spoken word poetry – Poetry by Rowan Evans

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

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]

Aug 30, 2026 5:00 PM

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Conductor | A Poem About the Power of Words and Breath by Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

There are poems that ask you to listen.

There are poems that ask you to feel.

And then there are poems that quietly reach through the page and take hold of something you thought belonged entirely to you.

Conductor comes from that space—the strange little boundary between writer and reader, where words stop being marks on a page and start becoming something physical.

I wanted to play with that boundary.

So take a breath before you begin.

Then read.

— Rowan Evans

Some conductors lead an orchestra. Others conduct the breath between the lines.

Conductor
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m a conductor—

watch me
control your breath.
Won’t even
be in the room—

you just have
to read the words
that I’ve left—

you can feel
my influence
in your chest—

I confess—

you breathe the way I tell you to,
this is what I will do—I will extend the lines,
implement some rhymes—show you,
that your breath is not your own,
it is mine to control—

Journey into the Hexverse…

[The Crypt]
A mysterious man watches from a crypt as a woman enters the graveyard and kneels before an unnamed grave. In this compact gothic poem, fascination, death, and possession blur together beneath the shadows of the cemetery.

[Dreaming Wrong]
A familiar dream becomes unsettling when the ocean becomes a pond, the tide disappears, the moon loses its reflection, and nothing feels quite like it belongs. Dreaming Wrong explores the uncanny feeling of finding yourself inside a dream that looks familiar—but feels like someone else’s.

[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.

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

Aug 24, 2026 5:00 PM

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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

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]

Aug 21, 2026 5:00 PM

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Government Time-Out – A Sharp Satirical Poem on Power and Accountability | Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Governments Behaving Badly: A Satirical Poetry Series [pt. 2]

Author’s Note

If Raising Governments is the exhale—laughter edged with frustration—then Government Time-Out is what comes after.

The moment humor fades, and what’s left is clarity.

This piece strips the satire down to something quieter, more direct. It’s still framed through the language of discipline, but the tone shifts from playful to firm—less about calling out behavior, and more about demanding accountability.

There’s a difference between reacting and reflecting. Between explaining something away and actually sitting with it.

Government Time-Out lives in that space.

No noise.
No spin.
Just the uncomfortable weight of consequence.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do…
is stop talking—and finally listen.

— Rowan Evans

No more excuses. Sit with it.

Government Time-Out
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Sit down.
No—actually, sit.

We’re not doing this today.
Not the yelling,
not the threats,
not the “I know better” attitude.

You’ve had centuries
to prove that.

And yet—
here we are.

Hands in the cookie jar,
crumbs on your face,
still trying to say
it wasn’t you.

Really?

You think we don’t see it?

All the broken plates,
the slammed doors,
the mess you keep calling
“necessary.”

No.

You don’t get to break things
and call it order.

You don’t get to hurt people
and call it policy.

So here’s what’s gonna happen.

You’re going to sit there—
quietly—
and think about
what you’ve done.

No speeches.
No spin.
No rewriting the story
to make yourself the hero.

Just sit with it.

Feel it.

For once.

And when you’re ready
to act right—
we’ll talk.

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

Mar 19, 2026 12:05 AM

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Raising Governments – A Satirical Poem About Political Immaturity | Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Governments Behaving Badly: A Satirical Poetry Series [pt. 1]

Author’s Note

Sometimes the only way to process the state of the world is to laugh at it.

Raising Governments takes the chaos, contradictions, and immaturity often seen in global leadership and reframes it through something familiar: parenting. Not out of cruelty – but out of exhaustion. The kind that comes from watching the same mistakes repeat, over and over again.

This piece leans into satire, using humor to highlight a deeper frustration – how systems meant to lead can sometimes feel reactive, impulsive, and disconnected from the people they affect.

At its core, this isn’t just about governments.
It’s about accountability.

And the strange reality of feeling like the adults in the room… aren’t.

— Rowan Evans

Sometimes the people in power act like children—and someone has to call it out.

Raising Governments
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Why are governments
actin’ like bad kids,
needing their ass whipped?
Go and get the switch—
you pick. We’re going back
to the 90s and before.
No corners for you, no more.

