Writing Process – Poetry by Rowan Evans

Iron Sharpens Iron | A Meta-Poem About Creative Conflict & the Many Voices Within by Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Some poems come from a single voice.

This one comes from the argument.

Iron Sharpens Iron is about what happens when every version of my creative mind sits down at the same table: the gothic romantic, the absurdist comic, the mythmaker, the battle-poet, the joke creator, and whatever other voice decides to kick the door open halfway through a line.

The notebook becomes the sparring ring. One thought throws a punch, another throws a punchline, and sometimes Batman apparently gets involved.

I don’t always plan where the thread is going. Sometimes I just follow it until the poem lands somewhere that makes sense.

Maybe that’s the point.

I don’t need to silence the contradictions. I need them to sharpen each other.

— Rowan Evans

I don’t silence the voices in my head. I let them sharpen each other.

Iron Sharpens Iron
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sit by myself—
alone in body,
crowded in mind—
it’s a constant battle of wits,
moon-fed goth kid
versus the battle-poet
turning pens to WMDs.

The notebook—
just a test site,
where I drop bombs.
It’s constant—
the scream of the alarms.

I write so much
because my mind
fights too much—
a gothic romantic,
an absurdist comic—
opinions, opinions,
too many opinions—
constant contradictions.

Is this a joke?

Are the emotions sincere?

What the fuck— (Batman!)
is that reference doing here?

That’s just how my mind is sometimes—
I write a line and follow it, (Stalker.)
I don’t plan it—I just follow the thread,
guide the ship and land it.
But sometimes I get lost—
I’ll orbit the planet,
or drift in my dreams—
and they say to make the dreams work,
it takes team work—
well, I became my own team,
every version of me.

Gothic romantic, absurdist comic,
mythmaker, joke creator
and professional hater— (Jokes. Love ya!)
a battle-poet raised on battle rappers
and comedians—
how I learned to land a punchline,
can’t fight with my fists—
but can fight with my mind,
and I do it all the time—
with myself, I spar,
iron sharpens iron, after all.

Journey into the Hexverse

[Blindfolded & Still Winning]
A playful battle-poetry freestyle about shutting off the inner editor, letting instinct take over, and discovering that sometimes the pen writes best when you stop watching it.

[Literarily Speaking]
They think silence means weakness. They should probably have paid more attention to the pen. Literarily Speaking turns gothic imagery, raven feathers, rose-petal ink, and absurd fictional geography into a playful battle-poetry flex about dismantling your enemies with words instead of hate.

[The Playground]
What happens when mythology stops being something to hide behind and becomes architecture for the imagination? The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) explores Rowan Evans’s relationship with language, symbolism, metaphor, humor, and twenty-three years of turning the page into a place where anything can happen.

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

Oct 7, 2026 5:00 PM

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Blindfolded & Still Winning | A Playful Battle Poem About Instinct & Confidence by Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Sometimes the easiest way to stop overthinking the poem is to stop looking at it.

Blindfolded & Still Winning came from that impulse: cover the eyes, let the pen move, and see what the mind throws onto the page. The anger gets folded into jokes, the jokes get stitched into rhythm, and suddenly what could have been a rant turns into a little battle-rap playground.

The blindfold isn’t a handicap here.

It’s permission to trust the instinct.

And apparently, even without looking, the pen still thinks it knows how to win.

— Rowan Evans

Cover the eyes. Let the pen drive. See what happens.

Blindfolded & Still Winning
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m sick and tired
of watching what I say—
so I cover my eyes
when I write—
because even I like
to be surprised
by my mind, sometimes.

So today I’ll be blind—
folded the anger with my jokes,
then mixed them in
to the rhythm and rhyme—
I’ll get over it on my own time.

(Really, I’m over it already.)

Pen like a switch blade,
words so sharp, I filet men—
yawn, you’re boring me.
Took you five hours
to write five lines—
took me five minutes
to write ten times—
the rhymes,
set ups and punchlines.

