word-wrangler, lyricist on call, 
    my syllables hit harder than a heavyweight in a brawl. 
     
    I walk in soles, not just with souls, 
    kickin’ rhymes while your world rolls. 
    License to rhyme, no paperwork filed, 
    parking my wit in your mind, untamed and wild. 
     
    Cupid called—he wants his arrows back, 
    I said “Sorry, they’re trapped in a pun-packed stack.” 
    Knight of puns, Queen of quips, 
    cocktails of cleverness sliding to your lips. 

    I rhyme in circles, loop devotion, 
    heart stuck on repeat in clever-motion. 
    “You love me,” you say—I hear: 
    “I’ll pun your heart like it’s fresh veneer.” 
     
    I swing metaphors like a playground sword, 
    hyperboles armed, similes stored. 
    Shady? Maybe. Slim? Of course. 
    I bend words like rivers, a linguistic force. 
     
    I’m the mixtape of thought you didn’t know you needed, 
    the chorus of chaos, perfectly seeded. 
    I spit fire, not smoke—incendiary lines, 
    crossword puzzle heart, riddled in signs. 
     
    Your laugh? A semicolon in my sentence— 
    pause, breath, then back to my pence. 
    Double meanings double the fun, 
    like two-step lyrics under the pun-sun. 
     
    I slide in rhymes, slicker than gel, 
    tongue-tied labyrinth, I’ll never fail. 
    Slim, shady, sly, not Marshall but true, 
    I pun my devotion, spelling it out for you. 
     
    I’m the vinyl scratch in your mental groove, 
    the hidden hook you never saw move. 
    I take your name, make it rhyme, and spin, 
    pun-demic heart—welcome, come on in.

    Journey in the Hexverse

    Feral Cathedral — Hex Nightshade
    Dive into the raw, feral worship of desire in Feral Cathedral. A hymn to hunger, chaos, and devotion—where teeth, breath, and pulse become sacred.

    Gold in Open Hands — Rowan Evans
    A quiet liturgy for those who give without spectacle, who hold the weight of others’ lives tenderly, scattering hope like seeds and crafting a sanctuary in the cracks of the world.

    Through the Shattered Glass — B.D. Nightshade
    Enter the mind of a fractured soul, piecing together the aftermath of a night shrouded in blood and memory. Fragments of self, shadowed actions, and haunting reflections collide—leaving only one question: What have I done?

    More Slim & Shady

    If you are interested in reading the whole series, find it here: The Slim & Shady Series

    ✦ Poetic Commissions by Rowan Evans ✦

    Every word I write is a devotion, a fragment of shadow and light carefully shaped into verse. On my Ko-fi, I offer custom poems, personalized rituals in language, and lyrical messages crafted just for you—or someone you wish to honor, surprise, or remember.

    Whether you seek:

    A poem for a loved one, friend, or muse

    A ritualized or thematic verse for special occasions

    A written reflection to say everything you struggle to

    …each commission is approached with care, reverence, and the intensity of my signature Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

    ✨ Special Offer: Use code NGCR25 at checkout to receive 25% off any commission until the end of the month. Let these words become your keepsake, your offering, your moment of devotion.

    Ko-Fi