Ink Sweat & Tears is a UK based webzine which publishes and reviews poetry, prose, prose-poetry, word & image pieces and everything in between. Our tastes are eclectic and magpie-like and we aim to publish something new every day.

We try to keep waiting-time short, but because of increased submissions, the current waiting time between submission and publication is around twelve weeks.

If you have come here looking for more information on our ‘Uprising & Resistance’ Project in conjunction with Spread the Word and Black Beyond Data, please go here.

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Mai Ishikawa

Taxi I took shelter under a tree, where you also sheltered. You looked at me awkwardly, as if to say Excuse me before shaking your feathers – a tiny droplet landed on my cheek. Suspended, we held each other responsible for the silence. We listened to the rain landing drop after drop, spreading a beaded carpet over us, and we appreciated that we had no words in common. You began to sing – like a radio turned on by a taxi driver in Tokyo, wearing white gloves. You signalled to look up at the stars – nameless like us – humming the day-to-day joy. The rain set its foot on the brakes nearing the destination. You took off, shedding the stars.   Mai Ishikawa is a Japanese translator/poet based in Dublin. Her poems have appeared in the Irish journals The Stony Thursday Book, Banshee, Ragaire and Channel. Winner of Kyoto Writing Competition Unohana Prize and a participant of Dedalus Press Mentoring Programme.

Lue Mac

Sad how things expire before you work out
what they mean. Like earlier I was noticing
the rose petals on the path, all damp and slick,

Alice O’Malley-Woods

For the Peregrines of Offham Chalk Pit The quarry holds your eyrie like a grateful palm. You - indelicate gobber all gape and gum-pink circled in the beach white like a mouth stuck in wonder. O spit-shrieker coming back for yourself, tearing fur so diligently, never rushing the thistle of this nest to be before it’s ready. World is all precipice and feather is nothing but needle. I know it - the need not to be seen unblended in stark-light. How it is the air not the earth that scares us by making us so apparent. You will wrestle yourself out – body forth in sharp clatter. Straight as a pine. Clean as a punch. Coming for the ground with both eyes fixed. Coming in sleet, to churn the turf to thunder. May they never see you coming. Survival is just a well placed fall that nobody can outrun.   Alice O'Malley-Woods is a poet and researcher based in Lewes, East Sussex. Her work explores themes of loss, ecogrief, and disability. She is the winner of the Black Cat Nature Writing Prize,...

Lori D’Angelo

The cat puts his paw on my hair, and I think about
where we could go if we weren’t here. Maybe the
nail salon, which seems like a good destination for
kill time Saturdays.

Lucy Wilson

Dear Fish, you swam from life and gave your flesh; forgive me.
In your ice-tomb, your scales a rainbow of tiny glaciers, frozen in flight;
like you, I let myself get caught, sank my heart in a false sea.

Previously featured

Lue Mac

Sad how things expire before you work out
what they mean. Like earlier I was noticing
the rose petals on the path, all damp and slick,

read more

Alice O’Malley-Woods

For the Peregrines of Offham Chalk Pit The quarry holds your eyrie like a grateful palm. You - indelicate gobber all gape and gum-pink circled in the beach white like a mouth stuck in wonder. O spit-shrieker coming back for yourself, tearing fur so diligently, never...

read more

Recent Prose

Cliff McNish

Heaven For starters, the standard works everyone gets: three trumpets blown in unison; your name acclaimed to the galactic hegemony of stars; plus assorted angels with ceramically smooth hands (the nail-work!) casting wholesale quantities of petals...

Jesse Keng Sum Lee

Lloyd is dressed like a candy bar in an all-too-bright gas station. Gleaming red tracksuit,
brand name under the sternum like a label.

Kapka Nilan

When she left, the winds picked up and the bloated sun filled the horizon with fire, the sky turning ochre. She hurried in the heat, leaving behind what she called a tribe, not a homeland.

Jude Mason

I have compiled an incomplete list of the small and many forms of sadness that can be experienced by humans. The sadness of cracking the spine of a new book. The sadness of odd socks. The sadness of attempting to pet a cat, but the cat does not wish to be petted.

Fokkina McDonnell

I begged my boss to let me do the interview with the fire historian. I have form, I told him.

Recent Haiku

R.C. Thomas

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

News

Word & Image

Debbie Strange

Debbie Strange

Debbie Strange (Canada) is a chronically ill short-form poet and visual artist whose creative passions connect her more closely to the world and to herself. Thousands of her poems and artworks have been published internationally.

read more

Filmpoems

Moira McPartlin

Moira McPartlin

Magnificence
For Spike Walker, Photomicrographer

What jewelled gifts are these,
spliced and stacked on platters
of smeared glass?
A universe of micro.