Journey into the Hexverse

[Literarily Speaking]
They think silence means weakness. They should probably have paid more attention to the pen. Literarily Speaking turns gothic imagery, raven feathers, rose-petal ink, and absurd fictional geography into a playful battle-poetry flex about dismantling your enemies with words instead of hate.

[The Playground]
What happens when mythology stops being something to hide behind and becomes architecture for the imagination? The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) explores Rowan Evans’s relationship with language, symbolism, metaphor, humor, and twenty-three years of turning the page into a place where anything can happen.

[New God with a Pen]
A battle-poet power fantasy where Superman’s rage, Batman’s fear, Darkseid’s cosmic authority, and the Anti-Life Equation collide with rhyme, turning an ordinary pen into something worthy of New God status.

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

Oct 4, 2026 5:00 PM

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The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) | A Poem About Language, Metaphor & Creative Freedom by Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Poetry has never been a place I go to behave.

For me, language is something to climb through, rearrange, break apart, rebuild, and occasionally weaponize for the sake of a really bad joke. Mythology and symbolism are still part of that world, but they aren’t walls I hide behind anymore—they’re architecture. They give the imagination somewhere to live while the poet underneath it keeps revealing himself, piece by piece.

The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) is an invitation into that space.

It is part creative philosophy, part victory lap, part conversation with the page—and, naturally, part terrible knock-knock joke. Because if I’ve spent twenty-three years turning language into a playground, I’m going to play.

— Rowan Evans

The page isn’t a cage. It’s a playground—and I’ve brought my own rules.

The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More)
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sat down—
with the intent to write,
had a lot of ideas
on my mind tonight—
like what if the moon
was a witness?

And the tide a guide through
the emotional current
in the room—
but that’s just if I
went the route
of mythology,
symbolism—
and everything
I used to hide behind.

That’s not how I use it now—

it’s still my mythology,
symbolic architecture—

giving my words texture—

but I don’t
hide behind it—
I use it now,
to show the art of me,
getting to the deeper
heart of me—
not the whole picture,
just a small part of me.

I’ve been doing this
for twenty-three
years and counting—
and I’m definitely
not on my way out now—
I’ll hit my second, third,
fourth and fifth wind,
any day now—
I’ve turned language
into my fucking playground—
everything is a game now.
Just conversating
with the page now—
I’m done pretending,
like I don’t write flames now—
poetry’s royalty,
I’m taking my crown now—
and I think it’s time you all
bow down—
look I’m going to make a joke,
turn into a clown now.

Why don’t we slow down?
I’ll tell you that joke now—

Knock, Knock—

who’s there?

Disa—

Disa-who?

Disa-me? I disa-you—

with a line so mean
you’ll want to disappear,
wish you were never here—

here’s a warning, dear:

If you see my ravens,
perched upon your lawn—

it’s an omen—

you are already gone.

Journey into the Hexverse

[The Metaphor Machine]
A poem that takes apart its own machinery as it runs—breaking lines, breaking thoughts, and following metaphors from moonlight to tides, oceans, shorelines, and city streets.

[Confession or Cap?]
A sharp and playful look at the line between confession and exaggeration, where a nice poet admits that their pen sometimes talks a little too much shit—and occasionally sets the page on fire.

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

Sep 27, 2026 5:00 PM

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The Metaphor Machine | A Meta Poetry Experiment by Rowan Evans

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

The Metaphor Machine is a poem about the machinery behind my own poetry. I wanted to pull back the curtain and show what happens when a single line starts generating connections: moonlight becomes tide, tide becomes ocean, ocean becomes shoreline, shoreline becomes city streets, and suddenly the poem has wandered somewhere entirely different.

The joke is that I’m explaining the process while actively doing it. The poem breaks its own lines, interrupts its own thoughts, calls attention to its metaphors, and then circles back to reveal that all those seemingly wandering pieces were connected by the same machine.

Sometimes I don’t choose the metaphor. I just follow where it takes me.

— Rowan Evans

One metaphor becomes another, and the machine keeps running.

