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.
There are some places that become more than places.
An ocean can be a physical distance, a horizon, a body of water stretching farther than the eye can follow. But sometimes it becomes something else entirely—a canvas, a metaphor, a meeting place between two people who happen to be standing on opposite sides of the world.
Let Me Be Pacific began with a simple invitation: let me show you the ocean the way I see it.
From there, the words wandered where they wanted to go.
Purple skies. Silver moons. Dark water. Rhymes. Trees. Wordplay.
And eventually, the Pacific became more than scenery.
It became the space between here and there—and the reminder that something can cross an enormous distance without ever needing to disappear.
So, for a moment, come sit beside me on the shoreline.
Let me paint you a picture.
— Rowan Evans
The Pacific may separate two shores, but poetry has never been particularly good at respecting distance.
Let Me Be Pacific Poetry by Rowan Evans
Here let me take my words
and paint a picture for you—
the sky in shades of purple and blue,
lit by the silver moon—
it lingers over the bay,
that’s where it stays—
watching over the tide,
and I sit on the shoreline—
watching the ocean’s waves.
Which ocean? Okay,
here let me try and spell it out,
let me be Pacific—
it’s off the California coast,
it touches the Philippine Sea,
sits between Japan and Me.
Now back to the imagery—
there was me, next to a happy little tree,
and the moon was shimmering,
trembling across dark water—
back on the shoreline,
having written more lines,
not less, but more rhymes.
So let me stay Pacific—
specific in the way I see the sea,
how every wave feels like a message
sent across the world to me.
I sit, I rhyme, I watch the tide—
the ocean’s big, but so’s my mind.
And if you ask me why I write
beside this ocean every night—
it’s because the tide keeps teaching me
how distance isn’t always far,
how even the Pacific can carry a heart
from California to wherever you are.
Journey into the Hexverse…
[My Nightmare] A poem about the nightmare of loving someone across distance, seeing the world from different perspectives, and holding onto the hope that the cracks can still be repaired—and that someday two separate shores might become one.
[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.
[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.
Which, admittedly, is not a revelation likely to change the course of human history.
But once I started thinking about it, the entire cliché began to unravel.
Because roses aren’t always red either.
And then I found myself researching flower symbolism, color meanings, and all the ways a four-line nursery-rhyme structure completely falls apart under even the mildest amount of scrutiny.
At some point, the poem stopped being about flowers.
It became about overthinking.
About taking a perfectly functional piece of language and pulling on a loose thread until the entire sweater comes apart in your hands.
Which, if I’m being honest, describes a significant percentage of my writing process.
What makes me laugh about this piece is that it starts as a correction and ends as a complaint.
Not about roses.
Not about violets.
About the format itself.
Because the more precise and accurate I tried to make the original cliché, the more impossible it became to actually say anything romantic.
Eventually I arrived at the only logical conclusion:
Roses are complicated.
Violets are violet.
And sometimes analysis is the natural predator of romance.
— Rowan Evans
Sometimes the quickest way to ruin a cliché is to fact-check it. Roses are complicated. Violets are violet. Romance may never recover. 🌹💜
Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated) Poetry by Rowan Evans
Roses are red,
violets aren’t blue.
Also roses
aren’t always red.
Red is the classic:
romance, true love
and passion.
Pink conveys
gratitude, grace,
joy and admiration.
Yellow denotes
friendship, joy,
warmth and caring.
White represents
innocence,
purity, youth
and new beginnings.
And there’s at least
four more—
Coral, Peach,
Lavender and Orange.
So I guess
what I’m trying
to say is—
Roses
come in an assortment of colors,
Violets are violet—
and this format
makes romance hard.
Journey into the Hexverse…
[It’s Just Me but Super] A playful free-verse poem about cartoons, imagination, cosmic wanderings, and the strange magic of creativity. Through wordplay, nostalgia, and absurd humor, Rowan Evans explores what happens when ordinary life meets an extraordinary imagination.
[100 Grand and a Book Deal] A playful collision of candy bars, comic book heroes, basketball legends, and cosmic metaphors. Beneath the jokes lies a reflection on twenty-three years of writing, creativity, and the dream of building something lasting one line at a time.
[Copy of a Copy] A sharp, self-aware poem about originality, imitation, and the search for an authentic creative voice. What begins as a diss gradually reveals itself as a meditation on authorship, influence, and the things that can never truly be copied.
