Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Tag: indie poet

  • Day 10 of 100 Days of Poetry- “New Year Same Fight”- A Call Out Poem

    Day 10 of 100 Days of Poetry- “New Year Same Fight”- A Call Out Poem

    Day ten lands in that strange quiet between calendars, when people throw confetti over unresolved harm and call it renewal.

    This poem doesn’t toast the turning of the year.

    It questions it.

    Because remember a new date doesn’t undo old violence.

    A holiday doesn’t cancel policy.

    And cheer, when it’s demanded instead of earned, becomes another form of pressure.

    This is for anyone who feels the dread creep in louder than the countdown.

    “New Year, Same Fight”

    As we get closer

    to the end of this year,

    I can’t even pretend

    that the fear of the coming one

    doesn’t outweigh the cheer.

    How do I celebrate

    a future where we can’t

    agree to be different

    and still live in harmony?

    How do I look forward

    to another year

    of hate and policy

    thrown about haphazardly,

    leaving only those like you and me

    standing under the terror rain?

    How do you play along,

    pretend everything’s okay,

    celebrate a holiday

    that only marks the turning of years

    and never the growth of humankind?

    You must be out of your god damn mind.

    Give me something worth celebrating,

    and with you, I will cheer.

    Until then,

    I already have something worth fighting for,

    so I won’t be blinded

    by your unwarranted holiday.

    Comment one thing you’re refusing to celebrate blindly this year, and why. Or Share one value you’re carrying into the new year even when it costs you comfort.

    Up Poet’s Note

    This poem came from watching joy be weaponized.

    From seeing celebration demanded from people who are actively being harmed by the systems others toast.

    Hope isn’t confetti.

    Optimism isn’t obedience.

    Refusing to cheer doesn’t mean refusing to live.

    Sometimes it means choosing clarity over distraction.

    If this poem sounds like someone you know, someone exhausted by forced positivity, someone whose survival keeps getting labeled as “too political”… Share this with them. Or send it to the person who keeps telling you to “just focus on the good” while ignoring the cost.

    Not every new year deserves applause.

    Some deserve resistance, honesty, and memory.

    If you’d like to support work that pushes acceptance, hope, and the refusal to accept inequality when it counts! Consider a donation via CashApp, PayPal, Ko-Fi, or Buy Me a Coffee. This helps to keep our projects and community thriving.

    Poeaxtry Links Day5

  • Day Three Poem: Hurt Like This by Axton N.O. Mitchell

    Day Three Poem: Hurt Like This by Axton N.O. Mitchell

    Day three of my 100-poem series… sometimes the calendar moves, but our hearts stay behind, carrying the weight of absence, echoing in the spaces others fill with celebration.

    Hurt Like This

    Another year

    Another empty space

    this is just another day.

    You all can celebrate your

    holiday, cheer,

    somewhere not near to me.

    Can’t you see? This is just another

    day to me.

    Except if it were just a day

    would it hurt like this?

    Poet’s Note:

    This poem leans into the quiet ache of holidays when they don’t feel joyful… that tension between the world’s celebration and your own emptiness can be sharp. I wrote it to honor that feeling, unfiltered, because acknowledging hurt is part of moving through it.

    Some days carry weight that no calendar can explain… and some poems are just for naming it.

    Day two day one 100

  • Hopeless Holiday | Day 2 of 100 Days of Poetry

    Hopeless Holiday | Day 2 of 100 Days of Poetry

    The holidays have a strange way of resurfacing old versions of ourselves. The child who waited. The belief that good things arrived simply because we hoped hard enough. For many of us, that version feels distant now, replaced by a quieter, more guarded endurance.

    This poem is not about celebration. It’s about survival during a season that insists on cheer, even when hope feels rationed. Day two of writing and posting one poem a day is about naming that shift honestly, without pretending it doesn’t exist.

    Hopeless Holiday

    This year’s “holiday cheer”

    is nostalgic in a way I’ve come to

    fear.

    Though,

    I used to wait for Santa,

    sitting still, filled with untamable

    hope.

    Now it seems the hope he brings

    is more about having at least one thing

    left to hope for at all.

    Being hopeless on Christmas

    would have to be worse than this.