The Metaphor Machine
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’ll write a line in a way
that’ll make you pause—
then I’ll take that line
and break that line,
to break the thought—

then I sprinkle in the metaphors,
and this is really what I get meta for—

I talk about the moon
and the silver light,
the way it shimmers—
its image trembles
across the top
of dark water—
that’s one I’ve said before.
And I’ve said it lot,
but I’m not going to stop.

This is where the tides comes,
and there the tide goes—
because that’s how the tide works.

And the ocean—

this is a poem, I wrote…
you didn’t think
we were going to skip this one,
did you?

And the ocean,
it’s so polite—
the way it waves,
every time it sees my face.
It’s a familiar place,
I sit on the shoreline, often—
not in reality, but in my mind—
that’s where the thoughts soften.

Now, for the city streets—
the heat, and god—
that humidity, the way it clings.
You’d think I’d dream of…
somewhere less…
humid? But I digress,
it’s always love that I express
for the islands I haven’t touched yet.

If you’re following along—

I wrote a line
that made you pause—
then I took that line
and I broke that line—

and that broke the thought.

Then that’s where the pivot came,
I told you what I really went meta for.

It’s the metaphors.

Moon to tide,
tied to the ocean—
a shoreline or two,
next to the ocean blue—
then beaches to city streets,
it’s the same ones I walk in sleep.

Journey into the Hexverse

[Welcome to the Hexverse]
Step into the Hexverse—a poetic world where mythmaking, humor, rage, creativity, and confession collide, and darkness becomes something that can be reshaped into art.

[High Tide]
A short reflective poem about leaving, returning, and accepting the forces that pull us back—like the tide guided by the moon.

[Let Me Pacific]
A lyrical poem about sitting beside the Pacific Ocean and discovering that an enormous body of water can become a bridge between distant hearts. Through ocean imagery, wordplay, and reflections on California and the Philippines, Let Me Be Pacific explores how love and poetry can cross even the greatest distances.

[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]

Sep 14, 2026 5:00 PM

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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

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]

Aug 15, 2026 5:00 PM

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The Inkbender | A Nerdy Poetry Tribute to Avatar: The Last Airbender

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem began with one simple idea:

What if bending wasn’t limited to the elements?

I’ve always loved Avatar: The Last Airbender, not just because of the worldbuilding, but because every bending style reflects a philosophy. Earth is patience. Fire is will. Water is adaptability. Air is freedom.

As I kept writing, I realized the poem wasn’t really about the characters.

It was about poetry.

What if writing could be its own form of bending?

A poet bends language.

A storyteller bends memory.

A confessional writer bends pain into meaning.

So the references gradually became metaphors for different ways I approach writing: anger becoming fire, healing becoming water, stubborn persistence becoming earth, and the rhythm of language becoming its own kind of element.

The “nerd note” stays because that’s genuinely how my brain works. I noticed the line wasn’t technically accurate, paused to explain why I changed it, then immediately jumped back into the poem. I could have removed it—but it made me laugh, and sometimes leaving the fingerprints on a poem makes it feel more alive.

This piece also continues a theme I’ve been exploring lately: treating writing as something almost supernatural. Sometimes I’m a witness. Sometimes I’m a monster in the margins.

This time…

I’m an Inkbender.

— Rowan Evans

Some people bend the elements. I bend the page.

The Inkbender
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tick-Tock—
I listen to the sound of the clock.
Eyes open to the world, I watch—
like I carry time on my wrist.
I slipped, keys in the lock—
I dipped—
ballroom dancing with a twist.
A list of names—I check twice,
like my name is Clause—
kickin’ it with Rudolph.

Shhh—
I move earth
like I’m from Ba Sing Se.
Now, you must be
from the southern temples,
because when you speak—
all I feel is hot air.

You’re an airbender,
if you weren’t aware.

(Quick nerd note—
it’s the Southern Air Temple,
but I had to make it simple—
so it could hold the rhythm
and carry the cadence.
With that explanation
we can return to
our regularly scheduled chaos.)

