Author: poeaxtry_

  • Breathe, Quiet, Warmth: A Twenty-Word Prompt Challenge

    Breathe, Quiet, Warmth: A Twenty-Word Prompt Challenge


    Best For:

    Poetry lovers, writers seeking inspiration, grief processing, creative journaling enthusiasts, and followers of concise poetic forms.


    In the fast-paced digital age, sometimes the most profound emotions are captured in the fewest words.

    Sometimes the most profound emotions are captured in the fewest words.

    Recently, I encountered a creative challenge on Instagram that pushed me to distill a moment of intense feeling into twenty words or less. The prompt asked for three specific words: “breathe,” “quiet,” and “warmth.” What emerged was a brief, haunting exploration of loss and the lingering memory of intimacy.


    Prompt, breathe quiet warmth 

    “Your Warmth”

    I wish you had

    thought to 

    breathe your quiet 

    warmth inside of me,

    one last time.

    Before you said 

    goodbye.


    Poet’s Note & Challenge

    I wrote this poem after an account on Instagram posted the challenge. We were instructed to use “breath,” “quiet,” and “warmth” in a poem. This poem should be 20 words or less. Now I’m challenging you to do the same.

    This exercise serves as a powerful reminder that our creative voices do not always need expansive canvases. Sometimes, a tiny spark is enough to ignite a deeper conversation about healing, grief, and the ways we hold onto the people we have lost.

    I found the words for this at the center of the grief of the loss of my mother. I write a lot from the emotions and loneliness I find there. I’m hoping other people who have lost their parents or loved one too can find solace here.

    The constraint of brevity forced me to strip away the unnecessary, leaving only the raw ache of a final departure.”


    Before you go

    I am now passing this challenge on to you. Can you capture a complex emotion using only “breathe,” “quiet,” and “warmth” within a twenty-word limit?

    Writing in constrained forms is a brilliant way to sharpen your focus and unlock new creative paths. I look forward to seeing how you interpret these elements in your own work.

    Please share your responses in the comments, tag me on social media, or email them to poeaxtry@gmail.com. Let’s see what we can create together.


    Ultimately, this space is built on the belief that our stories gain strength when they are shared. Whether your poem is a whisper of grief or a shout of joy, it belongs here.

    Thank you for taking this moment to breathe, reflect, and create with me. I cannot wait to see how this space grows.


    A poem– of thanks to the mothers who stepped up

    A Journal– for hikers who need to reflect


  • Axton Mitchell’s Original Poem: In the Lord’s Name

    Axton Mitchell’s Original Poem: In the Lord’s Name


    In the Lord’s Name

    Some humans

    are

    impossible 

    to tame  

    The devil always did his best work

    In

    God’s

    name.

    They don’t even hide in shame.

    Catholic crusades,

    genocide,

    slave trades,

    infanticide,

    cannibalism,

    pedophilia,

    and more, all done in

    the name of the Lord.


    No gatekeeping, no hoop jumping, just honest work, real people, unfiltered language, and rough-edged art. Submit to the next Poeaxtry Prism issue by form or email Poeaxtryspoetryprism@gmail.com


  • An Original Poem of Yearning and Memory by Axton Mitchell

    An Original Poem of Yearning and Memory by Axton Mitchell


    Yearning Memory

    What a blessing it is

    to yearn for your own

    memories.

    Maybe it’s a curse

    I seem to have forgotten

    the words; you see my lines get all

    jumbled up in my mind’s eye

    before escaping through my

    closed teeth,

    struggling to

    keep them in.

    I gaslight myself so much;

    I almost wonder if I started this fire.

    I’m feeling weak,

    week

    by week…

    I’m feeling more weak.

    Someone keeps feeding the flames,

    controlling them,

    no longer feasible

    to me.

    I

    choke on the smoke

    no longer.

    When the blaze continues,

    they will know it was not me

    who lit the inferno.


    A Note from the Poet:

    Below is a photo I took on my Haunted Tunnel hike this week. This is the sole inspiration I used to create the above poem. “Yearning Memory” was created for day 47 of 100 poems in 100 days.