I’m not mad, I’m just—
disappointed.
I’ll turn this car around.
Don’t think I won’t,
I can see you in the rear view.
This is gonna hurt me,
more than it does you.

As soon as we get home,
everyone to your rooms.
I need a minute to breathe—
collect myself.
And your attitudes…
they don’t help.

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

Mar 18, 2026 12:05 AM

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Alphabet Attitude – A Short Rage Poem About Language, Anger, and Wordplay

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Sometimes anger doesn’t arrive in long speeches–it shows up in fragments, sharp and sudden.

Alphabet Attitude plays with language the way frustration plays with the mind: out of order, sarcastic, and biting. What begins as a playful twist on the alphabet quickly unravels into something more honest–a confession that sometimes rage hides inside humor and wordplay.

Every letter becomes a weapon. Every syllable carries a feeling that refuses to stay quiet.

— Rowan Evans

Sometimes the alphabet isn’t for spelling—it’s for attitude.

Alphabet Attitude
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Alphabet Attitude
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I got an attitude
like the alphabet—
A, B, D, C, E, F—
You.

Aye, B—
Did you C the way I feel?
Every line, every letter,
everything’s unreal.

Fucked up, messed up,
twisted through and through,
and yeah—it’s all
because of
you.

Every syllable, sharp like a knife,
spitting letters, spitting rage,
this is my life.

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

Mar 15, 2026 8:00 PM

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Refusing the Script: A Poem About Rejecting Expectations and Conformity

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Sometimes people expect you to play a role they’ve already written for you. A role shaped by their fears, their politics, or their idea of what loyalty should look like.

This poem is about refusing that script.

— Rowan Evans

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is refuse the role others expect you to play.

Refusing the Script
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I feel I lost my voice
in a way,
put pen to page,
learned the cost to say—
translating rage,
when writing
came to stay.

Breaking bars
on the mental cage,
so I could escape.
I’m no actor—
I don’t perform,
but life’s a stage.

I can hear
your expectations,
the way you
judge from fear—
and manipulation.
You see,
I’ve dwelled within
emotion.

You can’t twist my thoughts,
to change my view,
set in stone, not glass—
solid, not see-through.

I’m no actor—
I won’t perform
for your applause.
I won’t play my part,
won’t fall in line.
Won’t pledge allegiance,
show no hollow pride.
And you simply
cannot convince me,
to see no value
in a human life.

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

Mar 8, 2026 6:32 AM

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Fancy Footwork: A Poem About Craft, Instinct, and Creative Precision

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem is about muscle memory.

Not the physical kind, but the kind you build over years of showing up — writing through doubt, through silence, through the versions of yourself that didn’t yet know how strong they were becoming.

Fancy Footwork uses boxing as metaphor, but the real fight happens on the page and in the mind. Every dodge, every feint, every combination comes from long preparation — from learning how to move with intention instead of panic.

This isn’t bravado. It’s recognition.

Twenty-three years of practice doesn’t look like luck. It looks like instinct.

— Rowan Evans

Writing is muscle memory — every move learned, every strike intentional.

Fancy Footwork
Poetry by Rowan Evans

When I put pen to paper,
my ink becomes a cage
on the page
the way I write bars.

Yeah, my ink flows—
it floats
like a butterfly,
stings like a bee.

Hit you with that
one, two and three.
Right jab, left hook—
followed by an uppercut.

It’s fancy footwork,
the way my ink glides
and slides across the page.
It’s a dance,
choreographed—
every line precise.

I duck,
slip, dodge
and throw a feint.
Misdirect,
then change direction,
onslaught,
raining fists.

Watching everyone
that considers themselves
opposition—
losing their minds,
as I
continue to gain
position.

They aren’t even
competition.
Nobody will
stop me
on my ascension.

Eyes focused
on the mission.

I will climb the ladder
one rung at a time.
Watch my ranking rise,
win after win,
fight after fight—
see the smile on my face?
This is
my championship chase,
I will claim
the top place.

I’ve been preparing for this
for twenty-three years.
Shadowboxing
inside the lines,
it was me
versus my mind.

I was—
hitting the gym,
testing reflexes
building the instinct,
to move
the way poetry flows.

Movement so quick,
I hit like a flash—
every jab,
lands like prose.

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

Feb 9, 2026 6:14 PM

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