I bend bars, the way Toph taught me—
feet planted and never backing down.
I’m never losing ground—
I feel out the imperfections,
bend them to my will.
I am the originator, that is my skill.

It starts with a spark,
a sun with a heart—
I’m the fire inside, the fire in the sky.
Call me Fire Lord Ozai
’cause I bend
fire with a pen.
Leaving destruction across the page
as I translate my rage—
the very thing
that could have become
my cage.

Then my motion smooths,
ink becomes more precise.
Pen moves like the tide,
watch me flow and glide—
my ink like water heals,
and my mind knows
how trauma feels.

If you thought the nomads
were just gonna get
a simple diss…

D’Aang—
Aang,

your people mastered letting go,
I mastered holding on—
you chase balance,
I chase bars.

You run from problems,
I run through them—
glider in the sky,
I’m the storm beneath it.

Go Avatar State if you want—
I bend elements with ink,
you bend them with angst.

You know, I shouldn’t
roast the monks too hard.
Because Ozai did it first
and I won’t copy that,
but you walked into this—
glider first,
logic last.

Looking to the future,
stuck in the past.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[The Life of a Witness Poet]
What does it mean to love someone when the greatest act of care is simply witnessing their life? This poem explores quiet devotion, distance, and the compassionate heart of a witness poet.

[The Monster in the Margins]
Drawing inspiration from horror icons like Michael Myers, Ghostface, Freddy Krueger, and Pennywise, this poem explores the darker side of creativity—where inspiration becomes an unstoppable force lurking just beyond the edge of the page.

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

Jul 20, 2026 6:30 PM

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Director’s Commentary | A Meta Poem About Writing, Metaphors & Creative Habits

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Every writer has a toolbox.

Mine just happens to contain an alarming number of moons, oceans, ravens, comic book characters, sports references, cartoons, and entirely too much ink.

People occasionally notice that I return to the same imagery over and over again. They’re right.

The funny thing is…

I’m usually the first person to notice.

This poem came from imagining an overly critical director sitting just off-camera, pausing every scene to point out my habits.

“Another moon?”

“Really? The ocean again?”

“We’re doing ravens today?”

It’s the internal voice every creative person develops after making enough work. The one that starts recognizing your patterns before anyone else does.

Sometimes it’s helpful.

Sometimes it’s insufferable.

The joke, of course, is that the director isn’t entirely wrong.

I do write about the moon a lot.

I do return to oceans, tides, dreams, and ravens.

I do compare things to comic books, cartoons, sports, horror movies, and whatever random piece of culture my brain decides belongs in the poem that day.

Because those things aren’t decorations.

They’re the language my mind naturally speaks.

The final section—”Music—10/10. No Notes.”—is probably the closest thing to surrender in the entire poem.

Apparently my inner critic has limits.

Music gets a free pass.

Everything else is fair game.

Including me.

— Rowan Evans

“Every writer has recurring motifs. Mine just happened to get their own director’s commentary.” 🎬🌙✍️

Director’s Commentary
Poetry by Rowan Evans

The Moon—

Here we go again,
another moon metaphor.

What is it this time?

The moon shimmering
above the bay?
A stand in for her beauty—

Ocean—

My favorite metaphor.

The one I’ve used
thousands upon thousands
of times before—
written in thousands of lines,
in a thousand different rhymes.

Hyperbole.

The Tide—

Yes, there it is—
the final piece
of this overused metaphor chain,
you say it’s different
but it’s all the same.

Same moon.
over the same bay,
and it shimmers
in the same way.

It’s almost like the moon,
ocean, and tide
are all that exist
inside that little mind.

Ravens—

So spooky.
So gothic.

You write ravens
like you shop
exclusively at Hot Topic.

They’re messengers.
They witness.
And once upon a time
you even made them a centerpiece.

You took that way too seriously
back in your “modern-day Poe” era.

A modern-day Poe?

