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.

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

John Greening

    1901: The Interpretation of Owls (Four owls on a branch, and one on its own, all smoking long churchwarden clay pipes, and listening to the music of a songbird in front of a giant moon – like five patients waiting for wise Dr Freud.)   The First Below me is a field alive with khaki mice not expecting to be killed. Something else has risen, so I keep one eye closed, think back, and listen.   The Second With most efficient clay, and smartest plumage, I will be ready for the day, you miserable things. Our tree may be scarred but that young flapper sings.   The Third I will not be swallowed by light. My churchwarden, elongated and hollowed to amplify my dreaming truths, remains silent about all the screaming.   The Fourth I’ve given up, except to say: your call. Yes, my pipe has drooped. I would confess to nights of hooting wild, but not while she hits such heights.   The Fifth No room on the branch, yet I can see what they and she cannot, the...

Carolyn Oulton

      Vaccination Day At the surgery my mother doesn’t want to wait in the car, keeps opening the door. It’s deadly out there, and all I can think is she’s going to say Yoohoo! It’s Mrs … yoohoo! No one is actually warm enough. Mr Poole never does turn up. I find a tree and urinate on my shoe. Afterwards she says I hope you weren’t too cold? I say, Not at all. Later that night the garden stares back at the stars. How crooked they are. The distance between them. How they catch whatever light there is.       Carolyn Oulton is Director of the International Centre for Victorian Women Writers at Canterbury Christ Church University. She is project lead for https://kent-maps.online/ in collaboration with JSTOR Labs. Her most recent collection is Accidental Fruit (Worple).

Carla Scarano D’Antonio

    A safe den When my girlfriends come we delineate our territories. I build a fence with a cradle, two chairs and a stool, a cut-out space that protects and defines against trespassing. Knitted blankets cover my baby dolls, rags are my curtains. I arrange kitchen tools and food toys in small plastic pots and pans, pretend to warm a bottle with fake milk, no hole in the tit. When everything is ready we trade a camisole with a spoon and comb or two small dolls against a big one. I dress the dolls up, comb their hair. Everything is neatly lined up, unedible. Then we sit and wait, rearrange our possessions and wait. There is a gap right at the end of my compound, between my side and my sister’s side, we squeeze out and play hide and seek abandoning our beloved things.     Carla Scarano D’Antonio obtained her Master of Arts in Creative Writing at Lancaster University and has published her creative work in various magazines and reviews. Her short collection...

Nora Blascsok

    Something Boy, I see you, turn up day after day, crouch by the pond, assortment of snacks, hold out a hand or stand still as air. Trackies, oversized tee, slowly scattering feed, pigeons land on shoulders that carry the world, there’s room for a thing that touches and breathes. They peck your hair, your old man on a bench watches, chin merged with chest, look of a man who lost something.       Nora Blascsok is a Hungarian poet based in Brighton. Her most recent work can be found in Streetcake Magazine, Harana Poetry and the Babel Tower Notice Board and is forthcoming in Porridge Magazine among others. Her Twitter handle is @NBlascsok  

Lucia Sellars

      moment Once upon a teacup, I woke up. The eyelids yawned and reality percolated down. This is not how rain starts, this is not how the world keeps on its axis. I had a hat to cover my sinful thoughts, and a mouth, to zip them in. My hands scribbled in the air, frescos of joy that would never be found. It was cranberry and I couldn’t keep up. Red stained and I was but a blurb of dust, with no carbon trail.   Lucia Sellars is a poet/writer, artist and film-maker. Her writing has been published in poetry magazines and anthologies such as Utopia (Hesterglock Press) and Repeal the 8th (Sad Press). Her film work has been selected and screened in many Film Festivals. ww.luciasellars.org.  

Previously featured

Carolyn Oulton

      Vaccination Day At the surgery my mother doesn’t want to wait in the car, keeps opening the door. It’s deadly out there, and all I can think is she’s going to say Yoohoo! It’s Mrs … yoohoo! No one is actually warm enough. Mr Poole never does turn...

read more

Carla Scarano D’Antonio

    A safe den When my girlfriends come we delineate our territories. I build a fence with a cradle, two chairs and a stool, a cut-out space that protects and defines against trespassing. Knitted blankets cover my baby dolls, rags are my curtains. I arrange...

read more

Recent Prose

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to...

Harry Wilding

    DIY with Biscuits The sound of the drill was not enough to completely drown out his voice. ‘Sure that’s in the right place?’ Gerry asked. I focussed on the screw disappearing into the wall. ‘Mary? You hear me? You sure that’s not too...