    Graffiti from inside Moonville Tunnel
  • Day 30 of 100 a Poem about Standing Your Ground

    Day 30 of 100 a Poem about Standing Your Ground


    Protesting in Quotes

    “They will kill me if you let them take me”

    “Stop taking pictures and save my life now!” 

    “Help me!”

    “I am going home” 

    The time to wake up America

    Has come and past 

    we all live in fear 

    The time of finding out has come now. 

    Videotaping government agents murdering our sisters and brothers in the streets only to show outrage when they are white like you? 

    You should have cared when they were all black or brown. 

    Stand your fucking ground!


    A Small Update From the Author

    I’m still writing every single day. So, the challenge continues, but I won’t be posting each poem publicly from here on out. Some pieces need time to breathe, some are for future collections, and some belong to quieter places inside me.

    You’ll still see selected poems along the way… just not all of them in real time. Thank you for walking this stretch of the road with me.


    A Different Day


  • Moist. Crunchy. Purple” Short Story Two

    Moist. Crunchy. Purple” Short Story Two


    This piece is the second of ten short stories. I will share these periodically across some of my platforms. Each story in this series stands alone, but together they form a broader examination of the systems that shape us. These works are released intentionally over time, allowing space for reflection rather than consumption. This series blends literary fiction with social commentary. Here I spend time focusing on lived experience, psychological impact, and the long shadow of decisions made for us. New entries will be published as they are completed.


    “Moist. Crusty. Purple”

    I opened my bag and retrieve, a moist yet crusty purple journal, as soon as I get to my bed. I found the decrepit thing earlier this morning, in the dew right before my morning hike, and for whatever reason it has been on my mind all day.

    The following is a full and direct repeat of what I read.

    If you found this, send help! 

    The date is January 1st 2054. 

    I’m sorry, I do not know the address or even the country I’m located in. 

    I do know the following things. 

    I have been underground for over a decade. Our rations are stored in numbered crates, each stamped with a date at least a decade old, yet somehow still intact. The Earth above us is solitude. It consists of a one-lane-dirt road and trees stretching for miles on end on both sides. Stay silent so you can hear the electrical activity, then you will know you’re near. 

    The United States Government has the ability to implant whatever thoughts they please into all of our brains. This has been planned and in the works. Silently executing moves behind the facade of American propaganda since before the first Independence Day. 

    If we do not form some sort of super revolutionary army, I fear life as we know it will never be the same.

     Yet, sadly, we will have not a single clue. America’s king and royal family have an enormous list of thoughts they plan to effectively erase… 

    Say goodbye to being able to create a thought that wasn’t filtered. Free thinking they all but threw away. We cannot even fathom anti-royal family ideals, if we wished to. 

    I know you are afraid, but you are about to be terrified for the future of all humans worldwide, are you ready? 

    With this power we’d never know laws, history, anything like that could be deleted or changed. They can control and erase the very pieces that make me, and you separate, individual and unique. That’s their entire goal. 

    Intentions to erase everything we have gained. 

    Slavery will be back as if it never forcefully packed its bags. 

    Queer rights? Sadly, right back down the drain. 

    Transgender people aren’t even allowed the verbiage to admit they exist.

    The natives will lose the little bits of sacred space they were left. 

    Sadly, people who have disabilities lose it all. 

    The women? Won’t be allowed bank accounts any longer. Please women, don’t try to drive your cars you legally can’t anymore. 

    Divorce? The thought is on the illegal list, right along with consent. They no longer exist. Birth control? You’ll never know it was a thing. 

    I know you probably think I am insane. I tried to convince myself I was too. That’s so much better than the truth. 

    My entire time here, I’ve been subjected to daily mind control testing. We are lined up and marched into narrow white rooms. Here we are screened before being released back to our quarters. Everyone underground with me goes through it. We were the ones they erased first, taken in the night without warning.

    Together we compiled all these notes and formed an antidote. Thought I can’t risk writing it out in case this falls into enemy hands! I will gladly provide it to you upon my rescue! 

    Please come and save all of us here in the underground testing city. 

    The world is running out of time.

    I closed the putrid journal, flipped it over in my hands, and looked at the date in the front again. 2054? It’s 2026 now, yet I can feel the truth and the weight of this situation as it reverberates. 


    I appreciate you all.