[Lone Wolf Theology] A philosophical pop-culture poem exploring freedom, identity, and self-authorship through the lens of superheroes, antiheroes, mythic archetypes, and personal rebellion. A declaration of autonomy in a world determined to write your story for you.
[L Words & Heart] A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.
[Just Beyond Waking] A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.
[Twin Suns, Sister Moons] A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.
[It’s You I Choose] A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.
This piece exists because I started chasing a joke and never stopped.
It began with the phrase “candy bars” and my brain immediately decided that if I was going to use that line, then I had a responsibility to see how many directions I could stretch it before the whole thing collapsed.
Apparently the answer was: quite a few.
Music bars. Candy bars. Space metaphors. Basketball references. Superheroes. Bob the Builder.
At some point I stopped asking where the poem was going and just followed it.
What surprised me is that beneath all the wordplay and punchlines, a theme quietly emerged on its own.
I’ve spent twenty-three years writing.
Long enough that writing no longer feels like something I do—it feels like part of the architecture of my life. Every poem, every story, every abandoned draft, every late-night idea scribbled into a notebook has contributed to the person I became.
So while this piece is intentionally playful, there is a small truth hiding inside all the jokes.
The lines about Jordan, Batman, Thor, and building aren’t really about any of those things.
They’re about creation.
About spending years building something that didn’t exist before.
A voice. A body of work. A universe made from language.
The title came from one of the many candy references, but it also captures the spirit of the piece perfectly.
Part joke. Part aspiration.
Because if you’ve spent decades writing, I think you’re allowed to dream a little.
And if that dream happens to include a 100 Grand and a book deal, well…
I won’t argue with it.
— Rowan Evans
Every bar starts somewhere. Sometimes with candy. Sometimes with stars. Sometimes with a dream worth building one line at a time.
100 Grand and a Book Deal Poetry by Rowan Evans
My taste in music is crazy,
I guess you could say—
I listen to looney tunes.
The sound comes from
across the stars,
I provide out‑of‑this‑world bars.
So when we get together
it’s a Space Jam.
I’m soft like nougat,
I write candy bars—
with a punchline
that hits so hard,
it’s got a CRUNCH
like Nestle’s.
Milky Way thoughts—
going cosmic
every time I brainstorm.
An Airhead?
Maybe—
I keep my head
in Fluffy Stuff clouds.
And I won’t stop,
won’t give in
until the Payday hits—
100 Grand
and a book deal.
Every poem’s a hit.
I don’t miss—
like my name’s Steph Curry.
23 years GOAT’d,
Jordan in his prime—
the way I pen my rhymes.
Did it with no Pippen.
No Rodman—
I am Batman, no Robin.
I built this house myself.
Swinging hammers,
call me Odinson—
Bob the Builder
building something.
I made this universe
line by line—
and every bar I drop
is mine.
Journey into the Hexverse…
[Copy of a Copy] A sharp, self-aware poem about originality, imitation, and the search for an authentic creative voice. What begins as a diss gradually reveals itself as a meditation on authorship, influence, and the things that can never truly be copied.
[Lone Wolf Theology] A philosophical pop-culture poem exploring freedom, identity, and self-authorship through the lens of superheroes, antiheroes, mythic archetypes, and personal rebellion. A declaration of autonomy in a world determined to write your story for you.
[L Words & Heart] A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.
[Just Beyond Waking] A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.
[Twin Suns, Sister Moons] A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.
[It’s You I Choose] A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.
Sometimes anger doesn’t arrive in long speeches–it shows up in fragments, sharp and sudden.
Alphabet Attitudeplays 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.
Slim & Shady: After Dark is where wordplay and rhythm slip fully into the sensual, unapologetic, and explicit. While the earlier pieces toy with wit, cadence, and Gothic shadows, this poem dares to bring desire to the forefront—fusing the playful energy of lyrical experimentation with the raw intimacy of lust, obsession, and confession.
This piece is a celebration of language’s erotic potential: how a pun can tease, how rhythm can seduce, how metaphor can blur the line between tongue and ink. It is mischievous and audacious, but also deeply Gothic in its devotion—the cathedral of shadows, roses, and ruin transfigured into something sensual, dangerous, and alive.
If Roses & Ruin was the plunge into darkness, After Dark is the plunge into the body—where word becomes touch, rhythm becomes breath, and poetry itself becomes an act of intimacy.
— Rowan Evans
Velvet shadows, roses, and ink—an image evoking the passion and Gothic rhythm of Rowan Evans’ “Slim & Shady: After Dark.”
