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

Carolyn Oulton

Heat on the window
baking my face like a biscuit.
I move some hair, look over
at moss and narcissi, in a pot –

Jennifer A. McGowan 

You have buried your mother and put
a memorial bench on a high hillside where
the wind blows sunsets straight through
and it’s always better to wear something warm.

Matt Bryden

You used to wind yourself in curtain turning taut,
look down at your feet, pirouette
as the fabric hugged you in.

James Coghill

the undershrub, shored up,
stakes its waspish claim,
its hereabouts

Peter Bickerton

The gull
on the meadow
taps her little yellow feet
like a shovel-snouted lizard
dancing on a floor of lava

Previously featured

Jennifer A. McGowan 

You have buried your mother and put
a memorial bench on a high hillside where
the wind blows sunsets straight through
and it’s always better to wear something warm.

read more

Matt Bryden

You used to wind yourself in curtain turning taut,
look down at your feet, pirouette
as the fabric hugged you in.

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Maria Sanger

She stared at the many photographs of blackthorns. A cluster of people wandered past and gathered at the next easel, but her feet refused to budge from ‘Number 13’

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

Magnificence For Spike Walker, Photomicrographer What jewelled gifts are these, spliced and stacked on platters of...

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Carolyn Oulton

Heat on the window
baking my face like a biscuit.
I move some hair, look over
at moss and narcissi, in a pot –

Jennifer A. McGowan 

You have buried your mother and put
a memorial bench on a high hillside where
the wind blows sunsets straight through
and it’s always better to wear something warm.

Matt Bryden

You used to wind yourself in curtain turning taut,
look down at your feet, pirouette
as the fabric hugged you in.

James Coghill

the undershrub, shored up,
stakes its waspish claim,
its hereabouts

Peter Bickerton

The gull
on the meadow
taps her little yellow feet
like a shovel-snouted lizard
dancing on a floor of lava

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

Magnificence For Spike Walker, Photomicrographer What jewelled gifts are these, spliced and stacked on platters of...

read more

Previously featured

Jennifer A. McGowan 

You have buried your mother and put
a memorial bench on a high hillside where
the wind blows sunsets straight through
and it’s always better to wear something warm.

read more

Matt Bryden

You used to wind yourself in curtain turning taut,
look down at your feet, pirouette
as the fabric hugged you in.

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Maria Sanger

She stared at the many photographs of blackthorns. A cluster of people wandered past and gathered at the next easel, but her feet refused to budge from ‘Number 13’

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.

Reviews