    Poet’s Note

    This poem isn’t about Santa, and it isn’t about religion or tradition. Santa exists here as a symbol of effortless hope, the kind we’re given as children without conditions, without proof, without fear of disappointment.

    As adults, hope changes. It becomes smaller, more deliberate. Sometimes it’s not about joy at all, but about refusing to let everything go dark at once. This piece lives in that space, where hope hasn’t vanished, but it no longer arrives freely.

    Hope doesn’t always look like joy. Sometimes it looks like refusal. Sometimes it looks like staying present through a season that hurts, instead of opting out completely.

    This poem holds that tension without resolving it, because not everything needs to be resolved to be honest. Day two is about acknowledging that hope can shrink and still matter, especially during the holidays.

    Day one. Links. Portfolio.

  • 100 Poems in 100 Days, Joining the Threads Poetry Challenge With Ice

    100 Poems in 100 Days, Joining the Threads Poetry Challenge With Ice

    Every so often, a simple idea creates a creative avalanche. I’m hoping that this will be that.

    Write a poem a day.

    But do it for one hundred days.

    Then share it publicly.

    No paywall, no panel of judges, no polished submission packets, no gatekeeping. Just writers showing up where they are, writing through whatever weather they’re standing in.

    I’m joining in.

    Not because I want more pressure, or because I think productivity equals worth, but because poetry thrives on repetition, attention, and witness. A poem a day doesn’t have to be perfect. It has to exist. It has to respond. It has to mark time. It is practice, which we all have been told makes perfect!

    For indie poets, marginalized writers, and creatives working outside institutional publishing, challenges like this matter. They create visible momentum. They pull poetry out of private notes apps and put it back into conversation. They remind us that poetry isn’t precious, it’s necessary.

    This post documents my entry into the challenge, and it begins with day one, where else?

    Day One of One Hundred

    “Ice”

    It’s cold outside,

    my desire is on fire,

    something more just out of

    r

    e

    a

    c

    h.

    The plows came through these

    Appalachian city streets,

    though the ice stayed

    Immigrant mothers pray

    for their brothers,

    others try to feed their

    families.

    No matter the kind,

    crushed ice

    is my favorite.

    Poet’s Note

    This poem lives in the overlap between weather and policy.

    Between what freezes naturally and what is enforced.

    Ice shows up twice here. Once as winter, salt trucks, plows, and streets that look cleared but still aren’t safe. The other time as ICE, immigration enforcement, the quiet terror that doesn’t melt when the roads do.

    Crushed ice is impact. It’s aftermath. It’s what happens when something large and heavy moves through a place and leaves fragments behind.

    I didn’t want to explain the metaphor inside the poem. I wanted it to sit unresolved, because that’s how it exists in real life. Some people experience winter. Others experience surveillance. Sometimes it’s both, at the same time, in the same city.

    Why This Challenge Matters to Me

    Writing a poem every day for one hundred days isn’t about proving discipline. It’s about practicing attention. About letting the world interrupt me and answering back in language.

    As an indie publisher, poet, and community builder through Poeaxtry and The Prism, I care deeply about visibility for small voices, especially voices that don’t get invited into traditional literary rooms. A public challenge hosted on a platform like Threads lowers the barrier to entry. It lets poets write in public without asking permission.

    This is also about sustainability. One poem a day is manageable. It fits between work shifts, hikes, grief, anger, and ordinary survival. Over time, those daily poems become a record, not just of craft, but of living through a specific stretch of history.

    If you’re participating too, or considering it, this is your nudge. You don’t need permission. You don’t need an audience. You just need to start.

    One poem today.

    Then another tomorrow.

    Links portfolio

  • No November Will Ever Be the Same, A Birthday Touched by Grief and Memory

    No November Will Ever Be the Same, A Birthday Touched by Grief and Memory

    November has its own temperature in my life now. A private weather pattern that settles into the days leading up to my birthday. Sometimes even the days after my birthday too. When grief meets a date that is supposed to feel bright, something shifts, something lingers, and something refuses to fade. This poem moves through that space, the place where candles and memories coexist. The place where a mother’s absence still shapes the month and every breath inside it. I wrote this to honor that truth…

    to let November speak the way it insists on speaking.

    “No November Will Ever Be the Same”

    November holds its own weather,
    a sky that remembers
    even when I try to forget.