Michael Bloor

WITNESS STATEMENT Case No. 1991/203 Witness – Full Name: Ianthe Jane Frobisher-Forbes Address: 1 Priory Lane, Old Basing, Basingstoke I first met Jason on Johnny Antrobus's yacht at St. Tropez  in July, 1990. I didn't know at first that he was from...

Hanne Larsson

    When this is all over... We will hug. There’re two types. A proper one starts off gentle, a soft caress as two people’s arms find a way through each other’s limbs, as chests start to touch, as each pulls the other tighter to them, as...

Chaucer Cameron

      Cellar Stories: Ash & Elder Sunday afternoon there’s always roast dinner. Then mum and dad go to church. The twins stay and wash dishes. Elder-twin picks up a plastic bag with unused Brussels sprouts inside. The cellar door...

Recent Haiku

Helen May Williams

    Winter solstice 2020   13/12/2020 dream haiku small hours of Sunday morning family’s little strength guarded for mourning   17/12/2020 still growing on old apple tree— mistletoe   21/12/2020 the peanut feeder disappears...

Kashiana Singh

5 Haiku Origami cradle songs on the drive home… my empty womb * my mother’s knitted sweaters- I unravel knots * tears- water raining into an empty cup * drifting snowflakes- I restore the fragile lace of my wedding veil * encounters- his world is...

Xan Nichols

Haiku in the hope of an easing of lockdown   Sunrise early May all flame and pale duck egg blue; Clouds of lilac grey Just before sunrise - a muted bloom of russet On the chilly ground Above the skyline blazing - the risen sun like a young god Tree...

Yvonne Amey

      * you gone I dream I’m chasing darkness through our castle * souvenir scarf in ocean-green I wrap Australia around my neck * alone on a foreign shore silver gulls dine with me     Yvonne Amey received her MFA from the...

Gopal Lahiri

      * sparrows at work on the skylight * laptops sending handshakes from kitchen table * edges of dawn.. goodbyes litter sidewalks * internet dooms day scrolling in lockdown     Gopal Lahiri is a Kolkata- based bilingual...

News

Word & Image

ONCE by Catherine Gander

ONCE by Catherine Gander

ONCE sunlight splashed like wine across our table where you knelt at work on crayon glyphs announcing your creations...

read more

Video Channel

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

John Greening

    1901: The Interpretation of Owls (Four owls on a branch, and one on its own, all smoking long churchwarden clay pipes, and listening to the music of a songbird in front of a giant moon – like five patients waiting for wise Dr Freud.)   The First Below me is a field alive with khaki mice not expecting to be killed. Something else has risen, so I keep one eye closed, think back, and listen.   The Second With most efficient clay, and smartest plumage, I will be ready for the day, you miserable things. Our tree may be scarred but that young flapper sings.   The Third I will not be swallowed by light. My churchwarden, elongated and hollowed to amplify my dreaming truths, remains silent about all the screaming.   The Fourth I’ve given up, except to say: your call. Yes, my pipe has drooped. I would confess to nights of hooting wild, but not while she hits such heights.   The Fifth No room on the branch, yet I can see what they and she cannot, the...

Carolyn Oulton

      Vaccination Day At the surgery my mother doesn’t want to wait in the car, keeps opening the door. It’s deadly out there, and all I can think is she’s going to say Yoohoo! It’s Mrs … yoohoo! No one is actually warm enough. Mr Poole never does turn up. I find a tree and urinate on my shoe. Afterwards she says I hope you weren’t too cold? I say, Not at all. Later that night the garden stares back at the stars. How crooked they are. The distance between them. How they catch whatever light there is.       Carolyn Oulton is Director of the International Centre for Victorian Women Writers at Canterbury Christ Church University. She is project lead for https://kent-maps.online/ in collaboration with JSTOR Labs. Her most recent collection is Accidental Fruit (Worple).

Carla Scarano D’Antonio

    A safe den When my girlfriends come we delineate our territories. I build a fence with a cradle, two chairs and a stool, a cut-out space that protects and defines against trespassing. Knitted blankets cover my baby dolls, rags are my curtains. I arrange kitchen tools and food toys in small plastic pots and pans, pretend to warm a bottle with fake milk, no hole in the tit. When everything is ready we trade a camisole with a spoon and comb or two small dolls against a big one. I dress the dolls up, comb their hair. Everything is neatly lined up, unedible. Then we sit and wait, rearrange our possessions and wait. There is a gap right at the end of my compound, between my side and my sister’s side, we squeeze out and play hide and seek abandoning our beloved things.     Carla Scarano D’Antonio obtained her Master of Arts in Creative Writing at Lancaster University and has published her creative work in various magazines and reviews. Her short collection...