Ridiculous.

Sports—

You don’t even watch those.

Why are you writing
metaphors for the bros?

You think you’re great?
Yeah, you’re The Babe.
23 years and a Jordan joke—
okay, Shohei.

Random Cartoon Reference—

Which character are you
going to grab this time?

Which bit of nostalgia
are you going to try
and exploit?

Random references,
litter the page—
Powerpuff Girls,
Doug and Dexter.

So what’s next?

Something more obscure,
or more mainstream?

Comic Books—

Tropes.

Superheroes and capes.

Random character grab,
used in a metaphor
that barely makes sense—

like Bane
for line breaks?
What the “#%@$”
was that?

I’ll give you
Two-Face for fakes
and snakes, because
that one makes sense.

Music—

10/10.
No Notes.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Pointing Me Home]
The final poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind trilogy explores dreams, hope, and belonging. Through moonlight, ocean tides, and quiet conversation, Pointing Me Home reflects on carrying hope long before reaching the place you call home.

[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.

[Crossing the Sea]
A deeply personal poem about relocation, longing, and the realization that some truths naturally arrive through metaphor—even when we try to leave it behind.

[Danny Phantom Theology]
What begins as a metaphor borrowed from a childhood cartoon becomes something deeper: a reflection on existing between survival and possibility, exhaustion and hope, the life we have and the life we long for. Danny Phantom Theology explores what it means to keep moving toward a future that feels worth living.

[Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor)]
Some poems are built to make a point. Others are built to reveal the mechanism. Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor) explores associative thinking, creative chaos, and the strange process of stitching disconnected ideas into something alive.

[Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
A moonlit shoreline, a rowboat full of ducks, a piggybank with no cents, and a confession hidden in plain sight. Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) explores how humor, wordplay, and absurdity can become a side door to vulnerability when the truth feels too difficult to say directly.

[A Heart That Echoes in Another Language]
A poetic journey through music across Japan, Korea, China, and the Philippines, exploring how sound becomes identity, memory, and emotional geography.

[Global Takeover]
What if home isn’t a place—but something you build from the music you love? Global Takeover blends sound, culture, and identity into one borderless space.

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

Jul 6, 2026 2:56 AM

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Tots, Rocks and All | A Free Verse Poem About Creativity, Humor & Quiet Longing

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Some poems begin with an idea.

This one began with a phrase that made me laugh.

“Pockets full of tater tots and rocks.”

I couldn’t tell you where it came from. My brain simply handed it to me, and I knew I had to follow it.

That’s how a lot of my writing happens.

One strange image appears, and instead of questioning it, I trust it. I let the poem figure out why that image belongs there.

This piece moves the way my thoughts move—quickly, unpredictably, jumping from humor to comic books, from creative confidence to quiet vulnerability without asking permission.

For a while, it feels like controlled chaos.

Then, almost without warning, it settles.

Because beneath the jokes, beneath the references, beneath the absurd image of someone carrying tater tots and rocks around in their pockets, there’s a simple truth waiting to be spoken.

I spend a lot of time thinking.

A lot of time creating.

A lot of time turning emotions into language.

And underneath all of that, like it is underneath so many of my poems, is the same quiet hope:

To find someone willing to hold my heart with the same care I try to give theirs.

Sometimes that’s all a poem is.

A strange road leading to an honest sentence.

— Rowan Evans

“Sometimes the strangest thoughts lead to the most honest truths.” 🥔🪨✍️🌊

Tots, Rocks and All
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m lost in my thoughts again,
pockets full of tater tots
and rocks again.

Take a dip in the ocean—
emotion overflowin’
like the ink from my pen.

Runaway mind,
runaway lines.

This much creativity
should be a crime.

I’ll break lines
the way Bane
breaks spines.

And when I get like this
I like to speak my mind,
but I don’t speak in vocals—
I speak in ink and rhyme.

Now, let’s get real for a minute,
just a moment of your—

hands on the clock hold time,
and I’m looking for a love
that’ll hold mine.