    Thank you for reading the second story in the series. I hope the journal gave you pause, stirred thought, or echoed something within your experience. More stories will be released periodically across WordPress, Substack, Wattpad, and other platforms. These will each explore the pressures that shape us. Follow along, and check back soon to continue the series. There is more to come. If you are just tuning in, take a look at the first story; Aaron has a lot to tell you.


    Comment below and tell me your thoughts about the journal. What would you do if you found it? How would you react?
    Consider sharing “Moist. Crunchy. Purple.” with someone you think would enjoy reading it as well.


  • Two Poems for 100 Poems in 100 Days by Axton Mitchell

    Two Poems for 100 Poems in 100 Days by Axton Mitchell


    Ice Storms

    Written 1/17/2026 Day 27 of 100 –

    Immigration detainees know nothing

    Of the snow beyond their cells.

    They know of deadly ice storms

    within the

    borders of

    America the great, though.

    A dream we once sold,

    told everyone they could reach.

    “I’m not mad at you.”

    “I can’t breathe.”

    “Mom.”

    To point a gun in their face,

    The moment they start

    to look less white.


    Milk

    written 1/18/2026- Day 28 of 100

    We all know the father

    who somehow got lost,

    on the way to the store,

    never to return.

    Sadly, I wish the same could be said

    for mine.

    Went for the milk,

    never came back.

    But in fact,

    he did return,

    after my mom

    filed for divorce.

    He returned to

    hold me up on his shoulders

    at six,

    having me recite

    what

    I

    saw

    through the window

    of the

    next

    woman

    who left.

    He returned

    to

    call

    and

    promise

    a million visits,

    only a dozen

    or so

    actually

    fruitful.

    He returned

    to

    buy me

    cigarettes

    at barely

    thirteen,

    to scold

    me

    when the cops returned me

    after curfew,

    to

    miss

    almost

    every

    performance

    or

    game.

    So don’t hold it against me when

    I wish he would have just

    “gone for the milk.”

    Poet’s Note

    I wrote this poem after a conversation with my partner, Kelsey. We were talking after work and they said, “You should write a poem about how you wish your dad had just went for the milk and not came back, like the cliché.” I agreed with that sentiment, and the idea stuck with me.

    Later, I got in the shower and played with the prompt in my head. I was letting the thought move around, twist, and settle. By the time I stepped out, the poem had taken shape. It’s a reflection on absence, failed promises, and the complicated ways someone can return without ever really being there. It’s short, jagged, and uneven because that’s the memory of him, and that’s the truth I wanted to capture.


  • 100 Poems in 100 Days, Day 26: “Crunch, Snap, Sigh”

    100 Poems in 100 Days, Day 26: “Crunch, Snap, Sigh”


    Crunch,

    ice breaks beneath shoes.

    Snap,

    stick breaks under weight.

    Sigh,

    cool breaths escape hastily through nostrils.

    Red, chilled cheeks,

    sweat-soaked brow.

    A squirrel scurried under brush,

    a paw print planted in otherwise pure snow.

    Wind whistling,

    then whispering

    in between barren trees.

    The only cure for a wild wanderlust.


    Poet’s Note

    This poem was written after reflecting on a winter hike. I spent time reflecting on the same places I frequent just through a new lens. Snow transforms familiar paths, changes the sounds, the textures, and the way the world feels underfoot. Every crunch of ice, every snap of a stick, and every exhale of cold air is magnified in stillness. The small details, the squirrel darting under brush, the paw print in pure snow, become markers of moments. Fleeting and yet permanent.

    The poem is about noticing those shifts, both in the landscape and in myself. How a place can remain familiar and yet feel entirely new depending on the season, the weather, or the mind walking through it. The final line, “The only cure for a wild wanderlust,” is a quiet acknowledgment that these moments of attention, these walks through snow and cold, are what feed the urge to wander, to explore, to feel alive.

    It is a meditation on presence, observation, and the subtle ways the world changes around us, even in places we thought we already knew.


  • Backward Growth: A Poem Discussing Stagnant Friends

    Backward Growth: A Poem Discussing Stagnant Friends


    The hardest part of

    growing

    is watching others you

    thought you knew

    grow

    backwards around you.

