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

Ashley Dunn

He’d been pulling fishing line out of his mouth for sixty-three days now and the floats had just stopped.

Neil Fulwood

Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .

Ira Lightman

Laid down, his upraised face is
White – offputting – on a plumped pillow.

Dave Wynne-Jones

“The all-consuming passion
is rarely found
more than a recipe
for misery,”
you read

Pat Edwards

He appears like a paper bag blown onto the feeder,
punching his beak time and again into the peanuts.

Previously featured

Neil Fulwood

Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .

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

J.I. Kleinberg

J.I. Kleinberg

Here,
the rain
collaged
The first
mud
allegory.
The
uncertain
fields
the
gravel

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

Ashley Dunn

He’d been pulling fishing line out of his mouth for sixty-three days now and the floats had just stopped.

Neil Fulwood

Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .

Ira Lightman

Laid down, his upraised face is
White – offputting – on a plumped pillow.

Dave Wynne-Jones

“The all-consuming passion
is rarely found
more than a recipe
for misery,”
you read

Pat Edwards

He appears like a paper bag blown onto the feeder,
punching his beak time and again into the peanuts.

News

Word & Image

J.I. Kleinberg

J.I. Kleinberg

Here,
the rain
collaged
The first
mud
allegory.
The
uncertain
fields
the
gravel

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

Neil Fulwood

Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .

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