    My birthday rises,
    a candle in a tiny room that
    never carries your scent
    four years later…
    I have grown to miss it.

    Four years without you,
    the month keeps its imprint,
    a bruise under the skin of another year,
    tender when I press it,
    tender when I don’t.
    I press it just to feel
    alive sometimes…

    November keeps the ledger open,
    ink still wet, pages turning
    with your scent hidden somewhere
    between the cold mornings
    and the early nights.

    People say time softens,
    but November disagrees.
    I walk through this month
    as if I am carrying two fires,
    one that celebrates my breathing
    one that flickers for the woman
    who taught me how to breathe at all.

    What does November mean now?
    A point between what was given,
    what was taken?
    A place where joy and loss sit
    at the same table…
    neither greeting the other?

    No November will ever be the same.

    I keep moving through it anyway,
    candle in one hand,
    memory in the other,
    hoping the light I carry
    is enough to keep them both lit.

    Poet’s Note

    This one carries the weight of four years. The very echo of that week and a day before my birthday that will forever lead me back to her. Writing it felt like holding two flames at once. The one that marks my birth and the one that marks her leaving. The poem flows with the tension, the ache, and the pull. They meet at the quiet acceptance that no November will ever return to what it used to be. If you are someone who walks through a month that changed you, I hope this piece sits with you in a way that feels steady.

    We all know grief never asks for permission to reshape a month, a date, or a ritual. It moves in and alters the light around everything that follows. Sharing this poem is part of learning how to keep moving. With my candle in one hand, and her memory in the other. I will continue trusting that honoring both is enough. November will never be the same, but it still holds space for growth, reflection and the kind of love that keeps shaping us long after loss has taken its form.

    Links

  • Drici Amos James: The God of Poetry

    Drici Amos James: The God of Poetry

    Drici Amos James, DAJ2020, The God of Poetry.
    Drici Amos James, DAJ2020, The God of Poetry.

    THE GOD OF POETRY

    About Drici Amos James:

    Born and raised in the Pearl of Africa—Uganda, East Africa—Drici draws his strength from his indelibly rich, deep-rooted beginnings. His creativity is inspired by the slums of Africa.

    “Echo of the ghetto’s voice, embodying hope and belief for the world.”

    – DAJ2020

    DAJ2020 is an internationally published and widely read author. This multi-published author has been featured in various magazines. These include Figgi Magazine, Marika Magazine, and SSSIVANE Magazine. Additionally, Charisma Magazine, Loop Lite Magazine, The Style Cruze, and The Untold Magazine have also featured this poet.

    Self-Taught Creative Force

    “For Drici, art has always been a lifeline, a form of survival and redemption since childhood.”

    A self-taught creative powerhouse, Drici has established himself as a two-time self-published author, poet, model, artist, writer, and publisher. He is also the founder and CEO of DAJ Foods Africa.

    His dedication has earned him multiple awards. He has gained the distinguished reputation of being called the “God of Poetry.” He embraces this title with pride.

    Celebrated Works

    Among his most recognized pieces are the poems *Sex and Wine* and *Gates of Hell*. These were featured in *No Shortcut Magazine* and *Agora the Magazine*. Both received international acclaim.

    Upcoming Works

    – *The Naked Race*, poetry collection, released July 12, 2025

    – *Crowns*, poetry collection featuring mentor Dapharoah69, releasing June 26, 2026

    – Co-author in anthology *Bloodlines*, November 2025

    Creative Life & Inspirations

    “Through his work, he continues to share his light, inviting the world into his universe of authenticity, art, and pure vibes.”

    – The God of Poetry

    When not writing, Drici finds solace in reading, meditating, and listening to music—fueling his creativity.

    DAJ2020 Author photo

    – Follow the Poet:

    Threads Twitter IG Tiktok

    – Explore DAJ2020’s Work
    KO-Fi Emotions on Amazon

     Want to Be Featured?

    Are you a writer, artist, or creative with a story to tell?

    We’re always looking for voices to uplift and celebrate. Send your work, your book, or your creative journey to be considered for the next Spotlight feature. Email me directly poeaxtry@gmail.com with your spotlight information or send a form here.

    Poeaxtry is designing the blueprint for a future free of art behind performed paywalls.