Parental Advisory:Explicit Lyrics
Slim & Shady: After Dark Poetry by Rowan Evans
I’m slim, I’m shady, prowling your desire, Velvet shadows twist, setting lips on fire. Fingers like haikus, teasing each line, Tongue like a pen, scripting you mine.
I’m a cunning linguist, cunnilingus in rhyme, Touch lingers like verses, suspended in time. I could melt you with digits alone, But my tongue writes sonnets across flesh and bone.
Pun dealer, word-wrangler, devourer of sound, Every syllable sparks, every rhyme unbound. I bend words like rivers, twist metaphors tight, Obsession in motion—a feast in the night.
Petals and thorns, roses of sin, I drip chaos, let the wicked games begin. Your moans are my meter, your breath my beat, Every echo a rhyme, every gasp a feat.
I license mischief with a semicolon’s tease, Crossword hearts shivering, begging for release. Velvet knives of devotion, punctuation in play, I pun your ecstasy, then steal it away.
I slip in your shadows, glide on your curves, Turn whispers to syllables, passion in swerves. Fingers lace riddles, tongue spins the tale, Ink and lust commingled, never frail.
I rhyme, I jest, I twist, I ignite, A Gothic rhythm pulsing through the night. Slim, shady, sly—the architect of your moan, Every verse a key, every line a throne.
Devotion in chaos, mischief in lust, I write you in shadows, inked in trust. Pun-dripped, passion-laced, dark and obscene, In the cathedral of After Dark, I am queen.
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.
Slim & Shady II is a playful experiment—a lyrical playground where wordplay, rhythm, and mischief collide. While much of my work dwells in the sacred darkness of Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism, this piece leans into cadence, puns, and clever twists inspired by the craft and energy of artists like Eminem and Ez Mil.
Here, the voice is extroverted, daring, and mischievous—turning language itself into both playground and weapon. Each line is a deliberate play of shadow and light, a balance of humor and darkness, echoing the parts of me that delight in the chaos, the riddles, and the audacious joy of words.
Shadows & Laughter nods to the duality I carry within my work: the intimate intensity of emotion, and the exuberant, witty, irreverent self that refuses to be confined. This poem is my invitation to step inside the game, to follow the twists of rhyme, and to let mischief, laughter, and the thrill of language guide you.
Channeling chaos, rhythm, and mischief—Slim & Shady II: Shadows & Laughter by Rowan Evans.
I’m slim, baby, got room to grow—
If you stick in the shadows, the light I’ll show.
Bars in my pocket, but my heart on display—
I’ll twist your mind like a cipher, then slip away.
I lace the lines with mischief, twist the words like springs,
Jokes in the margins, hidden meanings in the rings.
Microphone magician, syllables combust,
Every pun a spark, every rhyme a must.
Check the cadence—flip it, spin it, ride the beat,
Tongue-tied tumbles, clever hooks on repeat.
I sneak the truth in riddles, humor in disguise,
Every verse a mirror, reflecting sharp surprise.
Snap your brain with wordplay, tickle ears with wit,
Layers stacked like Lego, every piece legit.
I rhyme for chaos, for laughter, for the thrill,
Slim & Shady in spirit—but the voice is all skill.
I dodge clichés like dodging bullets in a flick,
Punchlines loaded, witty twists, my linguistic shtick.
Bars drip cleverness, inked with flair and jest,
Every line a labyrinth, every rhyme a test.
I shuffle words like cards, stack metaphors high,
Double meanings lurking, waiting sly in the sky.
Heartbeat syncopates with syllables in flight,
Laughter meets the darkness in the folds of night.
Eminem taught the cadence, Ez Mil the bite,
I channel both, a fusion of shadow and light.
Playful with the venom, mischievous and raw,
Every verse a puzzle, every hook a claw.
License to pun, with a semicolon in my hand,
Crossword battles brewing, wits at my command.
I spit paradox, irony, and clever jest,
Heart on my sleeve, mischief in my chest.
I juggle words like daggers, wit my only weapon,
Every rhyme a spark, every verse a confession.
Slim in spirit, shady in grin,
Twisting the world with the chaos within.
I rhyme, I jest, I twist, I tease—
Slim & Shady, now bow to me, please.
Bars in the heart, beats in the mind,
Every line a hook, every hook a sign.
I slip through the syllables, vanish in the pun,
Shadow and laughter—my mischief is done.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 