Nora Blascsok

    Something Boy, I see you, turn up day after day, crouch by the pond, assortment of snacks, hold out a hand or stand still as air. Trackies, oversized tee, slowly scattering feed, pigeons land on shoulders that carry the world, there’s room for a thing that touches and breathes. They peck your hair, your old man on a bench watches, chin merged with chest, look of a man who lost something.       Nora Blascsok is a Hungarian poet based in Brighton. Her most recent work can be found in Streetcake Magazine, Harana Poetry and the Babel Tower Notice Board and is forthcoming in Porridge Magazine among others. Her Twitter handle is @NBlascsok  

Lucia Sellars

      moment Once upon a teacup, I woke up. The eyelids yawned and reality percolated down. This is not how rain starts, this is not how the world keeps on its axis. I had a hat to cover my sinful thoughts, and a mouth, to zip them in. My hands scribbled in the air, frescos of joy that would never be found. It was cranberry and I couldn’t keep up. Red stained and I was but a blurb of dust, with no carbon trail.   Lucia Sellars is a poet/writer, artist and film-maker. Her writing has been published in poetry magazines and anthologies such as Utopia (Hesterglock Press) and Repeal the 8th (Sad Press). Her film work has been selected and screened in many Film Festivals. ww.luciasellars.org.  

News

Word & Image

ONCE by Catherine Gander

ONCE by Catherine Gander

ONCE sunlight splashed like wine across our table where you knelt at work on crayon glyphs announcing your creations...

read more

Video Channel

Previously featured

Carolyn Oulton

      Vaccination Day At the surgery my mother doesn’t want to wait in the car, keeps opening the door. It’s deadly out there, and all I can think is she’s going to say Yoohoo! It’s Mrs … yoohoo! No one is actually warm enough. Mr Poole never does turn...

read more

Carla Scarano D’Antonio

    A safe den When my girlfriends come we delineate our territories. I build a fence with a cradle, two chairs and a stool, a cut-out space that protects and defines against trespassing. Knitted blankets cover my baby dolls, rags are my curtains. I arrange...

read more

Recent Prose

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to...

Harry Wilding

    DIY with Biscuits The sound of the drill was not enough to completely drown out his voice. ‘Sure that’s in the right place?’ Gerry asked. I focussed on the screw disappearing into the wall. ‘Mary? You hear me? You sure that’s not too...

Michael Bloor

WITNESS STATEMENT Case No. 1991/203 Witness – Full Name: Ianthe Jane Frobisher-Forbes Address: 1 Priory Lane, Old Basing, Basingstoke I first met Jason on Johnny Antrobus's yacht at St. Tropez  in July, 1990. I didn't know at first that he was from...

Hanne Larsson

    When this is all over... We will hug. There’re two types. A proper one starts off gentle, a soft caress as two people’s arms find a way through each other’s limbs, as chests start to touch, as each pulls the other tighter to them, as...

Chaucer Cameron

      Cellar Stories: Ash & Elder Sunday afternoon there’s always roast dinner. Then mum and dad go to church. The twins stay and wash dishes. Elder-twin picks up a plastic bag with unused Brussels sprouts inside. The cellar door...

Recent Haiku

Helen May Williams

    Winter solstice 2020   13/12/2020 dream haiku small hours of Sunday morning family’s little strength guarded for mourning   17/12/2020 still growing on old apple tree— mistletoe   21/12/2020 the peanut feeder disappears...

Kashiana Singh

5 Haiku Origami cradle songs on the drive home… my empty womb * my mother’s knitted sweaters- I unravel knots * tears- water raining into an empty cup * drifting snowflakes- I restore the fragile lace of my wedding veil * encounters- his world is...

Xan Nichols

Haiku in the hope of an easing of lockdown   Sunrise early May all flame and pale duck egg blue; Clouds of lilac grey Just before sunrise - a muted bloom of russet On the chilly ground Above the skyline blazing - the risen sun like a young god Tree...

Yvonne Amey

      * you gone I dream I’m chasing darkness through our castle * souvenir scarf in ocean-green I wrap Australia around my neck * alone on a foreign shore silver gulls dine with me     Yvonne Amey received her MFA from the...

Gopal Lahiri

      * sparrows at work on the skylight * laptops sending handshakes from kitchen table * edges of dawn.. goodbyes litter sidewalks * internet dooms day scrolling in lockdown     Gopal Lahiri is a Kolkata- based bilingual...

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