    Poeaxtry’s Links Portfolio
    Ko-Fi

  • “Where her hands still are” a poem of loss

    “Where her hands still are” a poem of loss

    There are some loves that never leave the room, even when the person does.

    This poem is for anyone who has ever reached into an empty kitchen and still felt warmth. Who has caught themselves folding towels the same way, or found their heart beating to a rhythm that was first taught by love.

    Loss doesn’t silence that bond…

    it transforms it into echo, ritual, and the quiet kind of forever that hums through the smallest parts of life.

    “Where Her Hands Still Are”

    By: Axton N. O. Mitchell

    I still hear her in the quiet,
    her quiet giggle.
    A low hum the house learned from her,
    The lines around her mouth,
    soft percussion of spoons on porcelain,
    Her sigh as the curtains breath with the wind.

    She was the kind of gentle
    that never had to announce it existed;
    you just felt it.
    In the way light hit the kitchen table,
    Or how your shoulders settled
    when she walked into a room.

    She always swayed,
    and somehow, it made everything feel safe.

    Now every sound leans toward memory.
    The kettle whistles her name,
    the wind carries faint notes of her perfume,
    and every dawn feels a little more unsure
    how to begin without her.

    Her hands made warmth
    out of thin air and love.
    Even the dust knew her touch.
    I fold laundry the way she did,
    sleeves tucked in, corners neat
    a quiet ritual…
    to keep my world from unraveling.

    Grief doesn’t shout anymore;
    it lingers in the shadows,
    breathes through the walls,
    sits down beside me at dinner
    every single night,
    waiting for me to notice.

    I talk to her often…
    just not out loud.
    I
    I find her in the places silence but quiet best:
    the garden,
    the car,
    anywhere I know she lingers.

    Life goes on, yes,
    but oh so differently,
    like a song missing its first note.
    Yet her love hums underneath it all,
    steady, ancient,
    woven into everything I touch.

    Even gone,
    she’s everywhere.
    She is the steam of morning tea,
    the lilac scent after rain.
    I feel her in the echo of my own heartbeat,

    After all it learned its rhythm from hers.

    Her absence will always ache,

    but the ache itself is proof,

    she’s still here.

    She is woven into the pulse of every moment I’m still living.

    Love doesn’t end when the heartbeat stops;

    it just finds new ways to hum.

    Poet’s Note:

    I wrote Where Her Hands Still Are after realizing that grief isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s patient. It waits, hums, and reminds you that love this deep doesn’t vanish. It simply reshapes itself. You don’t ever lose a mother completely; you just start learning to speak in her silence.

  • The Spill: Vol: 9.5- Kindle Unlimited, Stones, and Surprises!

    The Spill: Vol: 9.5- Kindle Unlimited, Stones, and Surprises!

    📖 Hey, Spill readers — this is Volume 9.5.

    A half-volume. A moment to pause, breathe, and catch you up between the big drops.

    If you missed the last one, Volume 9 was all about Revolt, Solo zines, Collabs, and getting our bodies into motion particularly in nature aka hiking. And now Volume 9.5 picks up where that energy left off.

    📚 Kindle Unlimited + Poeaxtry Publications

    Just in case you missed it or forgot…

    All 3 of my self-published eBooks plus my full prompt journal with poems written to every single prompt are available on Kindle Unlimited.

    ✨ Subscribers can read them all free with their membership.

    Each piece is its own reflection, rooted in resistance, softness, and persistence, poetry that walks through the same dirt paths I do.

    📖 Titles currently live on Kindle Unlimited:

    “Beginnings & Endings”

    “Because I was Prompted”

    “Ramblings of the Lost and Found”

    “I like to read; you like to watch the life drain out of a person.”

    🚨 Zines aren’t on Kindle Unlimited… yet.

    You can still find every zine and eBook digitally on Etsy, Gumroad, and Payhip with more platforms coming soon… as I expand The Prism’s reach.

    💌 Not a KU subscriber? No worries.

    You can request free access to read any of my solo Poeaxtry Poetry Prism publications — all I ask in return is an honest review. Fill the form out here or email me at poeaxtry@gmail.com for any questions or concerns.

    💎 New Creations from the Workbench

    Between edits, submissions, and hikes, I’ve been busy in the studio. And I finally upgraded my jewelry designs.