I guess that’s the truth of this—
tots, rocks and all.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[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.

[Pointing Me Home]
The final poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind trilogy explores dreams, hope, and belonging. Through moonlight, ocean tides, and quiet conversation, Pointing Me Home reflects on carrying hope long before reaching the place you call home.

[Caller ID: Destiny]
Sometimes the places we visit in our dreams feel more like home than the places we wake up in. Caller ID: Destiny explores longing, belonging, and the quiet feeling that life is calling you toward somewhere new.

[Monster Theology]
What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

[Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life.

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

[Bonus Track]

I’ve got tater tots in my pockets,
buried inside with two tickets
to the Houston Rockets.
They’re underneath all the rocks,
it’s kind of insane.

But I’m trying to sell ’em,
’cause I don’t watch sports—
I watch narratives
and stories unfold.

I like the underdog—
when their story gets told.

Jul 5, 2026 5:02 PM

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Chemical X | A Poem About Creativity, Neurodivergent Thinking, and the Associative Mind

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

People often ask what inspires my writing, or how my mind moves from one idea to another so quickly.

The honest answer is that I don’t think in straight lines.

I think in association, in rhythm, in collision. One idea reminds me of another, not because they are logically connected, but because they feel connected in the moment they appear.

This poem is built from that process.

It began with something simple—the familiar phrase “sugar, spice, and everything nice.” But as I wrote, my mind immediately followed the same pattern it always does: connection, exaggeration, humor, memory, and cultural reference all colliding at once. What starts as something familiar quickly becomes something unpredictable.

The title, Chemical X, comes from that idea.

In The Powerpuff Girls, Chemical X is the unknown element that transforms something ordinary into something entirely different. For me, that “unknown element” is the way my mind blends thoughts, images, and meanings together in real time.

This poem is not meant to be linear. It is meant to mirror the way my thoughts actually arrive: rapid, associative, sometimes chaotic, but always connected by feeling and intuition rather than structure.

If it feels like a mix of humor, storytelling, sports commentary, and surreal imagery all at once—that’s intentional. That is the point.

This is what happens when everything gets mixed together.

This is Chemical X.

— Rowan Evans

Some minds move in straight lines. Mine mixes everything together—and somehow, it all makes sense.

Chemical X
Poetry by Rowan Evans

They say “penny for your thoughts,”
but it takes—two cents to talk.
Go for a walk, a mile long, in my shoes—
use my eyes, see the world through my view.

I’ll etch it across the page,
world view and all—
because I’m the on the ball
point pen, in an ink sprint.
Usain Bolt, the way my mind went.

To understand the rhythm,
you’ve got to understand the mechanism.
You’ve got to understand the mind
behind the rhyme—

my thoughts are rapid fire.

Thirty round magazine,
three-round burst—
that’s the way my mind works.

I can jump from cartoons
to comic books,
music to sports—

sugar, spice,
and everything nice.

A round of applause, Johnny—
Bravo, you completed the Quest.
You gained experience and leveled up.
Still, it wasn’t enough—

because I’m a two-way threat—
like my name is Shohei.

Bitch, I’m the Babe.

At four years old,
I was almost tossed
out of the game.

I was a menace—
call me, Dennis.

Two Hubbles
strapped to my face,
look up—see space.

Fingers curled
gripping the chain link—
a bad call, a blind ump,
a small child
blind as I was,
offering their eyes up
like I was—

trying to help?
Maybe.

Trying to insult?

Of course…

it’s sports…

I was Dexter
in the lab again,
pen to pad again,
and I gave
all I had to give—

Victor Frankenstein
is at it again,
patchwork metaphors
and images galore—

villagers are going
to be afraid for sure.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Crossing the Sea (No Metaphor Left Behind)]
A deeply personal poem about relocation, longing, and the realization that some truths naturally arrive through metaphor—even when we try to leave it behind.

[Only Waiting (No Metaphor Left Behind)]
The second poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind series, exploring the quiet ache of growing up in a place that never truly felt like home—and finally saying aloud what years of metaphor had been trying to express.