    Call it shrinkage,

    stunted growth,

    backward movement,

    or

    whatever you choose.

    Keep it away from me,

    whatever

    you do.

    Make sure it doesn’t

    rub off on you.


    Poet’s Note

    This poem is about the people I’ve chosen to allow in my life, and the moments when they shock me with their lack of growth, or even worse, their contentment in stagnation. It isn’t judgment for judgment’s sake; it’s recognition. Growth is messy, difficult, and uncomfortable. Some people simply refuse it, either because they feel they don’t need it or because they’re unwilling to confront themselves.

    The poem is me drawing a boundary. Watching someone I care about move backward while I’m trying to grow is a strange, painful mirror. It isn’t about fixing them, it isn’t about explaining them. It’s about keeping their backward motion from rubbing off on me, about protecting the life and the self I’m building.

    The line “whatever you choose” isn’t soft, it’s an eye roll. It’s acknowledgment that they’ve made their choice, and I’ve made mine. I cannot carry their stagnation, nor should I be expected to. This is a poem about attention, energy, and selective proximity. Here you will learn to understand that some growth is personal, and some distance is necessary.


    All Poeaxtry’s Links

  • Day 24 of 100: Remember When

    Day 24 of 100: Remember When


    Remember when you yearned

    to be the you you see now?

    Remember when you would have

    rather been dead than to be seen as less than any other man.

    Remember when you thought life would have been different by now?

    You’d thought you’d be stealth, yet now fitting in doesn’t seem to matter.

    They are killing us regardless of the latter.

    Wake up and smell the pancake batter.

    Dreams don’t shatter, they shift when you’re always growing with.


    Poets note

    I wrote this poem in a few minutes while sitting at work. The thought surfaced fully formed and wouldn’t leave me alone. It is a direct address to myself, specifically to who I was before testosterone. When stealth felt like the goal, the reward, and the proof that everything would eventually be okay.

    For a long time, I believed that fitting in would mean safety. That if I could disappear into manhood cleanly enough, life would turn out differently than it has. Eleven years later, that belief no longer holds. The distance between who I wanted to be then and who I am now is not regret, it is reality catching up.

    This poem exists to acknowledge that shift. Not to explain it, not to soften it, and not to make it palatable. Stealth stopped mattering because it never protected us the way we were promised. Growth didn’t erase the danger, it only changed how clearly I can see it.

    This note is not a justification. It is context. The poem is memory speaking to memory, and the point is not arrival, it is recognition.


    Explore all Poeaxtry Links


  • Care for You. Because Who Else Will?

    Care for You. Because Who Else Will?


    Pause. Breathe. Root yourself.

    Care for You. Because Who Else Will? is a mini digital collection exploring historical, cultural, and modern grounding practices designed to reconnect body, mind, and creative spirit. This accessible guide blends ancestral awareness, modern wellness research, and reflective exercises to help you build grounding rituals that fit your real life.

    Care for you because who else will multicolor zine cover with digital art Polaroid selfie
    Mini-collection cover

    Inside the collection you will explore:

    Historical and Cultural Grounding Practices

    Barefoot earth contact, tree connection, ring shout traditions, and ceremonial teachings such as sweat lodges and temazcal. Each discussed in educational context, emphasizing cultural respect, history, and meaning.

    Modern Grounding Approaches

    Forest bathing, mindful water rituals, breath-focused movement, sound practices, expressive creativity, and intentional grounding exercises. That are presented as adaptable daily tools supported by emerging research in stress reduction and nervous system regulation.

    Reflection and Creative Integration

    Guided prompts encourage readers to explore how grounding practices fit their own body, environment, and emotional rhythms. Creative exercises invite poetry, visual art, journaling, or tactile crafting as methods of integrating self-care into everyday life.

    This mini collection is designed for flexible use.

    You may read it digitally on any device or print it for a hands-on workbook-style experience.

    Self-care has never been one-size-fits-all. It is lived, adapted, reshaped, and reclaimed. This guide exists as a companion for that process, offering grounding knowledge drawn across cultures and generations while encouraging you to build rituals that truly belong to you.

    Download the guide here:

    Gumroad payhip or Etsy

    Check out all Poeaxtry Links