    The new bales I ordered changed everything: now, each piece dangles freely, no longer cradled by a “ball”. It’s just the stone, the metal, the magic. Though you can still get the stones with the balls & still be able to change stones out. There’s just two options now instead of one!

    They move, catch the light differently, and feel more alive. That on theme with the rest of what’s changing around here.

    Keep an eye out for new listings of stone necklaces and keychains soon on Etsy or Locally at Frogwood Boardshop in Heath, Ohio.

    🌿 Trails, Edges, and Inspiration

    My most recent hike took me all the way to The Edge of Appalachia preserve. A place that felt like standing in two worlds at once.

    The silence out there writes its own poems if you listen long enough.

    There’s something about dirt, stone, and distance that sharpens your creative edges. At least for me it does.

    That trip brought a lot of clarity, and maybe even sparked the next adventure… we’ll see.

    Oh and expect a surprise zine and/or ebook drop sometime. I am honestly, sitting on a few completely finished just waiting for me to give in and, give them to you.

    ✍️ 15 Poems & a Manuscript Out in the World

    For the first time in a while, I submitted 15 poems to publications outside my own press. And for the first time ever I submitted an entire manuscript. Fingers crossed🤞🏻

    It’s nerve-wracking, grounding, and freeing. Somehow all at once.

    Every “submit” click is another way of saying, I still believe in this.

    📢 Collabs Still Open

    Both of the following collabs are still live and accepting submissions:

    💬 Voices for the Voiceless — for marginalized creators and allies speaking on silenced or stolen narratives.

    🌈 The Joy They Can’t Erase — a collection centered on joy, resistance, and unapologetic presence from gender nonconformist voices and allies.

    You can always find details and submission links through The Prism hub or my links.

    💬

    This little half-volume is a pulse check. The proof that even between the “big” releases, there’s always movement here.

    New work, new stones, new trails new seasons, and new stories.

    I am still creating, still showing up, still loud where silence used to live, and even more unapologetic about it.

    Thank you for walking this with me.

    — Axton N. O. Mitchell // Poeaxtry_

    Portfolio. Links. Twitch. Amazon Author

  • Publishing With Purpose: Uplifting Marginalized Voices with Creative Collabs — by Axton N. O. Mitchell

    Publishing With Purpose: Uplifting Marginalized Voices with Creative Collabs — by Axton N. O. Mitchell

    Current Goals & Future Visions

    🖤📣✊🏽✍🏿🌍

    Right now, I’m just an indie poet, self-publishing, editing, creating, and promoting my own work from the ground up. I’ve only recently started submitting my poetry to outside publications, and I’m already seeing the work pay off. Two LGBTQ+ magazine partnerships are in progress, and I’ve got multiple collections brewing on my own terms.

    But this was never just about me.

    Honestly, if I ever experienced a come-up, would it even be a come-up if I did it alone? If I didn’t reach back and bring others with me? If I didn’t use that platform to spotlight the very people I was once, and still am, standing among? If I didn’t at least try to put them in the same place as I. I mean I can’t make anyone else’s work a hit but, I can at least try to bring anyone who wants to along for the ride.

    The current goal is to build and release themed collections of art and writing created by minority communities, impoverished individuals, and anyone who has been politically or socially silenced. I’m talking about the people who rarely get the spotlight, not because they lack talent, but because the system makes excuses not to see them.

    To pack the punch or add more power and meaning, some collections will also include pieces by true allies. The people who stand firmly with us, even if they are not directly affected. Because sometimes the people on the other side only start listening when the truth comes from someone they view as “like them.” When cis, straight, white people…. No shade but, especially men of average or higher socioeconomic status speak up, other men are more prone to stop and listen. That pause can lead to understanding. And sometimes, that understanding becomes one more changed person, or even the start of what will come to change the person. Allies have a role. Not to speak for us, but to speak with us and to challenge the circles we cannot always safely enter ourselves.

    Each contributor to these projects will have at least one piece included in the final publication, as long as their work aligns with the theme of the project they’re submitting to. In many cases, all of their pieces or many may be featured. The goal is to create a space for minorities to share not to create another loop of submitting their work and then not getting a chance. Art and literature are both things that are not accurately defined by “good or bad” and should be up to each person who has the opportunity to experience the piece. So, no I won’t bother excluding any creator who is in theme and mutually respectful simply because they create art that is not necessarily my taste.