[Translating What I Feel]
A poem about the invisible process of turning emotion into imagery, imagery into language, and language into poetry. An intimate reflection on creativity, loneliness, and twenty-three years of learning to translate what the heart feels.

[Monster Theology]
What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

[Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor)]
Some poems are built to make a point. Others are built to reveal the mechanism. Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor) explores associative thinking, creative chaos, and the strange process of stitching disconnected ideas into something alive.

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

Jul 2, 2026 1:00 AM

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Crossing the Sea (No Metaphor Left Behind) | A Poem About Relocation, Distance, and Finding Home

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem began as an experiment in restraint.

I wanted to see what would happen if I stopped relying on metaphor—the oceans, tides, moons, and distant imagery that so often shape the way I write—and instead said things as directly as I could.

What I discovered is that I don’t really think in a “non-metaphorical” way.

Even when I try to remove symbolism, my mind still reaches for it. The language of distance, direction, and crossing appears naturally because that is how I process emotional states: spatially, geographically, in motion.

So the poem became something else.

Not an escape from metaphor, but an awareness of it.

A recognition that even when I say “I won’t use the ocean this time,” I still understand my life through movement across it.

This piece lives in that tension between clarity and instinct—between what I am trying to say plainly, and the language my mind naturally returns to.

And in the end, it admits something simple:

Sometimes the clearest way to say the truth… is still through the shape of the thing you tried to leave behind.

— Rowan Evans

Some distances are measured in miles. Others are measured in becoming.

Crossing the Sea (No Metaphor Left Behind)
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I am going to try
something that terrifies me—
that most of the time,
would leave me paralyzed.

I am going to try
and say everything
I hold inside—
no metaphors
to hide behind
this time.

I’m not where
I want to be
and part of me,
thinks I’ll never be.

I know that’s just
fear and doubt—

just because part of me
thinks it, doesn’t make it true.

Relocating
is just taking
longer than I wanted it to.

But I know the direction.
The destination is clear—
I just got to get there.

I got to leave here.

This isn’t a new feeling—
I’ve said this all before,
buried in metaphors.

Hidden behind symbolism.

This is where
I’d put the ocean
and the tide,
a way to describe
the distance.

Between where I am
and where I want to be—
and to get there,
I have to cross the sea.

Not a metaphor,
I mean that literally—
Pacific and the Philippine.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Translating What I Feel]
A poem about the invisible process of turning emotion into imagery, imagery into language, and language into poetry. An intimate reflection on creativity, loneliness, and twenty-three years of learning to translate what the heart feels.

[Recognizes Home]
A free-verse poem exploring the difference between love as dependency and love as choice. It challenges the idea that love must be need-based, instead centering the quiet strength of choosing someone while still remaining whole on your own.

[Not Rebuilding You]
A poem about love as an act of presence rather than rescue. Through construction imagery, Not Rebuilding You explores trust, devotion, emotional safety, and the quiet work of building a foundation strong enough for healing to grow.

[The Language Her Soul Speaks]
What if love isn’t about being understood, but learning to understand someone else? “The Language Her Soul Speaks” is a free verse poem about intimacy, communication, curiosity, and the desire to know another person beyond the limits of language.

[Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
A moonlit shoreline, a rowboat full of ducks, a piggybank with no cents, and a confession hidden in plain sight. Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) explores how humor, wordplay, and absurdity can become a side door to vulnerability when the truth feels too difficult to say directly.

[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.

[I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise]
Love has never come easily to me. This poem explores the fear, vulnerability, and quiet courage required to stay emotionally present when connection begins to matter deeply. “I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise” is about choosing love despite the risk of heartbreak—and promising to remain long enough to witness someone fully.

[Altar and Roses]
A gothic free verse poem about poetic identity, recurring symbolism, devotion, and the quiet humanity beneath dramatic imagery.

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

Jun 30, 2026 1:00 AM

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