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Mai Ishikawa

Taxi I took shelter under a tree, where you also sheltered. You looked at me awkwardly, as if to say Excuse me before shaking your feathers – a tiny droplet landed on my cheek. Suspended, we held each other responsible for the silence. We listened to the rain landing drop after drop, spreading a beaded carpet over us, and we appreciated that we had no words in common. You began to sing – like a radio turned on by a taxi driver in Tokyo, wearing white gloves. You signalled to look up at the stars – nameless like us – humming the day-to-day joy. The rain set its foot on the brakes nearing the destination. You took off, shedding the stars.   Mai Ishikawa is a Japanese translator/poet based in Dublin. Her poems have appeared in the Irish journals The Stony Thursday Book, Banshee, Ragaire and Channel. Winner of Kyoto Writing Competition Unohana Prize and a participant of Dedalus Press Mentoring Programme.

Lue Mac

Sad how things expire before you work out
what they mean. Like earlier I was noticing
the rose petals on the path, all damp and slick,

Alice O’Malley-Woods

For the Peregrines of Offham Chalk Pit The quarry holds your eyrie like a grateful palm. You - indelicate gobber all gape and gum-pink circled in the beach white like a mouth stuck in wonder. O spit-shrieker coming back for yourself, tearing fur so diligently, never rushing the thistle of this nest to be before it’s ready. World is all precipice and feather is nothing but needle. I know it - the need not to be seen unblended in stark-light. How it is the air not the earth that scares us by making us so apparent. You will wrestle yourself out – body forth in sharp clatter. Straight as a pine. Clean as a punch. Coming for the ground with both eyes fixed. Coming in sleet, to churn the turf to thunder. May they never see you coming. Survival is just a well placed fall that nobody can outrun.   Alice O'Malley-Woods is a poet and researcher based in Lewes, East Sussex. Her work explores themes of loss, ecogrief, and disability. She is the winner of the Black Cat Nature Writing Prize,...

Lori D’Angelo

The cat puts his paw on my hair, and I think about
where we could go if we weren’t here. Maybe the
nail salon, which seems like a good destination for
kill time Saturdays.

Lucy Wilson

Dear Fish, you swam from life and gave your flesh; forgive me.
In your ice-tomb, your scales a rainbow of tiny glaciers, frozen in flight;
like you, I let myself get caught, sank my heart in a false sea.

News

Word & Image

Debbie Strange

Debbie Strange

Debbie Strange (Canada) is a chronically ill short-form poet and visual artist whose creative passions connect her more closely to the world and to herself. Thousands of her poems and artworks have been published internationally.

read more

Filmpoems

Moira McPartlin

Moira McPartlin

Magnificence
For Spike Walker, Photomicrographer

What jewelled gifts are these,
spliced and stacked on platters
of smeared glass?
A universe of micro.

read more

Previously featured

Lue Mac

Sad how things expire before you work out
what they mean. Like earlier I was noticing
the rose petals on the path, all damp and slick,

read more

Alice O’Malley-Woods

For the Peregrines of Offham Chalk Pit The quarry holds your eyrie like a grateful palm. You - indelicate gobber all gape and gum-pink circled in the beach white like a mouth stuck in wonder. O spit-shrieker coming back for yourself, tearing fur so diligently, never...

read more

Recent Prose

Cliff McNish

Heaven For starters, the standard works everyone gets: three trumpets blown in unison; your name acclaimed to the galactic hegemony of stars; plus assorted angels with ceramically smooth hands (the nail-work!) casting wholesale quantities of petals...

Jesse Keng Sum Lee

Lloyd is dressed like a candy bar in an all-too-bright gas station. Gleaming red tracksuit,
brand name under the sternum like a label.

Kapka Nilan

When she left, the winds picked up and the bloated sun filled the horizon with fire, the sky turning ochre. She hurried in the heat, leaving behind what she called a tribe, not a homeland.

Jude Mason

I have compiled an incomplete list of the small and many forms of sadness that can be experienced by humans. The sadness of cracking the spine of a new book. The sadness of odd socks. The sadness of attempting to pet a cat, but the cat does not wish to be petted.

Fokkina McDonnell

I begged my boss to let me do the interview with the fire historian. I have form, I told him.

Recent Haiku

R.C. Thomas

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

Picks of the Month

Reviews