    However, this space does not tolerate bigotry disguised as art or resistance. If it becomes known that a contributor has actively spoken against or harmed any marginalized group, they will not be included. We all have a place. We all belong. But I do not work with people who are not accepting of differences that are not harmful to others. If someone has made appropriate, sincere apologies and shown clear evidence of growth and changed behavior over time, we will reconsider them. But I make no space for underdogs who are just as guilty of stepping on the necks of other oppressed groups to make themselves feel powerful. That’s not resistance. That’s replication of oppression, and it won’t be welcome here.

    After each creator’s final piece a short bio they write themselves will be included, with space for links to their websites, social media, and online stores. This way readers and art lovers can find their favorite contributors. Artists may also opt to remain anonymous, but must let me know in writing if they wish to do so.

    Submissions are open to anyone 18 or older, in any country.

    Because American politics and media don’t exist in a vacuum. Our choices ripple out globally. Pretending they don’t is a privileged stance, and I’m not interested in gatekeeping based on borders. Don’t bother. I won’t be hearing how the world is following the same path Trump is paving against transgender people and yet you somehow don’t see the effect or the cause.

    The Bigger Picture

    This isn’t just a one-off. This is the beginning of something more.

    My long-term goal is to create a full publishing company, one that centers and uplifts the work of marginalized artists, especially those coming from impoverished backgrounds, queer and trans communities, BIPOC artists, disabled creatives, neurodivergent voices, and more.

    A space where we stop handing the mic to cis actors to speak over trans lives. Where we stop letting white actors play all races on screen. Where we stop making queer people audition for lives they’re already living.

    I want to build something that funds and amplifies the real stories of real people. Not inspiration porn. Not watered-down versions. Not token diversity.

    Actual lived experience. Actual voices. Actual art. Here the art or literature degree you hold is the thing that makes you not a fit candidate. When usually it’s used as a substitute paywall. You know, not many people who face poverty get degrees. If they do they have to be lucrative positions. Though situations are and changing if you are a fit and also have a degree I would never want to work against you so please do at least explain how you fit and submit.

    The most important and the least obtainable goal is to offer payment for submissions, paid collab content. I know that you must walk before you run, and I know that offering things for free to read while we grow will boost the ability for the contributors to be heard. However, creating isn’t charity. It’s overdue recognition.

    Call for Core Contributors

    If you’re interested in becoming a core contributing member to these goals, both current and future, please reach out by email or through any of the contact methods listed on my Connection Page.

    Core contributors are not required to submit art or writing to the collaborative projects, though they are welcome to, but instead assist with the behind-the-scenes work. This may include editing, promoting projects, reaching out to other marginalized artists, helping create and plan future collaboration themes, uploading projects to indie storefronts, seeking out new partnerships and visibility opportunities, and helping grow the foundation that will become a fully functional publishing company.

    Expectations and Structure

    Core contribution is voluntary on your part and not automatically guaranteed on mine. Contributors must commit to a few hours each week to the tasks they’ve been approved for. Missed deadlines without prior communication will result in your removal from the contributor list. All work will come with at least one month’s notice. There will be no last-minute surprises. You will always be credited for your work, even if your role is discontinued.

    If you help develop a concept for a collaborative project, that idea may continue to be used by me and the future publishing company, with full credit always given, unless we’ve agreed in writing that it won’t be.

    This is about building something sustainable. Something honest. Something real.

    We grow together. We hold space for each other. We amplify each other’s voices. This is community, not hierarchy. It’s effort, not ego.

    Core contributors are the first to be considered by me when the goal to offer payment for creators is a reality. The eventual need for paid employees will hopefully also be the next step and anyone interested who has contributed previously or currently will be eligible before any new individuals.

    The need to expand and improve may not always be something foreseen and if the company needs to pivot to become a better more successful company we will do so, BUT we will always have the same base core value of creating a space where minorities are listened to, respected, valued, and never spoken for.

    Stay tuned. Stay loud. Stay rooted in what matters.

    Questions? Comments? Concerns? Ready to take the plunge with me? Poeaxtry@gmail.com

    — Axton N. O. Mitchell (@poeaxtry_)

    Links

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